Bittersweet Expectations (Hate at First Flight #0.5)

19. Being Unconcerned

The silence stretched endlessly with no end in sight as Ethan's Clarke stared back at me with mere inches separating us.

I couldn't breathe, my entire body tensed and in a state of shock.

The first thing that I noticed was how close he was, close enough that he was already intruding into my personal space.

The next thing I noticed was the face that he had flawless skin that would have dermatologists fighting to know his skin care routine.

Then I noticed how beautiful his eyes were, a stormy grey that sometimes we're dark with anger and sometimes light whenever he was amused or happy.

Of course I hadn't seen him happy that many times, usually it was when he was making fun of me or when he was cornering me like cat that had found its prey.

Once again, I admired how handsome he was. He had a chiseled jawline and eyes that drew you in like months to a flame. His lips were full and his and his face was perfectly symmetrical, one that usually graced the covers of magazines or the huge screen.

Compared to Finn, it was like comparing a lead actor to an extra, Finn being the extra of course.

I swallowed hard, wetting my lips with my tongue as I suddenly felt thirsty. I regretted it as soon as Ethan Clarke's eyes darted to my lips and stared at them.

My face instantly heated up as I moved back an inch, trying to put some space between us.

I didn't know what to do or what to say. The tension that had settled into the kitchen because of the incredulity of the situation was stiffling to the point that I wished I had opted to go to bed on an empty stomach.

After a couple of seconds, Ethan Clarke's eyes moved from my lips to my face, I felt my face redden even more.

Then he laughed.

A loud, boisterous laugh echoed in the kitchen.

After a couple of seconds of confusion passed, I, without thinking of the repercussions said, "You're drunk."

Ethan's chuckles slowed before it dwindled into nonexistence. Then slowly as if he was watching to see my reaction, he reached up, his hand moving to the short distance between us before he touched my cheeks.

Then he smirked. "And you're blushing."

I turned my head slightly to the right, his hand dropped away.

"Now, now," Ethan Clarke began, "Don't stop now just because I caught you. Keep going. I'm having fun."

I faced him again, brows furrowed together. "You're drunk," I said once again, the stench of the alcohol he'd been consuming now filled the entire kitchen.

"Back to stating the obvious, now are we?" He smiled at me as he got up to his full height and reached up to loosen his neck tie further. He huffed as he untied the tie and left it hanging around his neck. "What? Am I not allowed to drink anymore?"

I sighed, knowing that the last thing I wanted to deal with today was a drunk Ethan Clarke. He was annoying when he was sober, when he was drunk, he was just insufferable.

"I didn't say that," I said with the tone that I usually said to the callers when they called in. It was usually supposed to be comforting, and professional. Sometimes, it just sounded like you were talking to a kid that your were reprimanding. "What you do in your personal life doesn't conserve me at all, Mr Clarke. I was just worried that you might do something you'll regret tomorrow."

He watched me with an arched brow as amusement crossed his face. Then he walked to the cabinet by the door that led to the wine cellar, opened it and pulled out a bottle of rum before he walked back and sat down at the counter, facing me.