Morgan Rielly Imagine

Part Twenty

Morgan POV

I watch as Y/N shrugs her jacket off, her V-neck shirt revealing the soft glow of her skin in the gentle lighting of the restaurant I had ushered her into. I asked her once how her skin seemed to glow all the time, she hadn't even looked up from her plate of food to simply say "its sweat, Morgan" and she definitely didn't seem to sweating right now.

I have no idea what kind of restaurant we were sitting in, from the looks of the place it seems to be a regular burger joint but looks can be deceiving. The girl sitting across from me is the prime example of that.

Her eyes scan the scene around us, flickering from table to wall and back. She seemed perky enough when we walked in but her eyes tell a different story. That same tired, sad look that I've become so used to seeing reflects back to me even now. The circles under her eyes are more prominent today, but I have a feeling that her sleepless night was due to something other than an argument.

The thought of Y/N in her hotel room with the asshole she considers her boyfriend, their bodies close beneath the sheets is enough to make me have to take several deep breathes; a trick I learned from Y/N.

That was another thing I had started to miss about her. When she first came to Toronto she had been so feisty. With Mason, the reporters and other media, even me. But the last few weeks had been a different story. The only person she ever snapped at anymore was Mason, and even that was few and far between these days.

Y/N's gaze lowers to her phone resting on the table and I watch a shadow of pain crosses her fine features. The pang in my chest at seeing her discomfort surprises me. What surprises me even more is when she looks at a young couple sitting a few tables down from us, an almost wistful look is written across her face as she bites her bottom lip, another thing she does when she's deep in thought.

I startle when her eyes flash to mine and I realize I've been staring for far too long. Hoping to avoid the awkward encounter, I shift my gaze to just over her shoulder as smoothly as I can. I think it worked until I peek at her once more, the faint hint of a smile on her lips as she stares down at her menu.

"Alright, Mo," she says, "You picked this place so I'm hoping you had good reason?"

"Sorry to disappoint, but it was a... spontaneous decision," I grin back her and she laughs quietly.

"That's what I was afraid of," she says.

"Are you telling me you're not a spontaneous person?" I ask.

This gets me a quirked eyebrow stare over the top of her menu. "You've know me for what? Just over a month? Have I yet to show any spontaneous behavior?"

"You're with me now," I tease, cocking my head to the side.

She raises her head and nods slowly. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she says slowly and her secret smile that drives me insane makes an appearance and my entire body tenses. Our eyes stay locked, another one of our staring contests that I always seem to lose. But this time it ends in a tie as the waiter appears.

When he disappears with our drink order Y/N leans across the table and whispers to me.

"Don't think for a moment that that ended in a tie just because the waiter came. I won, you looked away first."

"I was being polite!"

"I wasn't."

I go to roll my eyes in humor until I see her fingers dancing across the scarf I had given her so long ago, fingering the loose threads and rubbing the material. A warm feeling spreads from my head to my toes at the sight. The memory of her mortified expression in the car ride on our way home from our first road trip is enough to bring a smile to my face.