Aphrodisiac | Rihanna

4

@badgalriri: Oxtail stew... you kidding me?
@badgalriri: Mouthwatering...how do I get a plate?
@badgalriri: Girl lemme get your number I gotta get this recipe

I pursed my lips as I reread the comments Rihanna left on one of my Instagram posts. I hadn't even noticed them there until my brother pointed them out to me, the first domino that led to my being here.

For some reason, I couldn't stop wondering why me. There were plenty of other, more well-known chefs on Instagram and even more actual influencer chefs on there, so it never failed to baffle me.

"You're an influencer too," my sister often told me. I suppose that's the truth, but I couldn't help but feel a clear distinction between me and them. Maybe it was a good ol' case of imposter syndrome but every once in a while, I couldn't stop wondering why I was here.

However, I could already hear my sister's groan if I told her this, and how she'd be ready to metaphorically slap some sense into me. I wouldn't be anywhere without her guidance. Sure, I was close to my brother too. I'd say we had something of a twin connection, but I always was more similar to my oldest sibling. She's the one who helped me find the right camera for what I needed, who taught me how to sound relaxed in front of a camera and how to just unapologetically be me.

Suddenly, a fleeting pop of colour emerging from the corner of my eye brought me back to the present. Turning my desk chair around, I saw Rihanna standing in my doorframe, trying to get a hold of me.

"Sorry," I called out before sliding the Beats down to my neck. "What's up?"

Her smile broadened before she started again. "I was saying, you don't have to stay cooped up in here, you can hang out in the living room, too."

"Oh, thanks, yeah. I'm good though, I have some editing to do," I nodded passively, knowing that I would've given her the same answer even if all I was doing was twiddling my thumbs.

"Editing?" She frowned as if she didn't understand.

"Yeah, my YouTube videos. You know, the ones you said you loved?" I joked.

"Oh," she rolled her eyes. "I didn't realize you were doing both, isn't that a lot of work?" She took the liberty of entering my room and sitting on the edge of my bed, making it so that we were now sitting face to face.

"Not really, I just film whatever I cook for you so that's the easy part. I've never been a big fan of editing, so that never gets more fun but it's part of the job," I shrugged off her worries.

"You know, it's..." My sentence trailed off once I noticed her foot grazing and lingering at my exposed calf with almost too much ease. "It's almost a shame I signed that NDA, I think people would die to know what Rihanna eats in a day," I tried my best to act nonchalantly.

"Oh, they know, they just don't know that they do," she shifted back onto her elbows, taking this as an opportunity to swing her leg over the other, sending her foot trailing all the way up to my knee and away from it. "If you want, I could get you an editor. Maybe it would help your workload?"

I paused, unsure of what just happened. Call me a weirdo, but I usually try my best to avoid rubbing up on others with any of my body parts. Especially for that long, which led me to believe that was far from an accident, but why would someone set out to be this odd?

Looking back up at the woman in my bed, I only then realized I had failed to give her an answer and she was simply staring at me.

"No, I couldn't ask you to do something like that for me," I muttered, probably visibly distracted as I tried to piece together this puzzle.