❝Maybe there's a whole bunch of impossible people waiting for me out there. Waiting to make me feel that same uncertainty again and again.❞
Allison Romero has never had any luck when it comes to finding love, or maintaining friends...or just about...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
a/n make sure you read the previous chapter before this! Wattpad doesn't notify people when I update smh
Also I don't say this enough but I appreciate every single vote and comment I get, comments mean more to me tbh, I love hearing all y'all theories n stuff <3 y'all motivate me to keep doing what I'm doing
48: CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
THE VERY next day, I'm awaken by the sensation of something tugging tenderly at my hair. I stir in my sleep, stretching my bare legs against the cold sheets. For a second, I forget where I am and what I'm doing here, but when the memories of last night flash through my mind, I feel a rush of heat blossoming on my cheeks and I open my eyes.
It takes a while for me to get used to my surroundings. The first thing I notice is red and the smell of shampoo. My eyes trail up the red jumper in front of me and it lands on Ethan's smiling face. He's lying beside me, propping his head up with his elbow, and weaving his fingers through my hair. He smiles lopsidedly at me, noticing I'm awake. "Morning, beautiful," he murmurs.
My lips tug up in a soft smile and I snuggle closer to him, so that my head is buried in his chest. "Morning," I mumble against his chest. He smells like he's just came fresh out of the shower. "How long have you been awake for?"
He shrugs and pulls back, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Not long. I didn't want to wake you up, though—you looked like you were having a good dream," he jokes and toys with a strand of my hair.
I pull the sheets over my chest and turn so that I'm lying on my back and gazing up at the ceiling. My body feels sore, but in a pleasantly good way. "What time is it?" I ask him. The cool air enters through the open window in Ethan's room.
Ethan is still playing with my hair, twirling it around in his fingers and massaging my scalp. It feels good, I close my eyes. He goes on to say, "It's around seven in the morning."
I spring up quickly, holding the sheets to my chest, and splutter out, "I've got work at eight! God, E, you should've woken me up."
Ethan, too, begins to slowly sit up. He frowns, "Can't you call in sick?" He watches me from his spot on the bed as I scramble to pick up my bra from the floor and clasp it on.
My legs feel wobbly and there's a dull ache in-between my legs that restricts me from leaning down to grab my clothes. Ethan notices my discomfort and gets up from the bed, heading to the closet. He grabs a few items of clothing and then hands me them. "You should have breakfast before you go. My mum's cooking downstairs," he tells me, and watches as I toss his shirt over my head.
