32 || Must Date The Chef (VII)

Paul is on his way. He’s five minutes away. 

Why am I nervous? 

He called me babe and I did the same. He ate me out. We fucked on my office’s couch. 

So why am I shaking? 

I pace the length of my living room. A song is playing from the speakers positioned under my television but the lyrics are lost on me. 

My phone rings. I jump. Geez. This is fine. It’s just a date. What if he doesn’t ask me to be his girlfriend? He has to be the one to do the asking. I snatch the phone from the sofa. 

“Hey,” I greet. 

“I’m here,” comes his voice. 

Another wave of dread rolls through me. I clear my throat. “Cool. It’s apartment two.” 

The call ends. I tighten the robe around me and wait. Minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I stalk to the door and open it. 

It’s him. 

It’s Paul in a tux. 

My breath ceases. My gaze trails him from head to t