Breaking Friend Zone

Chapter 9: Sexy Back

Clara Bell's POV

I woke up sweaty and with a throbbing headache. I grunted when I felt like a group of carpenters were pounding my skull. I carried my limbs to the washroom, ignoring that awful feeling. I sprayed my face with cold water to awaken my system completely.

I stared at the mirror. Blue eyes with red spots sprinkled around the irises, puffy, and I looked like a ghost. Chap lips, dry face and pale face, and I felt like I'm high.

I felt like crap!

I let out a harsh sigh then brushed my teeth.

I didn't bother getting dressed. With only my undergarments, I sauntered out of my door to the kitchen. Coffee should help ease the hangover.

It's only Brittany that's here, and I've been with here in a room with just undergarments. In a room full of models, we've seen each other naked.

I confidently strode towards the living room, but I didn't find her in there, then I heard someone in the kitchen.

I smiled. Brittany doesn't cook unless it's coffee, but I hear the clanking of pan and utensils.

When I entered the kitchen, I stood frozen. 

I felt like my jaw just hit the floor as I gawked at the man's back. 

Alexander was only wearing a boxer short that was snug, giving a good view of his behind, and  could give any model a run for their money. 

His curly copper hair disheveled, his shirt a little crumpled and it didn't hide what's underneath, ripped muscles.

His ass could break a glass, round and hard... —swallowing— and better than Matt Bomer's ass.

His triceps flexing as he moved. I've seen Nikolai, Raffy, or my other brother's triceps, but I never found it sexy.

Why does everything that's Alex doing be sexy?

And cooking? What more could make a man hotter than the kitchen, right?

Then he slowly turned, and my world seemed to stop. His eyes darkened, the intensity of his gaze pinned me in my spot. And then he spoke. His bedroom voice, thick, dark, rich and velvety, and gruff cuts through my heart, causing it to stop beating. My brain froze either, like everything around me just suddenly paused, they all turned into pitch black, leaving him the only one looking vibrant and hot. "Good mor—" his words hang in the air. His mouth open as his dark eyes skimmed me up and down, and I suddenly felt bothered. The intensity of his gaze was like a physical touch, leaving prickling sensation on my skin in its wake.

When his eyes lingered on my chest, like a shot, I snapped out of my daze. My eyes wide as I met his dark ones. I turned on my heel with a start, then sprinted back to my room. My heart beats rapidly, my hangover intensified.

No, No. No! He's not here. I'm just hallucinating!

But he is. He's here, Clara Bell and he saw you in your bra and thong only!

I brushed away the blush that's about to settle on my face.

I remembered he came last night, and only in his boxers.

Why am I so embarrassed? I've been in front of the camera with only these garments? And my photos has been everywhere.

What's the difference?

He's Alexander James Demakis, came a reply from the other part of my brain.

So what?