Amarra's POV
I woke up with a pounding headache and a rumbling stomach. As I slowly opened my eyes, I realized something was off—I wasn’t alone in my bed. Confusion crept in as I blinked my eyes open fully, only to find Wayne lying beside me, his arm tucked under my head like a pillow. His breathing was steady, deep, and he looked so peaceful in his sleep.
My heart skipped a beat as I took in the sight of him up close. His eyes were shut, long eyelashes resting gently against his cheeks. I noticed the small mole on his pointed nose and his slightly dry lips, parted just enough to let out soft breaths. The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow on his face, causing his brows to furrow slightly in his sleep.
I swallowed hard, feeling a mixture of emotions as I watched him so closely. Part of me was questioning how on earth he ended up in my bed, but another part of me didn’t want to wake him, didn’t want to disrupt this rare, serene moment. I started to move away slowly, trying not to disturb him, but before I could get far, his free hand slid around my waist and pulled me closer to him.
His warm hand grazed the skin of my waist where my shirt had ridden up, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine. The sudden closeness, the feel of his hand on my skin, made my breath hitch. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, his grip on my waist firm yet gentle, as if he was subconsciously holding on to something precious.
My hand, almost as if it had a mind of its own, reached out toward his face. His bangs had fallen across his forehead, covering his eyes, so I gently brushed them aside. My fingers lingered, tracing the path from the center of his furrowed brows down the bridge of his nose. The skin beneath my fingertips was warm and smooth, and as I continued downward, my heart began to race.
When I reached the tip of his nose, I hesitated, my hand hovering just above his lips. I paused, suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, my breath catching in my throat. His lips, slightly parted in sleep, were so close now, and I could feel the warmth of his breath against my fingers.
I looked at him carefully, studying the peaceful expression on his face, the way his brows had relaxed after I touched them, the softness of his features in the early morning light. A rush of emotions swirled within me—confusion, longing, and a sense of vulnerability that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
He suddenly opened his eyes, and I immediately pulled my hand away, turning my face toward the ceiling as my heart pounded in my chest, threatening to burst open.
"Good morning," he greeted me, his voice hoarse from sleep. I caught a glimpse of him in my peripheral vision as he rubbed his eyes, looking endearingly disheveled. Taking advantage of the moment, I quickly got up from the bed and started walking away, needing distance to collect myself.
"Where's my reply?" he asked, his tone casual but with a hint of expectation, as if he’d been waiting for something. I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice, and without turning to look at him, I responded,
"Good morning," before hastily leaving the room.
As I closed the door behind me, I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the frantic beating of my heart. Shaking my head, I tried to dispel the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. I took a few more steps, walking toward the kitchen, where I grabbed a pitcher of water, poured myself a glass, and drank it in an attempt to calm down.
"You should have hot coffee instead of a cold drink," his voice suddenly filled the kitchen. Startled, I turned around to find him leaning against the doorframe, looking surprisingly good despite having just woken up. His hair was tousled, his shirt slightly wrinkled, but he still exuded that effortless charm that made it hard to look away.
"How did...," I struggled to find the words, my voice barely above a whisper, "how come you had to sleep beside me?" I couldn’t muster the courage to meet his gaze, so I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, focusing on his bare feet instead.
"You were the one who begged me to stay," he replied, stepping closer. The proximity sent a jolt of nerves through me, and I instinctively took a step back. He reached for my glass, taking it from my hand, and drank from it. The brief touch of our skin was enough to send a shiver down my spine, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear.
"I... I did what?" I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief. The events of last night were hazy, and I could barely piece together what had happened.
He nodded while taking another sip of water, then casually placed the glass in the sink. "Yeah, you were even crying," he said, his voice serious. His gaze remained fixed on the sink, his expression hard to read as if the memory of last night was weighing on him.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself before speaking again. "Did...," I took a deep breath, bracing for his answer, "did something inappropriate happen last night?"
He turned to look at me, and I caught the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips before quickly averting my eyes to avoid meeting his gaze. My heart raced as I waited for his response, the silence between us growing thicker.
"What do you think?" he asked, his tone teasing, the smirk now evident in his voice.
"I don't think I can do those things when drunk," I said, trying to reassure myself, though a flicker of doubt lingered in my voice. I wanted to believe it, to convince myself that I was in control.
"You're not too sure about that," he replied, still teasing, his voice playful but with an edge that kept me on my toes.
I shook my head, desperately trying to piece together the fragmented memories from the night before. They were scattered, like shards of a broken mirror, hard to put back together. "I'm not so wasted that I wouldn't remember something like that," I said, more to convince myself than him. "So don't try to tease me like that."
"But do you remember when we were in senior high? When you were drunk, you kissed me," he continued, his teasing now laced with nostalgia, bringing up events from 11 years ago as if it were yesterday.
"I was..." I started, searching for the right words to defend myself, though they seemed just out of reach. "I was immature then," I finally added, turning to face him. His expression softened slightly, but his gaze remained intent, locking onto mine with a look that made my heart skip a beat.
His eyes held a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something that made my defenses falter. The way he looked at me, with a blend of familiarity and intensity, made the room feel smaller, the air between us thicker.
I cleared my throat and started to walk away from him, heading towards the pantry to make some coffee. "Do you want some coffee?" I asked, eager to shift the conversation to something less personal.
"Yes, please," he replied, and I heard the sound of a chair being pulled out, indicating that he had taken a seat at the dining table. As I prepared the coffee, I kept my back to him, but I could feel his eyes on me, his gaze almost tangible as it lingered.
"You look thinner now, Amarra. Have you been skipping meals?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
"I'm always like this, Wayne," I replied, trying to brush off his observation as I poured hot water into the two cups. I carried the coffee over to the table and placed one cup in front of him before taking a seat across from him. Now facing each other, the air between us felt charged, but I avoided meeting his eyes, keeping my focus on the steaming cup in my hands.
I cupped the mug, feeling the warmth seep into my palms, watching the tendrils of steam rise and swirl in the air. The silence between us was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions. The weight of his gaze on me was almost too much to bear, but I kept my eyes down, tracing the rim of the cup with my finger as if it could distract me from the intensity of the moment.
The silence between us was abruptly broken by the ringing of a phone. It was his phone, and he stood up from his chair to answer it, walking over to the living area where it lay on the table. I glanced up, watching him as he spoke with the caller. Despite the conversation, his eyes remained fixed on me, an unsettling feeling settling in my chest.
"Yes, hon," he said, his voice warm and affectionate, still directed at me.
"I’ll meet you there, okay. Is there anything you want me to bring? Alright, will do. See you soon. I love you," he continued, clearly talking to my sister. The way he kept his gaze locked on me while uttering those words made my discomfort even more palpable. The casual intimacy in his tone was like a sharp reminder of the complicated emotions between us.
My heart raced, overwhelmed by the mixture of confusion and pain. Trying to steady myself, I looked away and took a sip of my coffee, letting the warmth of the cup briefly distract me from the unsettling situation.