𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 ;; neymar.j

14

Shyla's POV

I was standing there, fidgeting with my shirt and biting my lower lip. My hand dreaded knocking on his door. I wanted to run away and avoid dealing with the problem, but I knew that if I did, nothing would be solved.

I gradually raised my hand and knocked three times on his door. As I waited, I shifted my weight from my left to my right leg.

Neymar must've known me because he opened the door with a hostile glare and his jaw clenched.

"Hey," I said soothingly. When I saw him, I couldn't help but smile.

He didn't bother responding, instead waiting for me to finish what I was saying or tell him what I was doing at his house.

"Can we talk?"
As I looked into his eyes, I inquired.

After a few seconds of silence, he nodded his head. He still hadn't said anything. I suppose the silent treatment was his way of retaliating against me.

As he led us to the living room, I followed in his footsteps. When we got to the living room, he told me to take a seat.

He sat down on his couch and adjusted himself in a comfortable position. I sat next to him, but not too close.

I could feel myself getting hot. What was the source of the heat in his home? Or am I just nervous to the point of sweating?

"Talk," Neymar said as his gaze shifted away from me.

"I want to apologize for what I've done. I shouldn't have agreed to go to on that date. I'm sorry for being careless."

Words could never express how sorry I was. I knew it was wrong, but I agreed anyway.

"I'd understand if you didn't—" he cut me off before I could finish.

"I understand," he said.
"Apology accepted,"

My eyes widened as I was taken aback by how simple this was. He couldn't possibly forgive me so quickly.

"What?" I said. "I thought this had upset you? Why are you so quick to forgive me?" I inquired.

This didn't make any sense. He was furious after reading the messages. He's so at ease about it now.

"I was just worried that you'll get caught, that's all. It was stupid of me to get mad at you." Neymar looked down to his hands, as he spoke.

My brows furrowed and my lips pouted. He should not hold it against himself. I was the one who was to blame. I was the one who made a stupid decision, not him.

"Can we just forget about this?" As he stood up, his hands on his knees, he said.

I looked up to him as I couldn't figure out what was going on. He walked right past me and into his kitchen.

I did the same.

"Are we cool now?" I inquired.

Neymar's lips curled into a smile, and he laughed. As I wondered what was so funny, he poured himself a bottle of red wine.

"What's going on, Shyla?" He inquired.