The rich kid with a perfect life is challenged to make the bad boy with a bad temper fall in love with him - and things get messy when he finds himself enjoying the little imperfections this brings in his life.
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-Nic-
I immediately regretted everything after I had dropped Jax off and headed to the tailor. It took me a moment to notice I was squeezing the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white, and my jaw was so clenched it hurt my teeth. I took a few deep breaths as I sat in a red light, trying to relax my body, but the second I had to focus on driving, it started all over again.
And too soon, the shop came to my view. I parked the car close by, turned off the engine, and just sat there staring at a random car parked in front of me.
I didn't want to go.
To make things worse, I spotted my dad's car pulling up. I watched it, wondering if he'd notice me if I left. Even if he didn't, he'd soon realize I wasn't coming, and would flood my phone with calls... My stomach twisted at the thought of it.
I just had to get this over with. The sooner, the better.
With a deep breath, I got out of the car when Dad was getting out of his. He noticed me but didn't greet me or anything. He just walked to the shop like I was just a random guy. I fucking hated to admit it, but... it hurt.
I gritted my teeth together, took another deep breath, and followed him. By the time I reached the shop, Dad had already stepped in. I forced myself to open the door.
"Ah, Mr. Gabriel! How are you, sir?" the shop owner was greeting my father as I walked in.
"Been better," Dad said, giving me a glance like all his issues were my fault. "My son needs a suit."
"Well, you're in the right place!" The shop owner said with a grin, but my dad gave him an annoyed glance. The shop owner's smile vanished quickly. "U-uh – right this way, sir! My selection is the finest in the entire city!"
I fucking hated it there. Dad said barely two words to me as we went through the suits. He maintained a subtle, disdained expression on his face the entire time, and whatever suits the tailor brought to us, he gave them all a bored look. They were fucking suits. The only difference was the brand on the price tag.
"This is good," I finally said, grabbing a random black one from the pile just to get this over with. "I like this one."
"That piece of trash? Did you even look at the tag?" Dad asked.
"I can assure you, sir, all my suits are made of the world's finest–"
"He just hates the brand because of a stupid little thing," I said, staring at Dad. "A colleague got wasted and rolled down the stairs and the seam broke, is that it?"
"Oh, ah..." the tailor stepped back and fell silent.
"Mind your tongue," Dad only said, and took another suit from the rack. It looked exactly the same as mine. "Here. Try this."
