The World's Potential- f1/Gymnastics

dinner

K.J.H
Angie and I are in the bathroom together, makeup spread all across the counter. I look into the mirror, across at Angie and begin to take mirror selfies with her. This goes on for another 2 minutes, pulling various faces and poses all while giggling away to ourselves. We eventually continue to put on our makeup get ready for the night ahead.

Charles found a restaurant that looked very good when he went exploring while we were on the beach, before the storm. So we decided to book a reservation and eat there for the night. It saves us from having to cook, or worse, let Pierre cook. I look at myself one last time, before heading back into the bedroom and putting on a pair of heels. I stand back up, being a few inches taller than usual and walk over to the full-length mirror and checking my outfit out one last time. Collectively, Angie and I walk downstairs and meet the boys in the hallway.

'woah! you two look amazing' Pierre greets us as he embraces us both in a hug. His strong cologne also meeting us.

'so do you!' replies Angie.

Soon enough, I grab my small handbag and the four of us leave the house. Walking down the street, we all chat and talk among ourselves. I walk with Charles next to me, on the outside closest to the road. We talk a little, mainly about travelling. He tells me that he loves travelling, which is good as it is a huge part of his job, and that seeing new places gives him a bit of peace. His eyes almost sparkle as he's telling me this, they have the same look as he did when he spoke to me about his brothers.

'So, did you enjoy the race, the other week?' he asks, turning to look at me.

'Yes, I did. It was amazing being there and the atmosphere was something else'

'Shame you had to spend it in Alpine. The atmosphere in the Ferrari garage is way better chérie'

'I heard that' Pierre interrupts, pausing his conversation with Angie, causing us all to laugh at his reaction.

'all i'm saying is that if you want to really experience a Formula One race, you have to do it with Ferrari' Charles says defensively, placing both his hands in the air. Pierre rolls his eyes and continues walking with Angie. 

We sit down at our reserved table, a booth in the back to ensure that no potential fans may see us and take photos. Though it's unlikely considering how rural the area is, there is 2 formula one drivers, a famous model and a pro-level gymnast all on one table. I can already see the headlines forming.

Pierre and Charles both ordered some Italian pasta, it looked incredible. While Angie and I both ordered a pizza to share, just as we had done ever since we were little. Waiting for our food, the four of us soon started to talk and become consumed in the conversation.

'I don't even want to think about Rachel at the moment, I'd rather enjoy my time with you guys.'
Pierre says, trying to conclude the conversation we were having about the whole situation going on.

'Pierre' I sigh, he knows what i'm going to say and gives me the 'i know' look. He knows that his girlfriend should be someone he wants to spend all day with, talk about and think about all day. It was clear that something wasn't working.

Our food arrives shortly after and we all begin to eat it, our conversations quieting down. The four of us enjoyed our meals and sitting in each others company.

Shortly after, we all had finished our meals and were now sitting and talking to each other. Just as Angie begins to talk, a familiar song begins to play. She instantly turns to me, a smile broadening across her face. She grabs me by my wrist, and begins to drag me to the small dance floor located in the middle of the restaurant. I turn back to see the boys looking confused but laughing at Angie's confidence.
Waterloo, by ABBA, begins to play more loudly as we enter the dance floor. Still holding onto me, Angie spins me around and twirls me. We used to dance to this song every time she would come to our house in Germany. We would pretend to make music videos to it and choreograph dance routines to it all the time, then force our parents to watch our dances.