Resisting the Player -- [Completed - Unedited]

Chapter 8: Open Your Door

I forgot to close my curtains last night.

I opened them so I could open the set of glass doors that lead to my balcony so I could climb on to the roof of my house, and when I climbed back in, I closed my door, but apparently I didn't close the curtains.

The sun streams through the glass and hits my closed eyes and I squeeze them.

God fucking shit.

I groan and roll to my right.

I didn't anticipate the fact that I might already be on the right side of the bed, so when I roll, I fall off my bed and hit the floor with a thud.

I groan in pain.

It's way too early for this shit.

I use my bed for support and stand up.

And then I kick it.

But, of course, my dumbass didn't think about how I would be kicking a hard metal frame and not the soft cushiony mattress, so I hit three of my toes.

Hard.

"Fuck," I groan and I grip my right foot, hopping on my left.

As I'm hopping, I'm letting out a string of curses. I'm so fucking clumsy in the mornings.

My foot lands on my remote that must have fallen off my bed in the middle of the night, and my eyes widen as I start to fall backwards.

My back hits the floor with a thud and the air gets knocked out of me.

"Ow..." I groan.

Why do I do this to myself?

I get up slowly and make my way to my balcony doors to close my fucking curtains.

And then I do a double take.

Please don't tell me he saw that.

I open my curtains again to see Aaron looking through his set of doors and laughing.

Like, laughing hard.

Of course he gets the bedroom with the balcony directly across from mine.

I close my eyes as the embarrassment causes my cheeks to heat up.

I hate myself.

He opens his doors and I do the same, the both of us stepping out onto our respective, relatively small, balconies.

"Wow, Cassie," he says through his laughter, his forearms resting on his balcony rail. "That was a great performance. Have you ever thought about taking up a job as a stunt double?"

Our houses are pretty close to each other, making it easy for him to speak normally.

"Fuck you."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again," he says with a smirk on his face. "You're not my type."

I glare at him. "You're such an asshole."

"I've been called worse," he shrugs.

"I can't believe you saw that," I groan.

"I can't believe it either." He smirks at me. What is it with him and smirking? "I didn't believe it was possible to fall out of bed, hurt your toe kicking said bed, and then fall to the ground while hopping. But, thanks to you, I now know it is."

He starts laughing again, this time throwing his head back.

And that's when I notice that he doesn't have a shirt on.