If I Were A Boy (camren)

Chapter Twenty-Five

"And he just swallowed it?"

"Swallowed it whole," Camila nodded, swirling the red wine in her fancy glass that she held. "He didn't even bite into the crayon, it was almost how you would take a vodka shot. Throw it down and hope for the best."

I snorted at her connection and look down into my cup of root beer, "What color was it?"

"Really, Lauren?" Camila stared at me from across the couch. "I'm telling you a story about how one of my students devoured a writing utensil, and you're asking me what color it is?"

"What! Maybe it tasted good because of the coloring," I shrugged and argued against her accusation.

The married woman rolled her eyes at my suggestion, took a sip of her liquid, and continued, "Crayons are basically a stick of dyed wax."

"Well if you dye a cookie, does the cookie taste good?"

"Of course the cookie tastes good! Cookies aren't made out of wax!" 

"They could be," I pointed out before gulping down my entire drink.  "If I were told to make a batch of cookies out of wax, I'd make sure that they would be the best fucking wax cookies the world has ever seen."

"I don't think the world has ever seen wax cookies," Camila smirked as she stood up. "You done with your root beer?"

I nodded and extended my arm out for her to reclaim the glass, "You didn't need to go through so much trouble to get me root beer."

"I knew Austin had his secret stash hidden somewhere," the brunette's smile faded at the mention of her husband's name. She shook her head in attempt to shun it away and took the empty glass from my giving hand, then making her way to the kitchen counter that was similar to mine- visible from the lounging area. "So, yesterday when that boy with the head of curls left. You said he was your client? I hope to god you aren't a prostitute, Laur."

"I'm not that low on the status map, Cabello," I rolled my eyes and relaxed further into the sofa. "I'm an architecture. Brad was a new client of mine."

"He seems" -Camila turned on the sink and paused to think of a descriptive word- "charming."

"He really is," I confirmed as I watched Camila move her wine glass on the corner of the counter top in order to keep it from interfering with her washing duties. "He's attractive too."

Camila didn't look up to make eye contact with me, but I could see her raise an eyebrow as my remark. There was a short period of silence until the girl who once was washing away my root beer remains spoke up, "Speaking on those cookies, would you like to make some? We are running low on some desserts in the apartment."

"Sure, why not," I grinned and rose from my sitting posit on. 

"What kind," Camila leaned against the counter so that her chest fell forward slightly. "Chef Lauren."

"Please, call me Louis," the sentence slipped out of my lips without any warning. I watched the shocked Camila back away from the counter and turn abruptly, knocking the crystal glass from its spot. I couldn't see it, but according to Camila's yelp of pain and additional crash, it had landed directly on her foot and broken into pieces. 

"Holy shit," I ambled quickly towards the woman who was in obvious pain, but she held a hand up in a signal for me to stop.

"Don't. I do not want you stepping over here, there's too much broken glass," she winced with every word. "There's a closet just around the corner. Find a broom, okay?" 

I didn't even reply. I raced throughout the halls of Camila's surprisingly large apartment, opening a total of five closets until discovering the cleaning tool. The broom was tucked under a bunch of sealed boxes that were marked with permanent markers While I bent over to pull it out, I noticed a certain box that was pushed into the way back of the tiny storage room. My eyes glanced their focus away from the broom and tugged at the strange shaped crate.