Our Last Dance

Chapter 14

                               Layla's dream

He lounged on the couch, his body relaxed as he propped himself up on one elbow, his hand cradling his head. I attempted to capture him on paper, my pencil dancing across the page, but alas, my artistic skills failed me, and his features ended up resembling a mere stick figure.

"Do you remember when we first met? You were quite the meanie back then, and I made a solemn promise to myself never to engage with you," he said, a chuckle escaping his lips. Annoyed, I shot him a glare, my pencil pointing accusingly in his direction.

"Ah, the epitome of male behavior," I replied, my tone light. "You instigated the whole thing, then somehow, you perceived me as the mean one just because I gave you a hard time," I retorted, shaking my head in disapproval as I returned to my sketch.

Well, perhaps my account may have been a tad exaggerated. The truth of the matter was, he had asked me a question during an unbearably tedious lecture simply because I happened to be seated beside him. Unfortunately, this landed me in hot water as the professor mistook my response as disruptive and threatened to expel me from the class. Naturally, being my authentic self, I didn't hold back in giving him a piece of my mind.

"What? I was the innocent one there! I asked you a question because I couldn't understand shit, and I asked you because I thought you were smart," he defended himself with a shrug. Then, almost under his breath, he added, "Though I was wrong," as if he thought I wouldn't hear it.

My mouth hung open in disbelief at his insult. In response, I threw my pencil in his direction, aiming for it to just pass by his ear. I didn't actually want it to hit him, but I needed to make my point.

My pencil whizzed by his ear, and he reacted with a dramatic, exaggerated flinch, even though it had missed him by a mile. Dramatic ass.

I scowled at him, folding my arms in mock annoyance. "You've successfully ruined my mood for drawing you. I'm tempted to go find another random guy on the street and ask him to strip for me instead," I said.

He rose and settled into a seated position, crossing his legs.

And without any warning, he caught hold of my feet and gently drew me towards him. My legs ended up naturally encircling his waist since he was sitting with his legs crossed on the couch.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed, a breathy laugh escaping my lips. I instinctively placed my hands on his chest, and in that moment, we were just inches apart.

"Will me growling 'you are mine' just like the guys in your books make your annoyance at me go away?" he said, biting back a smile, though it was clear he was finding this rather amusing.

I bit the inside of my cheek, attempting to stifle a laugh. His thumb continued to circle my waist, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Nope," I replied, a smile forming on my lips. "Those lines are strictly reserved for the dreamy, fictional men." I leaned in closer, circling my hands around his neck, my sketchbook lay forgotten between us.

"And what's your issue with the guys in my favorite books, huh? I'd trade you for them in a heartbeat, love." I mocked him.

Bullshit, I knew there was no way I'd trade him for anyone, not even Cillian Murphy.

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. "Oh, really?" he countered. "So you'd give up all this charm and wit for some ink and paper?" He said with a small smile.

"Well," I replied with grin, "ink and paper don't have thumb circles as enticing as yours." I paused for a moment before adding, "Besides, I'd miss the annoying banter too much."