Frida spent at least 30 minutes soaking in the luxurious bathtub, dreading the upcoming dinner.
The warm water soothed her skin, but it couldn’t calm the storm brewing in her chest.
She had no reason to be this nervous, absolutely none. It wasn’t as if this was the first ti she would see him.
She’d seen him almost every day at school, hadn’t she? Well, from a distance, at least. Their paths rarely crossed directly. But still, it wasn’t new. Except...it was.
This was their first ti together in three years, three long years since that disaster.
The mory flickered in her mind, unwanted but persistent, like an old wound she’d never quite managed to heal.
She sighed heavily, sinking further into the water until only her nose and eyes were above the surface. If only I’d said no to Mom, she thought bitterly.
It was unnecessary to overthink this. She would survive it. Just seven days.
How hard could it be? Seven days stuck in the sa space as her ex-best friend.
Ex-best friend. The term felt like sandpaper against her thoughts.
Laz had been so much more than that once. But now? Now he was a stranger who occupied far too much real estate in her mind.
She groaned and sat up, water cascading off her shoulders as she reached for the towel. No more wallowing. She’d get through this week, even if it killed her.
As she toweled off, a stray thought snuck in. What would her stalker think if he knew she sotis imagined him as Laz? Or worse, what would Laz think?
The idea made her stomach churn. She hated how often her mind blurred the lines between the two, but she couldn’t help it.
There were monts when Laz’s smirk and the stranger’s piercing gaze felt interchangeable, though she knew one was real and the other was a fignt of her paranoia.
Stepping out of the tub, she took extra care wrapping her hair into a ssy bun, ensuring it covered the burn she’d accidentally given herself earlier.
The mory made her wince. Maybe she really would need to cut her hair now. Another groan escaped her lips as she imagined the disaster that would be.
Dressing was a quick affair. She pulled on a snug baby pink tank top and comfortable sweatpants, opting for practicality over style. The soft fabric felt comforting against her skin, though it did little to quell her nerves.
Her gaze fell on the tiny bottle of lip gloss sitting on the vanity.
Its shimr caught the light, reminding her of the ti her stalker, ugh-not- Laz, had once swiped it across her lips with an infuriating smirk. The mory sent a shiver down her spine.
Biting her lip, she unscrewed the cap and carefully applied it.
The glossy sheen brought out the natural blush on her cheeks, and for a brief mont, she smiled at her reflection. It wasn’t so bad.
Hopping off the stool, she left the room that had been decorated entirely to her mother’s tastes.
The overly floral, depressingly pink décor scread Evelyn, but Frida found it suffocating. She couldn’t wait to escape.
The scent from the kitchen hit her like a freight train, halting her steps.
Her stomach growled audibly, and she groaned in response. "OMG, that slls good," she mumbled, practically drooling.
Leon chose that mont to stroll past her, chuckling at her expense. "Geez, Frida, hold it in," he teased, his grin wide and playful.
"Shut up," she snapped, her cheeks heating as she followed the enticing aroma. Her stomach growled again, louder this ti, and she quickened her pace.
The scent was divine, sweet and rich with a hint of cocoa. Freshly baked red velvet cupcakes. Her favorite.
She stopped short, peering through the small gap in the kitchen door. Her breath caught as her eyes landed on the scene inside.
The grand, pristine kitchen was a vision of perfection, all marble countertops and state-of-the-art appliances. But none of that held her attention.
No, her focus was entirely on the man standing at the center of it all.
Laz.
He stood with his back to her, stirring sothing on the stovetop.
His white shirt was unbuttoned at the bottom, revealing far too much skin, golden and slick with a faint sheen of sweat.
The sculpted lines of his pecs and abs were on full display, each muscle taut and defined like a work of art.
An apron hung loosely around his waist, sohow making the whole scene more intimate.
Frida’s pulse quickened as her eyes drifted to the tray of cupcakes cooling on the counter.
Laz picked one up with a practiced ease, a slow, deliberate motion that made her mouth go dry.
He swirled frosting onto it with a skill that seed almost absurd.
Each swirl was precise, like he’d done this a thousand tis before.
Then, as if to torture her further, he raised the cupcake to his lips and took a slow, deliberate bite.
Frida’s knees wobbled.
She swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away.
His tongue darted out, licking the frosting from his fingers, and she felt a faint, embarrassing sound escape her throat.
Her awe was broken when his voice, deep and rich like dark velvet, filled the air. "Wanna taste?"
Her heart stopped.
His dark grey eyes locked onto hers through the small opening in the door, and she felt like a deer caught in headlights.
Her breath hitched, her pulse hamring in her ears as she struggled to find her voice.
Before she could respond, Laurel swept past her with an air of practiced grace.
"Yes, dear, why not," she said smoothly, plucking a cupcake from the tray. She took a bite, humming in satisfaction.
Frida’s cheeks burned with embarrassnt. She turned on her heel, nearly sprinting out of the kitchen as her mind raced.
Her chest heaved as she stumbled into the hallway, gasping for air. "Fuck this," she muttered under her breath.
This was going to be a really long week.
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