Companion To Paris
Hotel

"It's important" Sandra said, indirectly forcing Paris to open the message. Paris finally looked at her phone. There are four new chats on the notification screen that have not yet opened.

"Sorry."

"You didn't get in trouble because of that plaster?"

"I hope not."

"I promise I won't do that again." The messages all came from Biema. If at the beginning of the chat, this man seemed tempting. In the last few chats, this man actually sent soft sentences.

"Yes." Yeah." Paris replied with two letters. Eventually Paris became a little soft with Biema's soft sentences.

"Maybe I will try another way, so that no trace of it will be imprinted. But you and I still feel good." Next Biema message.

"Sad." Paris screeches. A little scornful of the last message Biema sent him. But this time his lips did not growl. The tip of her lips lifted framing a smile. Paris happy? Seems like. Because he did not stop holding a smile that felt inappropriate. But what power. She was indeed blushing with Biema's words.

Paris replied with emot not caring. He did not want the man to know that he was embarrassed.

God fucking. I must have been hooked on that old man. Why can't I keep my lips from smiling. Not that he said anything strange. Favoring? Substantial. Did I enjoy it, so you know it tastes good?

The look was not the same as the face Sandra saw. Paris was smiling happily. Celebrating the euphoria of his heart silently. That looks ridiculous to Sandra.

"Why are you, Paris? Still healthy, isn't it?" tease Sandra. Paris glanced at Sandra sharply.

"What the hell? Of course healthy. Very healthy."

Elsewhere, Biema breathed a sigh of relief. Biema was already in a fog when her tease was not responded to with any message. I thought Paris was getting angry. So after getting a reply to a message even if it was only two words, Biema started to calm down. Then on a high-level fad he sent Paris another 'straight' message.

Although Paris replied with emot did not care, Biema thought otherwise. He said the girl had been fed the bait. Paris was not angry. Just pretending to be angry. Because if the girl is really angry, she will not reply to messages even with emot.

At that moment Fikar entered the room. Just when Biema was smiling to herself for feeling victorious from Paris. Biema told Fikar to come in with her finger, then the man kept staring at her phone.

"I want to pick her up from school and go home soon." Suddenly Biema spoke like that. But because Biema calls the school, Fikar knows. That Biema meant her little brother, Paris.

"Oh, Paris yes ..."

"really. I think I should go home early." Biema told Fikar about her wish.

"Ahead home? Any more?" Biema. "Don't you get home early?" ask Fikar wonder.

"really. You mind?" tanya Biema looked at Fikar straight.

"Of course not. Please." As a subordinate, of course Fikar could not ban Biema who became his superior. So he had to agree. Biema smiled happily.

At the Paris and Sandra's place chatting.

"I think the guy who took the pictures of me and Biema, engineered the actual photo-taking hours." Paris argues.

"Why?"

"Biema and I were at the door of the apartment not eleven o'clock at night. That's about 6 o'clock. When Biema just got home from work. If it's eleven o'clock, I'm already inside" Paris said with his eyes glancing in the other direction. Looks like he was still in the shadows last night.

"Hm ... Smart people also make rumors. That way people think you're there nights if you look at the time." Sandra understands. Paris nodded. "Trus how did you act about this rumor?"

"As long as they're all slipping and looking at me with disgust and all that, I don't care. Tomorrow is also a test. Waiting to graduate, I won't see them again."

"If you meet them when you graduate, what about? Then they say you're a call woman." Sandra's fear is overrated.

"To the future I just don't care. Since Biema is my husband, then she must trust me more than they do."

"Sister Biema? Kok brother Biema. I'm asking about you."

"Yes I know. He would have understood if I told him the beginning of the rumor. Isn't that all because of Biema herself?"

The waiting time for Biema has arrived, which is the hour to go home from school. The girl had just appeared when Biema had also just arrived. Slowly Paris stepped foot into Biema's car. Before he got to his car, Biema was out of the car. He opened the door for Paris.

"Corny, Paris," Biema said as the girl reached in front of her.

"Siang ...," said Paris reluctant to look up. Not because of anger. This man just kept looking at her with sparkling eyes. Paris was unable to accept the glittering glare of those eyes. After closing the door, Biema returned to the car.

The confidence of school children is growing. Biema who got out of the car was in the spotlight. From the suit Biema wears, explaining that the man is the same as the man in the hot gossip all over the school.

"Where do you want to go, Paris?" ask Biema in the car.

"home."

"Don't want to go anywhere else?" fresh Biema.

"Tumben once you want to take me somewhere else. Usually go home."

"I want to please you." Biema looked to the side for a while and then looked forward again.

"Whatever." Paris looked out at the street. Lean on the car wall.

"On the message ...."

Paris gasped in shock at hearing Biema discuss that. "T-no. Ignore my messages. I just misdelivered. Misspend." Paris immediately turned to Biema and gave clarification regarding the message he sent without thinking.

"Misrongly sent?" Biema. "How is that possible?"

"Of course it's possible. I'm upset because this non-grade plaster of yours. Until I finally got myself to sleep." Paris pointed towards the plaster around her neck furiously.

"Pink? As I recall I gave you a plaster in brown."

"Sandra gave me. It replaces your ugly plaster" Paris said, reclining on the body of the car seat.

"Yes. I was wrong." Biema chose to give up and admitted wrong. "Where are we going? I didn't go back to the office today. I leave it all to Fikar. Nothing important, so I'm free to go out."

"Whatever."

"Then we go to the hotel," Biema suggested.

"Hotel?" ask Paris with a dag-dig-dug no excuse.

"Yes," Biema replied steadily. Paris squeezed his own hand out of the fret that attacked him.

Why did this guy take me to the hotel? Biema's going to do another method there, now? Perverted thoughts attacked him.

Aargh! Why have I been so perverted lately?! Must be because of this guy.

The car drove to the big road. Go to the hotel that Biema chose.

Czechoslovakia!

Click!

The photo that was just created was sent directly to someone by the photographer.

"So they play it to the hotel too ... Whoa, whoa. If this does not need to be engineered as well, they are really 'playing'," said Priski.