"And I don't even like you that much. Wait, I do, fuck."

That's what you thought everytime your reoccurring customer came to your nail salon. He was so sweet, so oblivious to how he made you feel. It made you want to hate him, but want to love him at the same time.

He was absolutely living his best life. He was healthy, had beautiful hair, was an artist, and he was gorgeous. He always came to your salon, not because he felt anything for you, but because you had the best service.

He walked into your salon this afternoon, his wavy black hair hanging on his shoulder, bouncing slightly as he walked, holding his tote bag in his hand. You could tell his outfit was expensive. All clad in Versace, Chanel glasses...he was beautiful.

He sat down on the chair infront of your desk, smiling softly.

"Usual, please. Black with red roses." He spoke, that pretty smile still on his face as he tapped his slender fingers on the desk.