In Love With My Rival

Jaewook POV 4

Jaewook

I am fully aware of her eyes on me, as I talk to the event organizer at a movie screening we're both attending. The organizer is telling me how I'm ‘even more charismatic in person than on screen’. Apparently, she's a huge fan of Korean entertainment. It's always humbling to receive praise from fans so I give her the brightest smile I can manage with a couple of flattering comments. She's happy, but I can see Farah is not. She's trying to act like she doesn't care, like she hasn't even seen me. But she keeps giving me side eyes, even as she laughs with other guests, most of whom are men.

I saw her the second she walked in, wearing that bizarre white and yellow suit. Somehow, she’s killing it and clearly knows that. It's the first time I've seen her since the workshop. One of our mutual friends, Sehar, told me Farah will likely attend and just like that, I developed an eager interest in documentaries and asked if I could get an invitation as well. It took her a phone call to procure one.

There's also going to be a panel discussion on whether documentaries can be treated as objective or carry the maker's bias. None other than Farah will be moderating it. Needless to say, I'll be attending that as well. Might even line up a question or two.

Objectively, I shouldn't be here. I should be in Jeju Island, partying and helping my friend with his wedding preparations. It's next Wednesday. My flight is on Monday night. That's because there is a mixer on Sunday that I absolutely must attend.

I wouldn't have gone to such lengths had she not ignored me the way she did. I texted her several times only to be ghosted. She won't take my calls either. Maybe she thought it would discourage me. Cute. Maybe if she acted a little eager, I would have come to my senses. Maybe. It was the same after we kissed. It's worse now because all of her is imprinted on my mind.

We keep circling each other for half an hour until I finally join the group of producers and authors she's standing with, talking to a journalist. Thirty minutes is enough chase for one night.

‘I loved your article last week,’ the journalist tells her. ‘It is so true that the stuff they sell as romance these days is pure nonsense. Nothing but s****l attraction packaged as feelings,’ he scoffs. She clears her throat, ignoring the smirk forming on my face.

‘They just want to convince people that love is nothing but physical,’ she says airily, gaze fixed on him as others listen on. ‘The emotional connection is just glossed over. This is why I dislike the genre.’

I want to laugh but I hold it in. ‘Dismissing physical expression as nonsense is nonsense in itself. It is a pretty lazy argument. The physicality is appealing because it's emotional. What you hate is e*****a, Miss Farah. Not romance.’

This time, she looks at me. ‘You would say that, of course.’

I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘I expected a better comeback from you. It’s so unoriginal.’

‘I don't want to waste my time thinking of creative insults to entertain you.’

‘Don’t you?’ I tilt my head innocently. ‘I still have a question for you though, I hope you'll answer it,’ I pause, making sure I have her attention. The journalist is still hovering, probably hoping for me to get lost. ‘If what you say is true and s*x is nothing but bodies colliding, would it matter if two characters who hate each other sleep together? And how should they act after they've been intimate? Should they be indifferent? As a critic, what would you term as a realistic portrayal?’

She doesn't even blink. ‘That premise is what my belief is rooted in. No matter how you frame it, the act is inconsequential.’

I nod, acting as impressed as the journalist. When the screening starts, I take the seat next to hers, despite her annoyance. It's hard to sit still beside her, which is why I seek her out in a small backroom after the documentary is over.

‘How did you like it?’ I start, sounding indifferent.

‘What are you doing here?’ She's her cold self.

‘Seeking you out,’ I tell her plainly. ‘Why aren't you answering my texts and calls?’

‘Because I don't want to,’ she says haughtily. I scoff and step closer.

‘Why? Because you've been thinking about it more than you want?’

‘You overestimate yourself,’ she tells me without looking at me, looking for something in her bag.

‘No, I don't. You're just scared.’

‘Scared? Of you?’ This time, she raises an eyebrow at me.

‘Of wanting me.’

She rolls her eyes and looks away.

‘That was a lot of nonsense out there,’ I say, almost touching her.

‘It wasn't nonsense, it was all true.’

‘Then why do you keep running away?’ I challenge. ‘Why do you keep denying everything?’

‘I’m not denying anything. You keep following me around,’ she lashes out.

‘If I kiss you right now, it won't matter at all? You won't run away?’ We're standing really close now and I can see the slight parting of her lips.

‘You’re dying to try, aren't you?’ She sneers. ‘Go ahead, test me.’

I frown, unsure if she means it.

‘What is it, Mr Lee?’ She asks with mock innocence, her eyes twinkling. ‘Are you…’

My mouth is on hers before she can finish, and my fingers slither in her hair, pulling it mercilessly. She’s wrapped her arms like a handcuff around my neck and she stumbles backwards till she hits the wall. Neither of us try to pull away. The sharp intake of breath tells me all I want to know when I lift her up and push my knee between her thighs.

‘I have a panel,’ she gasps, rubbing herself against me.

‘That’s too bad,’ I whisper and pull my leg back suddenly. She snaps her eyes up, probably ready to curse but I’m already fumbling with her belt. She arches forward, giving me better access, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her fingers have already slipped past my waistband and it takes all my self-control to stop myself from crying out.

‘Are you sure you don't want to get your pulse checked?’ I manage to tease instead as I slide her pants off and explore her with my fingers. They are drenched immediately.

‘You’ll be the one taken away on a stretcher if you don't hurry up,’ she tries to sound fierce as she works me with her hands. I laugh quietly before sinking my teeth in her neck to swallow my groan before we fall into the couch. Her legs are already wrapped around me.

‘You won't do that. How will you explain this means nothing?’ I slide into her before she can throw something back at me. She lets out a quiet wail and digs her nails in my nape, making my head spin.

‘That’s good. Stop talking. I've had enough of your ramblings,’ I rasp, savoring her moan. Her hold on me grows tighter, making me lose the last of my composure. My hair is sticking out as she pulls it, and her makeup is fading with every kiss. She comes first, gasping my name and is still shivering when I collapse in her arms minutes later. We both look like we've been pulled out of a washing machine.

She pushes me off immediately, mumbling about wasting her time. Fifteen minutes later, she's on the stage, her makeup immaculate. Apart from the slight swelling on her lips, that she's tried to cover-up with a lip contour, nothing betrays how, just minutes before, she was wrapped around me like a koala.