Novel & Cerita Barbara X Venti

Kent were probably already asleep, and Barbara had gone out with her girlfriends. I went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. I wasn’t drunk, just slightly tipsy from the cheap champagne. When I got there, I was startled by what I saw. Barbara, the epitome of class and decorum, was drinking the wine I had gifted her parents straight from the bottle. She wore a robe over her tight dress, her bare feet in contact with the cold floor. Her hair was a mess, and she had mascara running down her face. "Barbara, what’s wrong?" I asked. Even slightly drunk, I clearly was the most composed one.

It took something like a cold, soothing drink after that man had made her feel suddenly chaotic. *** Moreau had just stepped into the kitchen, but was slightly startled by her mother's presence. Barbara was occupied with the need to sip a glass of Sangria—a red wine base mixed with various fruits and fizzy drinks. She was sitting at the dining table, cell phone in hand. It was a scene that did not quite leave one with the conclusion of being interested in starting a conversation.

As she turns and walks away my eyes lock onto the suggestive sway of her sexy ass cheeks visible under her stretch pants. I check with my manager, get the okay to start my lunch break early and head over to Starbucks. There is a sense of déjà vu when I see Barbara sitting at the same table Cyn and I sat at on our last visit. She's sipping a drink and there's one on the table for me. "I didn't know what you drink so I got you a caramel latte. I hope it's alright," she smiles. "It's fine, thanks," I say, ignoring the drink as I lean across the table. "What's up? Did Cyn have a change of heart?"

I wanted to prove I could stand on my own. So when the opportunity came, I didn’t hesitate. Last year, my best friend Casper Peralta approached me with the idea for BARBOOM. A high-end bar. A brand. A statement. Something bold and unapologetic, something that would carve my name into the city in neon lights instead of footnotes. I threw myself into it completely, planning every detail, memorizing figures, pitching relentlessly, wearing my parents down little by little until they finally agreed to back me.

I was partially grateful but as I experienced something new, I had only wished, as I always did, that he was here watching me do so. The anticipated drunkenness crept up on all of us way faster than the champagne at the museum did and with that, came non-stop babble about aimless topics like favorite types of bread which somehow led to our honest opinions on sex toys. Nancy went on a tangent about which kind she preferred, letting us and the table next to us know that rabbit vibrators are transcendent, promoting a true self-awakening. Nicolas prefers sourdough. Sometimes Focaccia. Ending the night on dessert, the chef