The Proposition. ~Justin Bieber

Chapter 14.

Stiles and Lydia in the photo and the inspiration of this chapter ❤️

Unedited chapter. Wrote it on a plane.

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"Princess, can you just set up the drinks for me?" Jason asks as he places the box near the refreshment table.

"What is it, alcohol?" I ask as he places it on the floor.

"This one is alcohol," he kicks the box softly, "and this one on the left is a box of soft drinks for appetisers and mixes for the alcohol."

"Fair enough," I nod, "are you going to put out finger foods and that stuff?"

"It's not a party babe, it's more of a drink-up," he chuckles and puts his hands on my waist as I look up at his tall frame, "at my drink-ups we always end up ordering pizza anyway so if they want food they can bring."

"Oh," I blush, "that's a better idea. I'm not used to all these things yet."

"Well considering how much I party and drink, you'll get used to it while being my girlfriend." He smirks and pecks my cheek.

I chuckle and tap his chest to let me go so I can continue filling up the refreshment table.

"I'll help," Alfredo smiles and hugs me in greeting, "hey, chicka."

"Hey, Fredo Frog." I giggle and he throws his head back and laughs as everyone around us laughs at the nickname I gave him.

"Nice nickname." He chuckles.

"Thanks," I pop my collar smugly, "made it up myself."

He laughs, "just help set the table, chicka."

"Don't tell me what to do, chico." I smirk at him as his eyes widen and people around us laugh. They're all Jason's friends, some I know personally, some I don't.

"Last I checked, you weren't Latin." He playfully glares at me with a smirk.

"Don't need to be Latin to sass you in your own language." I smirk at him and shortly after I squeal when he zaps my hips. "Don't do that!"

"You needed to be put in place, you bloody American," he playfully swats me, "now bend over and help with these bottles."

I bend down whilst I laugh, "I was born in America but I'm not only American, loser!"

"Then what are you?" He raises his eyebrow with a smug expression.

"Greek and Italian," I say proudly.

"Hm, nice mix." He nods and takes the bottles from me to place them on the table.

"Do you know how many people he roughly told?" I bite my lip.

"No much," he shrugs, "probably like ninety people?"

"Ninety?" I gasp.

"Yeah, not that much." He shrugs, placing more things on the table.

"Not much?" I look at him incredulously. "That's a small drink-up to him?"

"Honey, his drink-ups usually have over one-hundred-and-thirty people." Alfredo chuckles. "This is his type of small."

I shake my head in amazement at how many people my boyfriend interacts with. What he calls small drink-ups I'd call half of my birthday party.

"It's just surprising that he's do it out of nowhere, you know?" Alfredo says as he starts breaking the empty cardboard box. "He usually has a motive for these things."