Saturday morning, Carla was awakened by muffled moans and groans. She rubbed her eyes, sleepily pushed open the door, and saw Oliver walking past. He was wearing gray sweatpants and an old tank top, revealing strong, sweat-covered muscles.
Carla blinked, wondering if she was still asleep and seeing things. She glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was Saturday, the weekend, not Wednesday.
She thought, 'Why was Oliver here?'
She wore a rare, dazed expression. A few strands of her long, smooth hair stuck up, and a red mark from her pillow was imprinted on her clean, bright face. She looked adorable in her sleepy stupor.
Oliver stopped when he saw her. "Why are you looking like you've seen a ghost?" he asked, frowning. He casually wiped the sweat dripping down his cheek, his voice sli
