🎶 This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
And a hundred percent reason to remember the name🎶
***
This book contains all the entries I submitted for writing...
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"I would never go on that Valentine's date. I'm happy being single. Period!"
That's what I said to my mother whose goal in life is to see her children get married before she dies. Her words, not mine. She even threatened me with canceling my membership at Redrock Private Resort, my go-to place whenever I need to clear my mind, if I don't go on this date.
So here I am, straightening my spaghetti strap black slip dress — I always wear on blind dates with a goal to turn off the guy who agreed to these stupid dates. I flick my hair off my shoulders and saunter toward the table where my date is.
I pull the chair in front of him, startling him and snapping his head up to glance at me. A smirk is ready to greet him but quickly vanishes at the sight of the guy who is on top of my Hated-Persons list this year.
Kannon F*cking Jost.
An acclaimed food critic who gave a negative commentary on my restaurant because of a one-time bad experience with my staff who was going through a rough time at that moment and my head chef being absent due to family emergency. Of course he didn't know that but he had the audacity to say he rated us 0, not even 1 star.
As if he's the nicest guy in here, he stands up to greet me but before he could say anything, I press the buzzer and order an iced lemon tea as well as the most expensive steak. Kannon is looking at me half-surprised half-amused.
"You look beautiful but who pissed in your Cheerios?"
You. "An asshole."
"Uhhh. What did he do?"
"Not that important." I shrug but my mind is already murdering this guy. "So what made you agree on this date?"
"My mother said my date is my type — smart, gorgeous and a bit sassy." His hazel eyes pierce through me, making me shift on my seat. "I guess she's right."
I sit up straight to focus on the hate feeling to die down the warmth that slowly creeps to my body.
"Don't you know me?"
"Of course I do. Willow Robinson, owner of The Rainbow Pig."
He knows me but he acts like he didn't do anything wrong.
No can do, mister.
I stand, pick-up my drink and splash it on his face.
"Ooopppsss! It was an accident." I smirk before I turn to leave.
I barely took two steps when he grabs my shoulder, whirls me around and smashes his lips to mine. I put my hands on his chest to push him but he tightens his hold on me.
I'm...gonna...slap...him.
"Ooopppsss! It was an accident." He even copies my tone, a smug look on his wet face but I can only focus on his thumb which is wiping the iced tea around my lips.
What am I going to do again?
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### Author's Notes ### As a writer of romance stories, I wouldn't miss writing one for the prompt created by Romance profile.
I'm smiling while writing this so I hope you feel it too.
