WHY DO YOU LOVE ME.
When Reina accepted the role of maid-of-honor
for her best friend's wedding, she was thinking
of one thing; her best friend's happiness.
But in the midst of planning the best night of her friend's life, she runs into a problem...
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.·゜゜· ·゜゜·．
REINA'S POV
"So, how was your day?"
I'm currently seated in an uncomfortable plastic chair that is much too short for me, resulting in my knees pressing against the cold metal of the table it's connected to. Also, it smells like fucking crayons.
I glare at Stef for even asking the question, which she meets with a smile. "Remind me again why we couldn't just meet for dinner instead of lunch?" While discussing my schedule with my assistant this morning, I was interrupted by a well-timed call from Stef who asked me to pencil her into my lunchtime. I agreed, then I disagreed when she said our destination was her classroom, then was forced to agree again when she rejected my request to swap our lunch date for dinner.
Stef plucks a carrot stick from her container. "Dylan and I are having dinner with my mom today." Something is lingering there, I can tell from the way she avoided eye contact. When I didn't respond after a few beats of silence, Stef let out a huff. "And my stepsister is gonna be there."
My eyebrows shoot up. "Natalie is back in town? Since when?" Stef's face indicated that she had no desire to continue with this topic of discussion. I should have suspected as much, Stef and Natalie had about a good relationship as you would expect a mouse and a cat to have. When their parents got married, the two girls already knew one another as the other's arch-nemesis, being two sixteen-year-olds who believed popularity in high school was the number one priority. You could imagine how that spiraled out of control when they lived with one another and now found themselves battling over the bowl of mashed potatoes rather than prom queen.
Stef clears her throat after a moment of silence, straightening up as a smile graces her lips. "So, what would you say to me setting you up on a date?" Suddenly, talking about Stef's stepsister seemed much more appealing now. Stef doesn't let my silence deter her, leaning forward as she presses on, "I know this guy, and I think you'd like him."
I stare back at her with a blank expression. "Oh, really?" I mutter sarcastically, resisting the urge to roll my eyes at her undying persistence.
She nods excitedly, and without waiting for further input, she begins digging into her purse on the desk beside her. Most likely for her phone where she'd be holding a photo of said guy she wants to set me up with.
To put it lightly, Stef doesn't have the best track record when it comes to setting me up on a date. Over the last few years, she has attempted to do so several times, and each time I come back with a new horror story of a date and an unwanted new admirer. I mean, one guy she set me up with sent me flowers for four months following our first date—four months. It got to the point where I threatened a restraining order if he didn't stop sending me those same damn roses in hopes that I'd change my mind about him. Newsflash, Richard, if I didn't give a fuck about the flowers the first three times, I won't the next twenty. So, when Stef says she knows a guy I'd like, I know she's wrong.
