I woke up to the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen, but instead of feeling calm, my heart raced. Last night's almost-kiss with Ethan Rivera kept replaying in my mind—every inch, every hesitant movement, every stolen breath.
I tried to act normal, brushing my hair and slipping into something casual. But when I stepped into the kitchen, Ethan was already there, casually leaning against the counter. And yet… his eyes lingered on me longer than usual.
"Morning," he said, voice calm, but there was a spark in his gaze that made my stomach twist.
"Morning," I replied, pretending to be focused on pouring coffee, though my hands shook slightly.
He sipped his own cup, watching me. "You're… quiet," he remarked casually.
"Just tired," I muttered, placing my mug on the counter. I avoided his eyes, but it was impossible. They found mine anyway, holding a warmth I couldn't quite define.
"Last night…" he began, pausing, clearly measuring his words. "We almost… crossed a line."
I felt my cheeks burn. "Uh… yeah," I whispered. "Almost."
He smirked faintly, teasing, but not entirely joking. "Almost. Key word. We didn't. So… technically, the rules still stand."
I narrowed my eyes at him, though my heart betrayed me by racing faster. "Technically," I echoed, trying to sound firm. But the tremble in my voice gave me away.
He took a step closer, leaning on the counter beside me. "But I can't ignore how it felt," he admitted softly. "Being that close… it was harder than I expected."
I swallowed, looking away. "Me too. It… it's confusing."
He reached out, just brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. My pulse jumped. "Confusing?" he teased lightly, though there was seriousness under his smirk.
"Yes! Confusing!" I snapped, flustered, grabbing my mug as if it could shield me. "You make it impossible to think straight."
Ethan chuckled, his warm gaze holding mine. "Good. I like keeping you on your toes."
I groaned, sitting down at the kitchen table, pretending to sip my coffee while my heart hammered. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"And yet," he said, leaning back against the counter with casual confidence, "here you are. Sharing space with me, pretending we're fine."
I bit my lip, unable to respond. Every word, every glance, every small brush of his hand felt charged. Contract marriage. Rules. Boundaries.
Yet in the quiet morning, between teasing smiles and flustered sips of coffee, I realized one thing: pretending was becoming not just difficult… but thrilling.
And for some reason, I wasn't sure I wanted it any other way.