ROMEO | 18+

5.

♣ ♣ ♣

I S L A

"IS THERE SOMETHING on my face?" Isla asks, the crease in between her brows evident as she looks up at Ezra.

The three boys sat on the sofa have been silent for the past minute. Except from Samuel's delighted "hi", none of them has so much as uttered a single word.

Ezra shrugs. "Apart from the fact you're pretty, no."

She narrows her eyes, scoffing and ignoring the hums of approval coming from his roommates. "Is being a flirt a requirement to live in this house?"

"It's a plus," Romeo grins, standing to his feet. He offers his hand to Isla, and as if she has been pulled towards him like a magnet with its other half, she places her palm in his.

Ezra grumbles something beneath his breath from her side, but Isla doesn't acknowledge the complaint as Romeo brings her hand up to his lips.

The brush of his lips on her knuckles whilst he holds her gaze makes a trail of tingles rush down her spine. Heat warms up her cheeks, though the obvious fact of timidity is concealed by her already flushed face.

"Told you we'd be seeing each other soon," he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss on the back of her hand.

Isla breathes, wanting to bask in his gaze for eternity. But she retreats her hand, holding her chin high as she takes a step back, colliding with Ezra's chest.

"Edwards," she calls out, her voice cracking. Romeo smirks, but she sends him a glare that only makes him snicker out loud. "Come on. It's eight thirty."

"Damn, you're punctual," Killian mumbles from the sofa, looking at the time on his phone.

"Told you." She raises her brows—a silent press for Killian to stand. "Where do you want to do that?"

"My room?" he suggests, pocketing his phone after jumping over the back of the sofa. "So we won't hear those idiots howl whilst they play."

Isla lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Wherever is fine."

"Sweet," he beams. "Follow me, m'lady."

From her peripheral vision, she swears she can see Romeo shoot daggers in the back of his friend's head as they walk up the stairs. Or perhaps it is only a figment of her imagination.

Killian's room isn't too big nor too small. Black pieces of furniture contrast with the four-poster bed made of oak wood, an electric guitar hidden in the corner of the room that manages to catch Isla's attention.

He throws himself onto the bed with a loud sigh before shifting until he is propped on his side, holding his head with his fist. "Come and join me," he suggests.

"Thank you, but no," Isla utters coldly. She looks around before taking a seat on the armchair next to the guitar. Shrugging her coat off, she asks, "so, what did you exactly fail on the mid-term?"

"Everything?" His mouth twists.

"Okay..." She looks over at his desk, noticing the economics textbook is buried under a pile of other books. "What are you exactly struggling with?"