Cliché

chapter 22. la stella

After a short drive timewise, yet a drive too long for me to bear, we finally arrive at the parking lot by the pier. I pull off my helmet and run a hand through my hair (no helmet hair because this is fiction, of course), a crisp breeze brushing ice across my skin. The sight of the black ocean mirroring the lights of the dock and the diamond stars like the paint strokes of a Monet painting is breathtaking, yet the chill of the air makes it hard to focus on the scene.

"Ah. Should've listened to my mom," I mutter, turning my eyes away from the sea, only to find the Bad Boy long gone.

"Princess? You coming?" He shouts to me from the sidewalk leading up to the dock, a smirk on his lips— one I so desperately want to wipe off his face.

"I told you not to call me that." I frown, reluctantly trudging up to him.

"Then come on, cupcake," he says instead, the mockery dripping off his words as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.

The audacity he has to make fun of me by doing the things I'm telling him not to do. I push his arm off. "Boundaries, Bad Boy. You have to do something called respect them."

"But we're fake dating now. We need to at least be realistic, kitten." He chuckles, putting his arm around me again.

I refuse to spend anymore energy on him, allowing his arm to rest around me. "You are so, so lucky that I know deep down, Evan is internally screaming. I am definitely making fun of him later."

Fortunately for me, we walk the rest of the way towards the restaurant in silence, awkwardness filling the space between us. I keep my head trained on the ground for most of the walk, placing one step between the lines of the planks of the wooden deck beneath us.

"We're here, pumpkin," the Bad Boy announces as we arrive in front of a quaint establishment decorated with vintage lights and vines of flowers, the sign above it reading La Stella. He opens the glass door for me, gesturing for me to go in first.

For the first time tonight with him, I smile as I enter the warm atmosphere, alive with lively chatter and clinking dishes. The inside, with a dim amber ambiance, is a large contrast from the outside, where the neon lights of storefronts clashed with the dark night sky.

A middle-aged man saunters up to us, the same easiness in his gait as the Bad Boy, and gives him a pat on the back. He flashes me a smile, but this one is Evan's, lazy yet genuine. "Evan! Who's this pretty girl you've brought with you?"

"Pa, this is Iris. The one I said I was going to take on a date," the Bad Boy introduces, leaving out the fact that this is fake.

Ignoring the annoying boy beside me, I give the man a genuine smile. "It's really nice to meet you, Evan's dad. Thank you so much for your generosity tonight."

"Oh, no, it's all my wife. She wanted to cook for the one our son has been talking so much about." He winks, grabbing a few menus and sweeping his arm toward the restaurant for us to follow him.

"Lockhart, I don't... talk about you," the Bad Boy clarifies quickly, red tint rushing to his cheeks. The sight is so odd, especially with Evan's face, that I can't help but chuckle.

"Aw, is the Bad Boy blushing?" I tease.

He seems to recover his composure quickly. Smirking, he steps towards me, leaning so close I can feel his minty breath tickling my nose. He looks straight into my eyes, a glint of challenge in his own. "Are you blushing?"

"No. I don't blush for the likes of you," I smile sarcastically, flicking his forehead in annoyance.

"Hey! None of that in front of the customers," Evan's dad calls to us, laughing heartily that I can't help but laugh along.