Chapter 21: Chapter Eleven-2

And then in that peaceful moment, as I fall asleep watching Lee with the fire crackling brightly, I realized that I had completely fallen for a rich asshole. The next morning, I wake by the smell of bacon and eggs. On a normal day, I would’ve slept in just a bit more because Mom would always leave me some for when I woke up. But Mom isn’t here, its only Lee. And because it’s Lee—my current possibly crush—I jolt awake. My hair immediately sticks out in every way possible. Thanks, morning hair. I bet Lee just would love to see me like this, I think sarcastically. I bring my hand up to my mouth. My breath stinks. I never did get how girls just woke up and talked and kissed their boyfriends. I mean, unless you sleep with gum in your mouth, I’m pretty sure nobody wakes up with fresh breath. Before doing anything else, I rush to the bathroom and brush my teeth and comb through my hair. When my hair refuses to remain decent, I throw it up in a bun and check my face before walking to the kitchen casually—like I just woke up. “Finally, you’re awake!” Lee’s moving the pan around and stirring when I walk in. His hair is in every direction—very messy—but it looks natural on him. It actually looks better on him. He’s still in my dad’s clothes—which he’s pulling off pretty well—and by the looks of it, he’s making breakfast. I fake a yawn and stretch my arms to try to look cute. But the plan backfires. “Ow!” My back aches, just like Lee said it would. “Your back too?” Lee says, placing the scrambled eggs and toast into a plate. “I swear, something’s wrong with your sofa. It’s no different to hard, cold cement surface.” He sets his plate and sets one for me on the dining table. “You made breakfast?” I say. “Yeah,” Lee grins, taking a seat. I hesitantly take a seat. “I mean, of course I know how to cook. You saw last night. I’m always alone in my apartments and places, so I taught myself how to cook. I’m always moving around for business, I should at least know how to cook. Take-out gets real sickening.” I pick at my food—just in case he poisoned it—before eating it. It’s actually really good. Even Mom doesn’t make the eggs so fluffy and the bacon so crispy. “It’s good.” “I know,” Lee responds, smirking. He takes a bite of his food. “So, the blizzard’s almost completely stopped. The roads are being plowed. I think we can get going today. The bash is in a couple of days. Don’t forget our purpose.” And in less than a second, he’s already into his business-like tone. “Well, I’m all ready to go. I packed already.” I crunch on the bacon. I love bacon. “But, we might want to check the driveway and your car. I mean, it snowed at least over two feet.” “I’ll go get shoveling. You get everything ready. Oh yeah,” Lee gets up and disappears before running back, “here.” He hands me a packet of papers. “What’s this?” I ask. I take the packet as I put down my fork. Running through the pages, I catch a few glances at the words. Say hello. Greet, shake hands—ask polite questions. “A script. Your script.” “A script? Why would I need a script?” “Well, for instance, I notice that you like to surprise me,” Lee says. “I followed your plan, and you ended up throwing in a big statement to the news saying we’re together. If I don’t make you a script—with strict instructions—who knows what you will do?” I grin sheepishly. “Don’t worry. What else could I do that could run our situation down even deeper?” “You could—you know what? I’m not even going to say anything so I don’t give you any ideas.” Lee puts his plate in the sink and turns back to me. “Memorize the script. I’ll go get the car ready. Be ready in at least an hour.” “Roger that.” I finish up my breakfast, too. I spend the next hour or so grabbing all my bags and all the things I need. I’m in jeans, a baggy sweater, and a thick jacket with a red scarf around my neck and the hood of the coat enclosing my head. I go over the script over one last time. I’m pretty sure I have almost everything covered: who the people are, how important they are, what I should say to them. If it weren’t for the fact that Lee basically had the right to sue me for the incident at the hotel, I would’ve actually had fun at his birthday bash. Suddenly, the door opens, letting a cold draft in and some snow. Lee’s standing there—shovel in one hand—and completely shivering. “Come on! Before the snow picks up speed again!” I nod quickly and stuff the script inside my jacket before grabbing my suitcase and running outside—making sure to lock the door first. The pathway is shoveled so it’s not that hard to get to Lee’s car. I almost slip a few times, but I catch myself. I throw my luggage in the trunk—no thanks to Lee who just gets in the car—but I let it slide because he did shovel everything. And then it occurs to me that I’ve never been in Lee’s car. My excitement reaches to another level. At first, I was excited to be going on a road-trip with Lee alone. But to also know that we’re going to be traveling in a luxury car? That’s just epic. I open the passenger door to his car and hop in, the fans blowing warm air into my face. Of course, his car is a Mercedes Benz. “A Mercedes Benz S class?” I ask as I put my seat belt on. “Nice.” Lee looks like a marshmallow under his layers and layers of clothing. I gave him all my dad’s clothes that fit him. I didn’t want him to freeze again. “How do you know exactly the name of this car?” He starts up the car and slowly goes down the road—careful of the slippery roads. “Well,” I say, “when I was about sixteen, I did all this research about cars because Mom promised me if I passed my driver’s test she would chip in some money to get me a decent car. That’s why I know so much.” “Interesting,” Lee says. “Why?” “Most girls around that age usually search up famous brands of makeup and what type of clothes you should wear—but here you were, learning about cars.” Lee’s grinning now, clearly amused. And then I say the oldest corny line in the book. “I’m not most girls.” Lee starts laughing and I join him. In love stories, the boy always compares the girl to most girls and she always replies with the same line. The drive goes pretty smooth. I mostly eat the bags of food I brought ninety-percent of the time. Lee puts on some classical music—which sounds pretty okay—and keeps his eyes focused on the road. At some point, it gets quiet and we just talk. We talk about our lives, hobbies, ourselves. It almost feels like a date… except it’s not. I don’t even realize but I think I actually start falling for Lee. I learn about his habits—scratching his chin when he’s nervous, running his hands through his hair when he’s frustrated—and how he hates seafood. I learn about how he had to have a private tutor while taking over the business because he dropped out of college to run the business. We don’t talk about his father. I stay away from that topic. I stay away from prying too deep into his life that it’s too annoying. Before any of us knows it, we’re in New York again.