I sigh when I hear my phone buzzing. I turn off my phone's alarm and get up. Is it already 8:30? Before I can go to class, I have to go to the administrative block for clearance and identification. I take a bath, get dressed, and go see Lisa in the kitchen. She's busy cooking.
"Good morning Lisa," I greet smiling.
After getting to know Melissa last night, I love her alot and it is safe to say we will be close friends.
"Morning Alex," She grins, looking back, "How was your night?" She continues.
"It was refreshing," I smile but then frown, "But short."
"Ha, don't worry you'll be back to sleep all you want," She assures.
I peep over her shoulders, "What you cooking?"
"Omelette,"
"Oh great," I sit down grinning. She dishes out on two plates, and hands one over to me. I mutter a thank you and we dig in.
"Hmm... This is so good," I moan satisfyingly, "You're good," I compliment, giving her a thumbs up.
"Thanks, I learnt from the best," She winks, referring to her mum.
"In Nigeria, if you're a girl and you can cook, you're a wife material." I say and she laughs.
"Seriously? That's crazy, what if you can't cook?" She asks, amazed.
"If your mama don't cry or scream that you want to spoil your marriage or your papa's family blames your mother for raising you wrongly, tell me if only you will not carry your hands to cook," I say, cringing from past experience.
Lisa chuckles, "You were a victim," She states.
"Uh-uh," I clarify, making her laugh. We finish eating and I wash the dishes. Then we head out.
-----
"Thank you," I collect my file from the secretary at the administrative block and she nods. I walk to class.
As I arrive at the auditorium for class, I take a seat in the fifth row and watch as students stream into the room. While waiting for the professor, some students engage in conversation.
As he walks in, the lecturer says, "Good morning, class. I'm Mr. Robinson, your theatrical performances art professor."
"The subject of discussion today is literary genres. I'm assuming that you were all taught that there are essentially three types of literary genres: poetry, prose, and theatre. Thus, our concentration will be on drama."
Unexpectedly, the door opens, disrupting the lesson. I attempt to see the person, but I am unable.
"Damien, could you please explain why you just interrupted the lecture?" my professor groans.
"I apologise, sir. I thought I was late." A detached, calm voice spoke out.
"Well, Damien, you're late! Go sit down and be civil,"
"Yes, sir," the man who went by Damien said, shifting slightly so that I could get a clear look at him.
His physique causes my eyes to widen. I believe he is six feet three. He is well-built, neither overly muscular nor underweight—he is just right. He features small lips, a sharp nose, and a powerful, chiselled jaw. His hair is black, but it turns brown with even the smallest head motion.
How would it be in the sun, I wonder.
I believe my heart stopped when he looked around and met my gaze. He approaches me, his biceps flexing as his t-shirt grips him.
I was sorely mistaken to think that I don't get attracted to white guys.
He kept walking and stops when he got to my row. Please don't sit here, please. I silently beg.
He sits near me in spite of my inner plea. Oh my, as I get into my chair and attempt to concentrate, I can feel him watching me. When he gets closer, I swiftly turn.
Not the right action. The sight of him makes my heart race. He has gunmetal blue eyes up close. For as long as I can, I want to look at them.
Oh my God, so beautif-
Someone is prodding my cheek, interrupting me in mid-thought. "Would you quit that?" I exclaim and he smirks.
"You were staring a lot,"
His voice is lovely and deep, damn it.
"I was not,"
"Was too,"
"I wa- you know what? Leave me alone," I focus on the professor.
"I'm Damien," I eye him up and down and scoff.
"Feisty! I like that," He pipes. I roll my eyes and try focusing but the idiot was not helping matters by staring at me.
"Come on don't be grumpy, talk to me, what's your name?"
"Alexandra but my friends call me Alex," I mumble.
"Alex!" He smirks.
"I said my friends call me THAT!" I reply harshly.
"Miss Martins," Mr. Robinson calls, "You do know lecture is going on?"
"Yes sir,"
"Keep your voice down or I send you and Mr. Damien out," He says, glaring at Damien but he looked unfazed. "Sorry sir," I apologize and try listening.
"You smell like chocolate," Says Damien, sniffing me. I push him away. "Has anyone ever told you how annoying you are?" I ask angrily but he just grins.
"Yeah, a lot,"
"So Aleeeex," He drags just to annoy me.
Oh Lord, give me the strength before I kill someone.
"My name is Alexandra!" I exclaim.
"Miss Martins and Mr Damien leave the auditorium now!" Mr. Robinson booms.
All I could do was glare at Damien's back as he gets up and leaves, not giving a damn about our current circumstance. Right now, I want to kill him. I get up and walk away, head down, avoiding the pitying glances from some of the students. I'm sad and angry.
How do I proceed from here?
I slip out of the classroom and head to the street to call for a cab. Someone is approaching me, I hear them strolling. Damien mumbles, "I was calling you."
Was is he? I suppose I was too upset to hear it.
"I'm sorry," He continues when I didn't reply.
"Apology not accepted," I scowl, "TAXI!," I yell when I see one.
"Oh come on. Alright, let me drop you off as a way of apologizing," He offers.
I open the door as soon as the taxi stops. I tell him, "The only way I can accept your apology is if you leave me alone," and get into the taxi. The driver applies the brakes.
★★★
A/N
I know, I know. It is short too but trust me it gets longer😁
YOU ARE READING
His Own
Romance"How much do you want for you to abort that bastard you're carrying for my son?" Asked Lucas, Damien's father. I looked at him over my head, scared to death. My arms and legs hurt badly from the ropes tied around them. "I'm not aborting my child...
