Breakfast wrapped with clinking plates and satisfied sighs, the three of us migrating to the sunlit living room—plush sectional couches cradling us amid scattered cushions, morning light gilding the coffee table strewn with empty mugs and berry-stained napkins.
I lounged cross-legged in the centre, oversized t-shirt draping loose over my full curves, green skirt hiked playful on plush thighs, socks peeking cute, Bardot ponytail swaying high and tousled—belt nipping my tiny waist accentuating the olive tan glowing warm from recent outdoor shoots.
"Emily, you made us wait for an hour," said Hellen.
I blushed, "I take time, okay? Bathing is like a ritual, which should be perfect. How much time you take to bath anyway?"
"Ten minutes."
"What?! Reyes?"
"Eleven minutes."
Hellen shot a victorious smirk to Reyes, who snarled at her.
Are they seriously competing over this?
