“Be careful!” I yelled over the loud music Justin was playing. He was currently standing on a chair painting the walls of our new bedroom. We just moved into a new home, and we were making a few changes to the house. Painting walls was one of them. “How on earth did we manage to get paint all over ourselves?” I said looking down at my paint covered overalls. Justin was lost in the music, painting to the beat of his own song.
The song stopped and Justin hopped off of the chair. “You know,” he started. “You have a little paint riiiiight there.” He said coming close, wiping a streak of paint across my cheek. “I know you didn’t just do that!” I said in shock. “And what if I did?” He teased. “Well…"I said walking over to the paint bucket, picking up a paint brush. “I guess I would just have to get you back.” I said brushing a coat of paint across his forehead.
“You didn’t!” He said as equally shocked as I had been. “Oh but I did.” I said with a huge smile. “Oh it’s war.” He said running toward his roller. I took off out of the room and down the hallway. “Ohhhh Y/N. where are you?” I heard him taunt. I stayed quiet hidden behind the sofa. I didn’t hear him come up behind me. “Boo!” He said causing me to jump. “Oh my god!” I yelled. He crouched down attacking me with kisses. “Payback sucks!” He said still kissing me. “I like this payback.” I said laughing. “I bet you’ll like this even more.” He smirked removing his shirt.
“I know what I’m doing, hey! Step away from the stove.” Justin said as he walked toward me with the knife in his hand. “What?” I said as I turned around and saw him pushing pieces of veggies around with it. “You know there’s a spoon right there?” I said crossing my arms and raising one eyebrow. He looked over at me rolling his eyes.
“Chef Bieber is pretty freaking awesome.” He commented 20 minutes later as he shoved a forkful of his “organic” chicken breast in his mouth. No I was the one rolling my eyes. “You pushed a few veggies around and all of a sudden you’re Chef Bieber?” I questioned. “I also chopped them up.” He retorted. “All of a sudden.” I said laughing.
“I need a ‘kiss the chef’ apron to wear so you can kiss me every time I cook.” He smiled. “Then I guess you’re never getting kissed because you never cook.“I said laughing as I turned into the kitchen with a stack full of plates. “Don’t hate on me Y/N.” he said sticking his tongue out.