Bittersweet Expectations (Hate at First Flight #0.5)

38. Sloppy Joes at Building X

I moaned as the wine hit my senses. It was fragrant and sweet with an earthy aftertaste. I took another swip and smiled, reminding myself to thank Julian for choosing a great wine.

Another fifteen minutes passed before I decided that I would try again tomorrow. I closed the book and placed it on the coffee table before sitting back upright.

Just as I was finishing off the wine that was left in my glass, I heard someone at the door. I froze, glancing at the time. It was already ten to eleven.

Seconds later, the door opened.

From where I sat in the living room, I couldn't see him. Not that I could have otherwise as the only light that was on inside the house was the lamp standing upright beside me, and of course almost spotlighting where I sat.

I heard him before I could see him.

His heavy breathing that echoed from where he stood revealed his presence.

Seconds followed as he made no other sound except for it.

I tensed as I felt his gaze fix steadily on me, heavy as it burned into me.

I squinted as I tried to pinpoint where exactly he was.

Another couple of seconds followed, and neither of us said a word.

Was he planning to spend the entire night just standing there?

When it seemed like he was, in fact, planning to do just that, I decided that I might as well speak first if I wanted to go to the comfort of my bed tonight.

"You're avoiding me," my words filled the silence and hung in the air.

It was a good while before he spoke. Long enough that it seemed like he wouldn't.

"And you're still awake."

His voice was low and husky, as if he had been starved of oxygen and water the entire day.

I digested his words, my brows furrowed together as I read the underlying message.

Did he just agree that he was avoiding me?

"I'm sorry to disappoint, Mr Clarke," I said dryly in response. "I wanted to speak to you."

"About?" His response this time was quicker.

"I'd rather speak to you face and not into the darkness for that," I sighed when it took him a while to step out of the darkness.

When he did, his appearance left me shocked.

Ethan Clarke looked dishelved and unkempt.

His hair was messy as if someone had been paid to make it the messiest it could possibly be.

His eyes were sunken in, and it looked like he hadn't slept in days, and for once, his body didn't fill in his suit like it had been tailored to fit him. If anything, he looked like he had lost weight in the past couple of days.

"Are you okay, Mr Clarke?" I asked instantly. Any thought of what I planned to do had disappeared instantly.

He chuckled, almost dryly as if he found my concern hilarious. "What? Do I not look okay to you?"

I sighed in frustration at his words. "If I'm being honest, you look like you haven't slept, haven't eaten in days, and you're seconds away from needing an IV drip."

He chuckled once again. "Why, thanks. I was going for the starving model look."

I couldn't help but glare at him. "I'm serious, Ethan!"