Sleepless-2

　　From his torso to his back are muscles-ripped, and they look sexier when he moves. He must work out a lot to gain that. He took care of himself while he was away. Unlike me, I have a lazy ass to even run on a treadmill, but my body never gained weight since I was a kid.

　　Finally, I am able to move when his back is finally out of my sight. I walk toward his enormous and modern living room. I place down the folder on the coffee table that I’ve been gripping tightly against my chest. I sit down and rest my back on his expensive couch.

　　I let my eyes wander around. I’m used to seeing a luxurious home since I’m close to his family. The living room has a black brick wall decorated with modern and stylish furniture with enormous floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Raindrop’s inspired chandelier is hanging in the double high ceiling room.

　　I hear footsteps get closer, so I am quickly on my feet as I draw a deep breath to face my gorgeous boss.

　　“Morning, Trinity!” He smiles, which makes a school girl daydream, showing his dimples and straight pearly white teeth as you’ve seen on toothpaste commercials.

　　“Good morning, Mr. Hughes. Your dad sent me here for you to sign some documents that he needs to be at his desk at the end of the day.” I bend down to grab the folder from the coffee table.

　　He slumps his body down to his couch with a loud whoosh. He rubs his temples with fingers, then he releases a sigh, tapping the space between us. I stand still with furrowed brows, glaring at him. He stops rubbing his temples when he notices me not moving.

　　“Tri, I have a terrible headache. Can we talk later about what Dad told you?” He’s feeling close to me, huh? Tri, my ass.

　　I have a terrible and horrible heart. It beats faster like I run three miles on a treadmill.

　　“Why do you have my name tattooed on your back?” I ask out of curiosity, but more likely an interrogation.

　　He sits straight, and he is on his feet in a second. “Follow me. I need caffeine,” he says, but it sounds like a command.

　　He saunters away. I groan, kicking off my high heels when I saw him barefooted. “Mr. Hughes!” I yell as I follow him like a puppy.

　　He stops abruptly, so I halt to stop to avoid bumping into him.

　　“Call me Mr. Hughes again—”

　　“Or what?” I cut him off.

　　“Trinity,” he warns.

　　“You didn’t answer me.”

　　“Bash,” he responds.

　　“What?”

　　“You didn’t answer me, Bash,” Rephrasing, I emphasize his name. I pout and follow him to his copper colored-wall kitchen. “Why didn’t you go to work?” I ask while he’s busy filling up the coffee machine.

　　He has a perfect and muscular athletic body. He was physically fit before he left, but now he looks more mature, muscle-ripped, and hotter than every woman daydreams of taking him into their beds.

　　Shitty brain!

　　He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he opens the wall-mounted fridge, taking a transparent plastic container. He opens the microwave, places two croissants inside. He then closes and presses the screen to set the timer.

　　“Take a seat, Tri,” that’s all he says, and I feel annoyed.

　　I do what he said. He ignores my questions then I will ignore his. He places a plate with pastries, a mug of black coffee, and another mug in front of me with cream. I am kind of touched that he still remembers what I like.

　　“I put sugar on that,” he says.

　　I lift my eyes to look at him, and it’s a mistake because he’s staring at me. He raises his brow like asking me.

　　I shake my head, grab the steaming mug, and sip it silently. It tastes like what I really like.

　　“I was drunk last night when I got this tattoo. I can’t remember what happened. It’s vague, but I remember something that I got into some tequila shots challenge.”

　　I don’t look at him.

　　He sips his coffee. “I was surprised to see it in the mirror when I went up to grab a shirt,” he adds.

　　Why do I feel it isn’t awkward talking with him?

　　“Don’t worry. I will ask for an appointment with a cosmetic surgeon. Maybe they can remove it while it still fresh.”

　　I look at him and nod.

　　“I will work here today. I don’t have the strength to go to the office.”

　　“Okay.”

　　“It means you stay here too. I have an office here from the door to the left.”

　　“I know.”

　　“Where is he?” all of a sudden, he asks.

　　My brows furrow. “Who?”

　　“Luke.” He looks at my fingers. “Your fiancé.”

　　My eyes widen before I burst out laughing. “Luke? My fiancé?”

　　He looks confused, and looks hurt?

　　“Luke is not my fiancé, Bash. I’m not marrying a gay.” I press my lips together to contain my smile.

　　“Then, who is your fiancé?” he asks.