Lovebirds

twenty-one

She prayed that Rayan was so drunk that he didn't remember her confession.

Her words replayed in her head until a rosy ember tinted her cheeks and she felt the heat crawl up her body, slow and sensual, and she remembered his baritone voice, the way it sent a jolt of electricity to shoot along her nerves. Naira shook her head of such thoughts.

Relax. He was drunk and delusional. He won't remember a thing. That's how alcohol work.

Then again, that alone was a faulty theory.

She heaved a tired breath, walking into the dance studio where the boys would be. After she confessed, Rayan could barely walk, falling against her car with a terrible urge to puke. She did the right thing by dropping him off at their complex where the rest of the band took care of him as she left the night behind her.

Love, she thought with a sanguine smile. How could I be so silly?

Perhaps it was better for Rayan to believe last night was a dream, a figment of his imagination. It would relieve the pain in his chest and stop Naira from indecent thoughts. She would never betray Islam for the warmth of a man. There were no ties, no promises between them, so how could she expect anything? She was out of her mind.

"Good morning," she said, placing her purse on a nearby desk before she turned to the boys. Their sleeping forms greeted her. "Seriously, guys?"

Loud snores responded to her, idle and far away from the work they had to do.

Wesley and Kyle were passed out on the floor, sleeping soundly as the stillness grew in the room. Rayan sat on the window sill, deep in slumber with his head resting against the border behind him. They were so far gone that they didn't hear her walk in, let alone speak.

This is ridiculous.

Naira grabbed her phone, pulling out an app that mimicked sirens, and pressed it until the splintering sound of danger infiltrated their sensitive ears.

"Holy fuck!" yelled Kyle as he rolled onto the ground, covering his ear. "I swear I'll be good!"

"You dumbass, it's just Naira," groaned a sleepy Wesley, rubbing his eyes. His usually tamed black hair was sticking up in all directions, bags under his eyes. "What time is it?"

Rayan fished for his phone in his pockets. "Time for work apparently," he muttered.

Her hand rested on her hip, a frown on her lips. "Why the hell are you still sleeping? You were supposed to be practicing," she scolded.

Kyle mumbled to himself before glaring in Rayan's direction. "Well that one decided to get drunk."

"And make a mess around the apartment," added Wesley as he tried to fix his hair. "It took a while to get everything cleaned up."

When her gaze traveled to the man in question, he looked away, arms crossed as he leaned against the window sill. His eyes stared into the daylight, coffee-colored skin as cold as the aura that surrounded him. She couldn't read his expression, couldn't meet his gaze.

It was like he chose to ignore her.

A stab of pain shot through her chest. The weight of what she had done burdened her shoulders, but she knew that repeating her confession would only hurt them more. He was too drunk, and it was better if the past remained in the past.

With a tight smile, she turned to the rest. "How about you guys freshen up?" she said. "We can start a little late today."

At this, Kyle gasped in an exaggerated manner, a playful glint in his brown eyes that sparkled with jest. "Whoa, did you bang your head on the way here, manager?" he joked as he grinned at her. "It's a hell of a miracle if you say we can start late."