12: Yvette

When I went to Mrs Jones's house last week, or when I grabbed his hand at the club, I didn't realise the ink on his left arm. Perhaps I was too intimidated by his bulky appearance that I missed it.

I like seeing him in that suit. But to compare him with the checklist I have of the guy I'd like my boyfriend to be, uhmm let's just say I don't like tattoos and too muscle-y guys. It's like all they do is go to the gym and be bad-ass.

And please drop the attitude, you're not the only handsome and rich guy in this world. Can't you be a little bit humble? Or friendly? It doesn't cost you a cent to at least talk to me when we're sitting next to each other during the three hours brunch. It will only cost you time and your deep sexy voice, sir.

Which by the way, your house is ahhh-mayyy-zing! It's painfully clean that I keep on checking the floor if I accidentally leave crumbs or something, and is beyond sterile (if that's even possible) as everything is so white and shiny. And sharp.

And o