I'm going to work at that bar starting from the next week. Which means I have less than 7 days - don't make me count.

The last time I mixed a drink was over a year ago which gives me anxiety. I need to practice before I go there and make a fool out of myself.

And for practicing I need equipment. Did I spend money on buying a shaker set just so I could practice a few cool tricks at home? Yes, I did. Did I also buy a gym membership on my way back? Absolutely. I didn't build an ass to let it shrink.

I spent more money and time than I thought I would, but I got home by afternoon. I knocked on the door, waited for over 30 seconds, knocked louder - waited for another 30, and decided to ring the bell. Apparently they heard the doorbell and didn't hear my absurdly loud knocks.

I was frustrated cause I had to wait for more than a minute for them to open the door. But you know what? Seeing that George opened it with wet hair fixed everything. I'm such a slut for him, holy shit.

"Wow," he looks me up and down, "come in."

Did he just wow me? Thank you, God for blessing me with makeup skills to cover up the flaws you gave me. Amen.

Back to the topic.

"Your hair looks-" I start the compliment but don't have the balls to finish it, "wet."

I see the stupid smirk on his face from trying to hold back a laugh. And when I sigh and shake my head, he finally laughs. I have no other choice but to laugh as well.

"Thanks, I used water," he continues laughing, "yours looks pretty though," he's saying what I wanted to say and couldn't.

I put my bags on the floor, take off my heels and drop down a bit from his height level. He looks good from this angle too.

"Thank you," I smile, "that's what I meant when I said wet."

I know that I didn't need to clarify that for him to know what I meant cause I make everything so painfully obvious, but it made me feel lighter. He probably knows by now that I'm crushing on him even though it's only been 2 days. My brain and heart haven't matured one bit since middle school when I used to fall in love 3 times a week.

His eyes catch the reflective metal shaker I brought back with me along with a few other tools. He's intrigued by them but doesn't ask anything just yet. He waits until I grab the said bag and try to take it to the kitchen.

"Are you gonna make drinks?" He raises a brow.

"I got a job at a bar, it's for practice," I explain, "I'm not gonna make drinks."

Even though I forgot almost half of the recipes I used to know, I don't think that's the hardest part to remember. I think I'm gonna concentrate on the shaking techniques for now. I'm not gonna waste my time learning how to flair, I just want to bring back the muscle memory of shaking and pouring with style so that I don't break bottles or get muscle cramps halfway through the night.

"That's so cool," George truly does sound impressed, "I'll pay you a visit one day."

I call that a motivation to start practicing.

And I practice. For almost a week. All I do is go to the gym, come home, eat the food they ordered, shake water and ice in the kitchen until they get annoyed by the sound.

Throughout the week I understand that living with them is beneficial. Because they feel guilty that I'm the one who paid the rent, they constantly buy food for us. They also fixed the heating problem which I could never do on my own, they're nice to me (not Clay) and I like the company. I don't tell them that though, I'm scared that if I do, they will become parasites. As of now, we're more like that thing we learned from biology. Synapses? Or was it symbiosis?

I'm listening to music and practicing a few throws when Nick snaps his fingers to get my attention. It's the third time in one hour he's asked me to stop the noise cause he wants to stream and the walls are not soundproofed.

"I'm going to work today, you can stream when I leave," I continue making a ridiculous amount of noise with my shaker.

"What time?" He pouts.

"From 10 p.m. to 6 a.m.," I smile, knowing that he won't stay up at that time to stream.

"Oh c'mon.." he looks and sounds like an unsatisfied kid.

Now I'm about to pull my favorite sentence on him. Even though I don't mean it, it's still fun to keep them alert and obedient at all times.

"You're moving out soon anyway, you'll stream as much as you want."

I see his face drop.

"You can.. you can shake... I'll just- I'll stream at night, no biggie," he looks so scared, "I don't think all 500 of my viewers will be asleep at that time."

"Yeah, exactly," I smile and continue. I wasn't this mean a week ago, living with Clay has taken a toll on me.

Speaking of Clay. He sleeps like 15 hours a day, only wakes up to eat, plays a block game the rest of the time and goes to the gym. And to mention, it's the same gym I go to, but I workout in the mornings and he works out in the evenings. So that's a symbolism too. Or was it symbiosis?

Throughout the whole week, we have only exchanged a few sentences - both being me telling him to free my room and him smacking his mouth from annoyance. His gaming setup is in my room, which is also his room- it's our room.. let me explain.

My clothes and belongings are in that room, but I can't stand the creaky bed, so he sleeps there and I sleep on the couch. I still change and do my makeup in that room, so it's safe to say that we share that room. It's like sepsis- symbiosis, sorry.

And I'm about to kick him out of the room again, cause it's 9 p.m. and I need to get ready to go to work. I feel a bit bad cause he's concentrated on that block game and I've seen him rage a few times because of it already.

Who cares, I'm not scared of him.