Uncommon (BWWM)

Chapter 8

Grace is pulled out of her daydream by the harsh ringing of her mobile phone. She huffs in annoyance and picks it up, checking the caller ID.

Incoming Call: Arthur

Grace gulps and takes a deep breath. In. Out. She would have to speak to him some time. It's not like she could just avoid him forever.

Unless...

No. She has to answer. At least to get some clarity. She presses a button and puts the phone on loudspeaker.

"Hello?" She says timidly, resting the phone on her bed and getting up to pace around her room.

"Hey Sunshine," Arthur's smooth voice says through the phone's speaker, "How are you feeling? Hungover at all?"

"No, no. I feel okay, just a little tired."

Arthur laughs, short and sweet, "Yeah, I'll bet. You were out cold when I left this morning."

Grace blushes. She lets out a short, nervous laugh, a little uncomfortable at the mention of Arthur's presence in her bed. She wasn't ready to explore the consequences.

"Sunshine?" Arthur questions, his voice laced with concern, "What's up? Are you feeling okay?"

She doesn't know why she's surprised by Arthur's concern; he's always so in tune with other people's feelings, and this is no different. But it still fills her with warmth. He cares about her at least.

"Yeah. Yeah." She says, and goes to look outside of her window, carrying the phone in her hand.

"I don't believe you." He replies, still sounding worried.

"Well believe it," She snaps slightly, then stops herself to amend her tone, "I'm alright. I promise."

"Open the door and let me see for myself."

Grace's head whips around and she looks at the door. Slowly, she approaches it, taking long, calming breaths. Shit, shit, shit. She wasn't ready for this. It was a Friday; she had hoped that she could just skip today's lectures and use this weekend to sort out her head.

Looks like that plan is out the window.

"Grace, I can feel your stress. Just let me in before you pop a vein." Arthur's voice comes through the door, slightly muffled.

Grace glares at the wood, swinging it open without a thought and quips, "Prick."

Arthur, the gorgeous bastard, just grins cheekily. Grace notices for the first time, the faint dimple in his right cheek. She's breathless again.

Without warning, Arthur swoops down and gives her cheek a short peck, "Hello beautiful."

He steps past her, rests his coat on the back of her desk chair and sits on it.

"You alright?" He says, staring at her still standing where he left her facing the door, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"What are you doing?" Grace rushes to say and spins around to face him. She hadn't meant to say it like that, but now that it's out, the air is thick with tension.

"What?" Arthur's pretty face is marred by confusion, "What are you talking about?"

"Why..." Grace tries to start, but she huffs in frustration. She didn't understand him. Why was he always so nice to her? What was he getting out of it? "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you like me!" Grace's words burst out of her in a louder than normal voice.

Arthur just stares at her, lips ever so slightly parted in shock, eyes blinking, slowly.