Wrong Side Of The Bed

33 | body says yes, mind says no.

I shook my head. "It was in seventh grade, Este."

"And I was right," Este replied with a no-nonsense look. "I have read enough meet-cute scenes to understand who's gonna be the main couple."

"And yet you forget how to speak when you see Danielle at the coffee shop," I replied slyly, watching as Este's face flushed in the blink of an eye.

"This is you, not about me," Este bit out, her eyes narrowing on me. I smiled wider. 

"You're blushing!" Neil commented, his voice full of teasing as he pointed his index finger at Este. "No way. You still have a crush on her?"

As the conversation shifted to Este and her love life, I sighed in relief. The feelings I was harboring for Sinclair were, in short, overwhelming. And too much to hold in. Hell, I was pretty sure I was going to pull Sinclair in for a kiss when he had said that he couldn't be just friends anymore — had my dear friends not cockblocked me. But honestly? At that moment, I couldn't care about anything else other than the fact that I wanted to be closer to him. So close until I couldn't tell where he ended and I began. But of course, our dear friends — Adri, Este, Lucas, and Neil — had decided that barging in backstage to congratulate your friends at that exact time would be the best idea in the world. We had instantly pushed each other away and had created a considerable amount of distance between the two of us until any of them could come close enough to notice the deer-caught-in-headlights look on our faces.

I had to do something about this whole array of feelings for Sinclair and had to do something about it fast, because I didn't want him to think that I was not interested in him. What was I going to do? Slap him on the head and tell him that all this time, when I thought that I liked his best friend, I had subconsciously wanted to be around him all along?

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E

VEN ON THE RIDE BACK home, all I could think about was Sinclair.

I groaned. I was far too pretty for an emotional crisis like this. All this worrying was going to give me wrinkles — and it seemed like I hadn't seen Sinclair's face close up in so long either, even though it had only been around a week or so since we last hung out. So obviously, for the sake of skincare, I booked two appointments at one of my favorite places in this city, and then gave Sinclair a call — asking him to meet up with me. Within an hour, I was done dressing up, and was back in my car — thus time, for picking Sinclair up.

"Oh my God, you've finally killed someone, haven't you? And you're here to ask for my help. Is that it?" Was the first line he said when he walked out of the front door and found me waiting for him in my car. I stuck my hand out of the window just to flip him off. He grinned at my finger. "Nice nails," He commented as he slid in. I did a double take at my nails — painted a periwinkle blue, trimmed and cut in a soft, oval shape — and made a mental note to inform my nail artist to repeat these exact styles the next time too.

Half of the ride went in silence that I found awkward, but Sinclair didn't seem to mind. He stared out the window, taking in the scenery, and probably wondering where the hell I was taking him — considering the fact that I hadn't told him yet.

"You're not curious?" I asked, and at that, he raised a brow. It was an awkward quirk — an action that seemed awfully natural and adorable when it came from him — and he smiled.

"About what?" He countered. "Specify, Walter. Because in general, I'm curious about a lot of things."

"Like what?"

He stuck out the tip of his tongue and did a quick sweep of his bottom lip, making a sound that clearly indicated that he had bit back a chuckle. He turned his face towards me, and then with the next turn that came in, he leaned in towards me — his face an inch away from mine. Flashbacks of the corner of the library instantly flashed in my mind, and my face heated up. One corner of Sinclair’s lips tipped up in amusement.