Lovesick ✔

chapter four ; first impression

AMOS

I tossed and turned in my bed before finally getting up to the sound of my alarm ringing. Another day at work. I sat on the edge of my bed and held my pounding head in my hands for a moment. Funny how I hadn't been the one drinking but I was the one with the headache. Alex, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine; judging by how he was snoring like a little sleep-deprived baby beside me. 

I didn't even bother questioning why he was on my bed. 

I proceeded to get up - and at that moment, the memories of last night came rushing to me.

"Nice one," the stranger remarked before walking into view.

Good God, this man had to be the most handsome male I'd ever laid eyes on. Dark skin, full lips, dark brows that matched his curly black hair and piercing brown eyes that stared right into my soul. 

He had an amused grin tugging at his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall behind him. 

Jesus Christ, his shoulders were broad.

"Go on, I don't want to interrupt," he spoke up in that deep voice of his.

I looked over at him, even though we had a decent amount of distance between us, I still had to raise my head a little. This was one tall guy. 

"Interrupt what exactly?" I questioned, raising just one of my brows, trying to play dumb. 

I began to inwardly pray to the Gods above, hoping he hadn't heard that unGodly burp. But I knew there was no coming back when he opened his mouth again to say: "That concert of yours. The burping."

Concert? Oh no he didn't.

"That.. was actually not me," I lied. "You have me confused for my friend, Alex Black. He was the one who burped."

"But it's just the two of us in here?" he pointed out, walking over to where I stood. I watched as he casually moved closer and turned on the faucet, washing his hands and taking a look at himself in the mirror before turning the faucet off and turning to look back down at me. 

"Right. About that," I began, already constructing another lie in my head.

God, Amos. Why can't you just take responsibility for your own actions? You're the one that burped, not fucking Alex fucking Black.

"He teleported away," I stated with a blank stare.

The stranger only looked at me with a hint of amusement in your eyes, "Teleportation? Oh wow, I didn't realize they'd made that possible already. What did it cost?"

"An arm and a leg," I nodded. "He had to sell his soul to the devil a couple hundred times too."

"Can you ask for him to give me the ritual he performed maybe?" he requested, crossing his arms. "I want to be able to teleport too."

This was so not funny. It was actually incredibly awkward and embarrassing. Teleportation this, teleportation that. If I could, I'd teleport away from this God forsaken washroom. 

"Why are we having this conversation?" I blurted out. "I have to go, see ya."

"Hold up," he began.

"I'm not interested," I interrupted.

"Interested in what?" he questioned with a chuckle showcasing his entertainment. "You left your phone," he stated. I turned around to see my phone in his hand, him waving it back and forth with a lopsided grin, "If you're not interested in having it back though, I'll gladly keep it."

"Give it to me," I sighed, walking back over to him. He handed it back over to me without complaint.

"What's your name by the way?" he asked as I turned around a second time. I considered leaving without responding for a moment before my own tongue went against me, "Amos."

"Amos what?" he pushed.

"Why do you need to know that?"

"I'm going to need a full name if I'm searching for someone to stalk on Instagram," he joked. "I'm just curious."

"Amos Singh. You are?"

"Micah Davis," he responded. "Nice to meet you."

I let out an animalistic noise as a response to the overwhelming amount of embarrassment that washed over me after that recollection. This was all Alex's fault for dragging me over to that stupid bar. This is all his fault.

I looked over to him. The dumb bitch was saying shit in his sleep.

I leaned in closer to listen. Still, his voice was too faint.

I leaned in closer, so much so that my ear was nearly touching his lips.

Big mistake.

The motherfucker spat right into my ear.