❦ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ❦
"Why on earth would I stalk you?" He cocks a brow at me.
This cocky fucker.
"How would I know?" This conversation is getting nowhere. It only exhausted and annoyed me.
"You should have checked the road properly before exhibiting the act...
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Like always, my mind could only play out the whole punching him thing because I still didn't do it. I won't even do it.
He just always has a way of showing up. At this point, I don't believe us crossing paths is a coincidence anymore.
I return my eyes from his face which still has a smirk on it, back to my glass which is almost empty.
"Don't call me that." I prompt, running my fingers in a circular motion on top of the glass.
I expect a reply or some kind of response from him, but keeps silent. The feeling I got earlier from when I felt someone's eyes on me grew again and the great need to look back at him rushed through me, so I did.
He isn't smirking anymore, it's far from that. The look in his hazel eyes as he stares at me is intense, almost lustful. I would be lying if I say I don't feel anything.
It's like a surge energy attached with something behind it I can't understand. His eyes travels down my body, sending heat with every trail, causing me to involuntarily press my thighs together.
I have been sex-deprived for the longest time and maybe this is an awakening to what I haven't thought of or worried about in so long.
I mostly suppress my craves with my pink friend.
I decide to ignore the pressing need between my thighs and access him as he stands here, exhibiting perfection.
From his perfect God-given face which doesn't fail to impress and if not intimidate me everytime, to his tanned skin that somewhat glows. I start picking out details I haven't noticed before.
He has on a gold necklace around his neck which is resting on the plain white t-shirt, matching with black jeans and black boots. Almost the same thing he had on earlier today. It's a simple outfit but on his body, it's far from it.
With every passing second, the tension grows thicker and he has not taken his eyes away from me for one second. His eyes lingers on one part of my body and I trace it to my shoulder.
He's staring at my tattoo. I'm in a position where he can easily see them without trying too hard.
It's a bit surprising that despite the lustre-less lighting in the bar, I manage to see him clearly and even point out details.
There's no doubt that this tension that always seems to rise between us is a mere illusion or something else that I've mistaken it for. My body reacting to his gaze is enough proof to know.
And it's been so long since I last felt this way, almost like the feeling was non-existent.
"Is everything okay guys?" We both snap our head to the bartender who has a confused look on his face, looking between us.
