he's got a lot to learn about the world beyond his screens. she's willing to show him the golden beaches and every secret corner of the city she loves. they just have to work out how they're going to survive when his existence is a secret from publi...
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THE SUNLIGHT IS WARM on her face. It filters through her blinds, shifting as the radiator air blows the thick pieces of fabric about. Irena groans as her alarm goes off. Wednesday. The one day she doesn't have a class at seven a.m.
She moves to roll over and and stretch. There's something in the way. Someone. It's the best surprise she could ask for.
"Morning." The whisper rumbles through his chest, vibrating low with raspiness. Irena folds into him again.
"Hi."
"Sleep good?"
"Amazing."
Clay lifts his hand to her face. He traces her cheek, her nose, her lips. His finger is heavy with sleep still. She looks up at him, enthralled by the faint freckles across his skin, his eyelashes as they flutter against his cheek. His eyes open and catch her staring.
"What?"
"You're pretty. Not like...weird pretty. Just...normal pretty. Your features are nice to look like...I mean. You know?" She's babbling, a blush rising as she fumbles her words. Clay laughs, the sound so achingly familiar. It's what she first noticed him for, after all.
"I get it. But if I'm pretty...what does that make you? A goddess. Ethereal. Stunning."
"Big words for so early in the morning." Her cheeks are on fire, alight with his words. Clay grins.
"You should get up."
"Right." The impending reminder of her long day — a day away from Clay — sours her mood.
"I'll drive you," he nudges. "To school and work."
"Thank you."
"Of course."
Irena finally drags herself up. Clay tosses the covers away as she sits on the edge of the bed. She runs a hand through her hair, untangling the coils that have formed from sleep.
"I'm going to shower. I think there's pop tarts in the cupboards. Help yourself."
His hands are on her waist before she can move too far from the bed. His touch burns. Fingers of flames singing the waistband of her shorts and the hem of her T-shirt. Her breath freezes in her throat.
He doesn't do anything besides holding her to him and watch her with those bright green eyes. The smirk rises the more flustered she grows.
"What?" He asks. Irena looks over his head, trying to catch her breath again.
"Careful," she warns, "I might just fall for you."
