EIGHT
1639 Words
Annabel's POV
Okay… what just happened?
One second, Justin was actually talking to me—opening up about games, laughing, sounding proud, letting me see that spark behind all the quiet—and then, out of nowhere, he turned his head. Just… turned away. Like something switched off inside him. Like I said something wrong.
The sharp drop from connection to confusion hit harder than I expected. My heart sank a little, and my brain kicked into overdrive trying to figure out what I’d done. Had I gone too far with the compliment? Had I said something weird? Did I look weird? God. This is why I don’t do this. I stared at the side of his face, silently begging for a sign that I hadn’t ruined everything.
Nothing.
He wouldn’t even glance my way.
I was almost ready to call it quits, to retreat into small talk and safe distance again, but then—I remembered something. I’d read somewhere that physical closeness could build attraction. Body language. Subtle touches. Intentional proximity. It sounded stupid in theory. But desperation makes people bold. And I was done playing it safe. I was going to make good use of this chance.
Justin and I didn't really talk anymore for a few minutes while I formulated a plan in my head. Then I stood up to help with his hand again, I didn’t just lean over him like before I deliberately let my fingers graze the inside of his wrist when I reached for the bandage. Soft, slow, like it was by accident even though it wasn’t. His breath caught. Just slightly. I noticed that and hide my smirk.
I moved closer, pretending to examine his stitches, and lowered myself enough that I was right near his neck, close enough for him to feel my breath fan against his skin. I said nothing. He said nothing.
But I heard it, the quiet, audible swallow. And I saw it when I glanced up from under my lashes. His face.
Was completely red. Not just his ears this time. His whole neck, cheeks, jaw lit up like he was burning from the inside out. And for a split second, his eyes darted to mine. That was the moment. There was a spark. A shift. A flicker of tension in the air that made it suddenly harder to breathe, like the room was holding its breath with us. I didn’t smile. Not yet. I kept my expression neutral, focused, casual. But inside?
Inside, I was melting. Because I was finally making it through to him. He wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t bored. He didn't look uninterested. Instead, He was flustered. By me. And maybe I didn’t know exactly what I was doing but something told me, for once, I was doing it right.
Justin’s POV
I couldn’t move this time without making it obvious, without making it weird. Annabel was close again, closer than before and I had nowhere to hide.
She leaned in to help with my bandage, her fingers brushing lightly over my wrist like they belonged there. Her breath fanned against the side of my neck, warm and soft, and suddenly the sterile hospital air felt thick. Unbearably heavy.
I clenched my jaw and tried to focus on anything else. The white ceiling tiles, the slow beeping of the monitor, the slight sting from the disinfectant. But it was all background noise compared to her.
Her presence. Her scent. Her voice just moments ago, saying she admired me. And now this?
Was she flirting?
I wasn’t sure at first. I'd had a million girls try to flirt with me. Too many, honestly. Most of them loud, overdone, desperate to be seen. It was always easy to tell what they wanted—pictures, status, bragging rights, maybe a night. But Annabel? She was different. She never pushed for attention. She never bragged about knowing me or even tried to show off around others. She just… showed up. Quietly. And now she was right here—intentionally close. Not clumsy or awkward. Smooth. Purposeful. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. Actually, I more than liked it. I loved it. It felt treacherous, but I loved it. I loved having her this close. My heart was pounding so hard I was terrified she’d hear it. I swallowed hard.
And of course, that’s when she looked up at me. From under those lashes. With those calm, curious eyes like she knew exactly what she was doing. I could tell, she looked innocent and curious. And damn if that didn’t mess me up completely.
But beneath all of it—under the rising heat in my cheeks, under the nerves twisting in my gut was something heavier. A thought I couldn’t escape.
What if I screw this up?
What if she finds out I’ve never really done this before? Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way that counted. Yeah, people thought I was a player. I didn’t exactly correct them. The reputation made things easier—it kept feelings out of it, expectations low, and gave me something to hide behind.
But the truth?
I’d only had one actual “relationship.” If you could even call it that. My childhood friend.
We’d known each other since we were five. Our families were close—dinners together every few weekends, vacations in the same beach house over the summer, holiday cards with all our names signed at the bottom.
She was the kind of girl who always knew what she wanted. And for some reason, what she wanted was me. I remember the day she asked me to try dating her. She said it plainly, like it was a logical next step. Like it was something we should do. Her parents loved the idea. So did mine. Two families with overlapping business deals and a history going back decades—it was practically a contract waiting to be signed.
I said yes. Not because I wanted to. But because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. She was someone I had known all my life, both of our parents were in for in. Dating her couldn't be that bad, that was what I thought. It lasted a month. And every minute of it felt wrong.
She would try to hold my hand, and I’d pretend I had to answer a call. She leaned in to kiss me once, and I flinched so hard I knocked over her drink. And the worst part? I wasn’t even embarrassed about it. I was relieved. Because that moment told me something loud and clear—I didn’t like her. Not that way. And pretending was exhausting. I finally ended it one day and she was hurt, as expected. Her parents were disappointed. Mine didn’t say much, but I could feel it in the silence. That whole thing left a weird knot in my chest. Like maybe I was broken. Or just wired differently. Because if I couldn’t even stomach a kiss from someone I was “supposed” to like, then what kind of guy did that make me?
But Annabel?
Just being around her made everything feel… alive. I didn’t flinch when she touched me. I didn’t feel cornered or obligated. I felt drawn to her. The thoughts of me kissing her didn't feel repulsive, instead it felt exciting. It scared the hell out of me, honestly.
Because if I fell for her—really fell for her—then this wasn’t something I could take lightly.This wasn’t some temporary thing or family arrangement. This was something different, something new. This was mine. My choice. My risk. My feelings. And I already knew.I was in deep. Deeper than I ever thought I would be in.
I wanted her.
Not just her body or her attention—but her. The way she thought. The way she didn’t back down even when I was being a wall. The way she got nervous around me but still leaned in anyway.
I wanted to know what made her laugh when no one else was watching. I wanted to learn how her mind worked, what kept her up at night, what her favorite song was and whether she hummed it under her breath. I wanted to be the one she trusted. The one she leaned on. The one she called hers.
But even with that clarity, the doubts crept back in.
What if she didn’t like that I didn’t have the kind of dating history people assumed I did?
Or worse—what if she believed the rumors?
What if she thought I was that guy? The player. The heartbreaker. The one who couldn’t settle down, who didn’t care about anyone. What kind of man did Annabel even like? Someone confident? Experienced?
Someone who wouldn’t burn red every time she leaned a little too close?
Because if that’s what she was looking for, I was screwed. But still—there was one thing I couldn’t deny. When she touched me, I didn’t feel disgusted. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t want space. I wanted more.I wanted to pull her closer. I wanted to ask her what she was doing later. I wanted to ask for her number, even though that felt embarrassingly juvenile for a guy like me. Hell, I wanted to kiss her. Not in some movie-perfect, fireworks-behind-us kind of way. Just a simple, honest kiss. One that said, I like you. A lot. One that told her she wasn’t just another girl in the crowd.
She was the girl.
And if she'd let me… I’d be hers in a heartbeat. And in that moment I realized it, I had fallen in love with her and I wanted her, I wanted Annabel to be mine and mine alone.
- Writer
