Sean Maurice.
"Sometimes I can't tell if he gets his taciturn nature from his father or me." I roll my eyes at my mom's takeaway from the entire two hours yap of phone-call.
I'm lying on my stomach, but my bed is more sunken than usual because Ivory is sprawled on top of me, and Fatima is on top of her. Thankfully, they are both light-weights, so I can still manage to get some air in and out.
"Mom, you're supposed to side with me!" I complain, my voice taking on that tone that indicates I mean business— because I do.
"Celyn, girl, it couldn't be you. You're the only interesting 45 year old alive." Fatima says, her British accent never missing a beat.
I attempt to push them off me, but that's vainly, Ivory is pinning me down, her hands gripping tightly onto the mattress. "I'm really gonna kill you with suffocation if you don't fucking text him back, you cunt!" She grits, pressing her jaw deep into my shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise later.
"Ow! Get off me this instant!"
"Sean-ey, baby, he sounds like a lovely boy with very good manners who could add some excitement to your uptight life, why not just give him another chance?"
"Mom, for the hundredth time, I think he's creepy and could potentially be serial killer! Why is no one listening to anything I'm saying?"
"Because that's my best friend you're talking about, and there's nothing creepy about a Fruppuccino and a photo of his first love." Arman's voice comes from the door step, as he walks in, and I bet he's wearing a toothy grin, because it's not Arman without his signature smirk.
They're supposed to be here in my hotel room for a sleepover— one I had been firmly against for obvious reasons. but they promised they wouldn't do anything abnormal or force me to take part in anything I really didn't want to do. I should know better than to trust this particular group of people by now.
"Uh, there are a hundred things wrong with that! How else do you explain mixing coffee with vodka and fruits if not as an attempt to get me drunk, and tie me to a vintage chair in the middle of nowhere where he shreds me off bit by bit?"
"Fantastic. That's what I would call it. Because I've had Jeremy's Fruppuccino like a million times, and I end up more sober than tipsy. And for the record, I think Sean likes it."
I gasp, pained. "Blasphemy!"
"I agree," Fatima chimes in. God damn Fatima. "You do have a habit of complaining most about the things you really enjoyed. Isn't that right, Ivy?"
"Never been more right. Oh, I think Sean's scared!" Ivory says, and everyone hums in agreement, including my mother all the way from Michigan.
I scoff, laughing out what little comes out of me. "What have I got to be scared of?"
"Maybe the fact that he's incredibly rich... like billionaire-level, owns Le pari, and is a contributor to many successful companies' kind of rich. You do have an unbending hatred for rich people." Ivory adds.
"Yes, and those eyes... they're strikingly beautiful. And that body? Greek God— oh my God, he's perfect— too perfect. Sean's insecure; maybe he's scared he'd make beautiful Jeremy fall for him, and he'll end up falling harder." Fatima say, her insufferable self electrified with mischief.
I scoff even harder, and louder, attempting to chime in, but Arman beats me to it. "I think it's the sex... Sean, we all know you'd been on a dry spell for so long now. Maybe you are scared Jeremy might just be one hell of a good ride, you'd never be able to stop thinking about sex with him."
"Oohhh.." they all hum in unison. Arman has always had a knack for saying things he shouldn't. And what's even more terrifying? His British accent makes whatever he says stick and haunt you for a long time.
"Or... ah!" My mother gasps suddenly, "Sean-ey, are you on birth control?"
They all burst into a fit of laughter, leaving me too mortified to think of any other solution that might end this madness.
"Fine! Fine! I'll text him back."
"Really?" Ivory and Fatima finally jump off me, air rushes into my lungs, bringing me back to life.
"I'm a man of my word," I choke out, sitting up on the bed.
"Oh, baby, I'm so proud of y—"
"Bye, mother; thanks for nothing." I press the red button so hard that my finger aches.
I throw Ivory's phone to Arman, and he catches it. Great reflexes. I send a frown in Ivory's direction. "Report my dating life to my mom one more time, and we're done!"
"I swear on The Godfather II." She jollies to my side, finally handing my phone back to me. Her grin of victory is so wide it could cut through glass, but then a whine interrupts from my other side.
"Arman! Stop fucking breathing down my neck!" Fatima grits.
"I have to see. Why are you being so too much all of a sudden? You were such a nice little sister until you arrived to New York." He retorts.
"That's because I needed to fly first class, dummy. You know I hate you on every other day."
"I hate you even more!" He chokes on that. Yeah, he does that when he's lying.
I exchange a look with Ivory, who's still grinning like a fool, "How are you marrying that?" I ask, not even trying to hide my disbelief.
"Shut up, and focus on cracking your head for the perfect reply." I shake my head at that, whatever would made them think I needed to come up with something perfect is beyond me.
I finally slide into his random message, which came only after three hours after our date. That alone is something to find creepy.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Hi, this is Jeremiah Colchester. we met on a date earlier... Café Le pari might ring a bell. I had a lovely time with you today. (That's actually untrue, it's been the best my day's been in a long time.) I was wondering if you'd like to do this again sometime.
I shake my head. Maybe he is all that— not in a good way.
ME: Your café. Wednesday. 1:00 pm. Does that work for you?
"You sound like my professor." Fatima.
"I sound like myself."
His reply is instant, as if he's been poised over his phone the entire time.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Copy. Works fine for me.
"Aww, he's super sweet," Arman says.
"You're gross. Get off me." Fatima remarks.
He's in Ivory's arms before I can blink, "I like you gross, baby." She says.
"Me too." He responds, biting his lip in an attempt to be sensual.
I make a retching face and point to my door, "Out, everyone. Sleepover is officially cancelled."