You groaned as you sat up. Your eyes adjusting to the light from the open curtains. When your (e/c) eyes adjusted, you looked around. You jumped a bit when you saw a familiar face next to you. It was the notorious Gordon Ramsay himself. You couldn't help but gasp at the thought he was inside YOUR house!

      Rubbing your head, memories of last night reoccured to you. You were at a party in your hometown, (y/ht). You saw him there and couldn't resist talking to him. Most were too scared to talk to him probably. The rest were probably wasted as hell. You had a party in a week, yet you didn't really how to cook. So you asked him if he could help you, to your surprise he complied. He even agreed to stay at your house.

       Hesitantly you poked his cheek jokingly calling him a certain nickname. "Gordy.~" Like hell did that wake him up. He looked at you with a questioning face than sat up. Of course he had on a shirt. I don't know what your dirty mind was expecting you pervert. He sighed as he stretched. "Don't call me that (y/n)." He groaned in irritation. "Right need help with you're cooking?" He asked in conformation. With a nod you got out of bed. Of course he followed you to the kitchen.