Rewrite the Rules

Can I have your number?: Part 17

My voice trembled slightly as I spoke, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Have you ever seen the movie Notting Hill?"

Namjoon's forehead creased in surprise, a flicker of confusion momentarily clouding his handsome features. "Yes, of course," he replied, leaning back in his chair.

"I don't remember the exact line," I continued, fiddling with a stray napkin in my lap, "but Hugh Grant's character says something about being in too much danger because of the woman..." My voice trailed off, searching for the specific words.

A teasing smile played on Namjoon's lips. "He says he's in danger of, 'falling in love,'" he finished the quote for me, his voice a low rumble.

"Right!" I exclaimed, a relieved laugh escaping my lips. "Well, that's kind of how I feel, Namjoon. Being around you... it's like being bombarded by a sensory overload. Everywhere I look, there's you – magazine covers, TV shows, music. It's intoxicating, and frankly, a little terrifying. I don't think my heart could handle it."

The playful glint in Namjoon's eyes softened, replaced by a warm sincerity that made my breath catch. "Look," he began, his voice gentle, "I'm not asking you to be a lovestruck teenager. I'm attracted to you, that much is clear. There's a real connection here, a spark I haven't felt in a long time."

I met his gaze, a million unspoken emotions swirling within me. "I can feel it too," I confessed, my voice barely a whisper. "You're incredibly easy to talk to, funny, and..." I hesitated, searching for the right words.

"And what?" he prompted, his hand reaching out to hover tentatively over mine.

"And," I continued, my voice gaining strength, "I don't have another broken heart in me."

The playful smile vanished completely. Namjoon's hand settled gently on top of mine, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through me. "Believe me," he said, his voice low and intense, "you wouldn't be a conquest. You're something different, Emma. Something special."

Said, every player in the world.

The air crackled with unspoken desires, a silent conversation playing out between us. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and for a moment, I was frozen in place. Then, with a sigh that escaped my lips like a bursting dam, I rose to my feet.

"I... I think I should head back to my room," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Namjoon's expression softened with concern. "Are you sure? Can I walk you?"

I hesitated, torn between the thrilling pull of his presence and the cautious voice of reason in my head. Finally, I nodded, a reluctant agreement.

The security guard, ever vigilant, materialized beside us as we stepped out of the room. He cast me a questioning glance, his face etched with a stoic professionalism.

"You'll be here for another five weeks," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection. "Would you like me to leave you tickets for the remaining concerts at the box office?"

The unexpected offer caught me off guard. A glance at Namjoon, who wore a faint smile, confirmed it wasn't a random act. "That's... incredibly kind," I stammered, unsure how to respond.

"I would like to," Namjoon interjected, his voice laced with a quiet determination.

My breath hitched in my throat. This wasn't just an invitation to a concert, it was an invitation to something more. With a shaky nod, I mumbled my confirmation.

We reached my floor in a tense silence, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air. The guard scanned the hallway with practiced efficiency before ushering me towards my door.

"There's one thing," Namjoon spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper. "You know, I don't have a photo of us. Would you mind?"

The request snapped the tension, a welcome burst of normalcy. A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. "Sure," I agreed, a flicker of excitement igniting within me.

He pulled me close, the warmth of his body sending a shiver down my spine. As he snapped a picture with his phone, I couldn't help but steal a glance at the screen. The image reflected back a woman on the verge of something exhilarating, a hint of uncertainty battling with a newfound hope in her eyes. And beside me stood Namjoon not looking at the camera but looking me.

The hallway lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow that couldn't dim the warmth radiating from Namjoon. His phone was balanced precariously in his hand, fingers hovering over the keypad.

"So," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "what's your number? I'll send you the picture."

My brain short-circuited for a second. This international superstar, the man who had captivated millions with a single glance, was asking for my phone number? Like a normal person? A surprised laugh bubbled up from my chest, escaping my lips before I could contain it.

"What?" he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows. The confusion in his eyes was so genuine it almost disarmed me.

"What?!" I mirrored, the absurdity of the situation hitting me full force. Then, a slow smile spread across my face, genuine amusement sparkling in my eyes.

"Wow," I breathed, clapping my hands together slowly, the sound echoing faintly in the otherwise quiet hallway. "That has to be the smoothest way I've ever seen someone ask for a phone number."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and a reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He chuckled, a rich sound that sent shivers dancing down my spine. "Smoothest?" he echoed, feigning offense with exaggerated gestures. "Has it ever not worked?"

I raised an eyebrow, thoroughly enjoying his flustered state. "Let's just say it's usually pretty effective," I admitted, unable to resist a playful jab.

"Effective?" he scoffed, though the amusement in his eyes betrayed his mock seriousness. "Well, it seems to have failed spectacularly this time. Because you still haven't given me your number."

The playful banter felt intoxicating, a heady mix of nervousness and excitement. Reaching out, I took his phone from his hand. "Here, give me yours," I instructed, already navigating the familiar screen. "And send the photo, please."

We continued walking down the hallway, a comfortable silence settling between us, punctuated only by the soft tap of my fingers on the phone screen. Reaching my door, I turned to face him, the guard discreetly moving a few paces further down the hall to give us some privacy.

"It was very nice to meet you, Emma Rowan," Namjoon said, his voice sincere. In the dimly lit hallway, his gaze held mine with a gentle intensity that made my breath catch in my throat. The electricity crackling between us was undeniable, a potent mix of curiosity and a desire that simmered just beneath the surface.

His hand reached out, warm and reassuring, and cupped my chin delicately. The gesture was unexpected yet strangely intimate, his touch sending a jolt of electricity sparking through me. Time seemed to slow, the world around us fading away until all that remained was the anticipation of that first contact.

Gently, his lips met mine in a kiss that was both sweet and yearning. It was a delicate exploration, a tentative dance of vulnerability and passion that spoke volumes about the connection we'd forged in those short hours. And as we pulled away, breathless and a little dazed, I knew this was just the beginning of something extraordinary.

It left an indelible impression, capturing the essence of a newfound connection that promised the potential for something more.

He held me close, leaned resting his head against my ear.

"You said, you didn't have another broken heart in you. What if I promise not to break it?"