08 Kiss

Gemma's POV.

After the movie, we go home for dinner. This time, it's finally not takeout—Luke's hourly worker cooks the meal.

Since it's the weekend, the wages are doubled.

I want to suggest that if he's going to hire someone, he might as well give the money to me and let me cook.

But then I remember the charred clams I've made before and decide to swallow my words.

Dinner is salmon.

As I'm dipping it into the sauce, my phone suddenly rings. I glance at the screen, and the number starts with California's area code, 916. The more I look, the more familiar it becomes.

"Gemma, do memorize my number. What if you're in danger? I'll be always by your side." The owner of this number once told me that.

So I really did memorize it. But as it turned out, All the dangers were caused by him.

My thoughts are interrupted by Luke, who is sitting across from me. "Don't you answer?"

I shake my head, press the hang-up button, and then drag the number to the block list. "Just a spam call."

After dinner, I sit on the couch playing with my phone, but I'm not really focused.

Luke's profile, as he reads seriously beside me, is just too attractive. I almost start drooling, thinking that such a good-looking man is going to be mine alone from now on.

Naturally, I get curious about his past, so I call his name directly, "Luke."

"Hmm?" Luke raises his eyebrows slightly, but his eyes stay on the book.

"How many exes have you had?"

"One," he answers quickly.

"Why did you break up?" I continue to ask.

Luke's gaze moves from the book to my face. "Why are you only asking me? What about you? How many exes have you had?"

I swallow hard. "Just one, I guess."

To prevent him from asking, "Why did you break up?" I quickly change the subject. "Hey, we've just confirmed our relationship, but it feels like something's missing between us."

"Really?" Luke's eyes return to the book.

"Are you happy that I'm your girlfriend?" I ask.

"Uh huh." Luke's eyes remain on the book.

I pounce on him, snatching the book from his hands, and hold his face, demanding, "Tell me the truth, why did you agree to be with me?"

"What do you mean?" Luke finally looks at me seriously.

"What exactly do you like about me?" I stare into his eyes. "My stunning beauty, right?"

He doesn't say anything.

"Why don't you speak?" I shake him.

Luke's eyes shift. After a few seconds of silence, he says, "Sometimes your confidence leaves me speechless."

I'm furious and keep shaking him. "Are you saying I'm not good-looking???"

I've been praised by everyone since I was a child!

"Alright, alright, you are indeed very beautiful."

I lift my chin slightly. "What's the most beautiful part of me?"

Luke is silent for a moment. "Your eyes. Your eyes are beautiful."

His answer surprises me a bit. Is it because he knows I've had retinal surgery and feels some sympathy for me?

I lean in closer. "Can you guess which eye had the surgery?"

He looks at me carefully. "I can't tell."

I smile smugly. "The right eye. The doctor stitched it up and then removed the stitches. Modern technology is amazing, isn't it?"

Luke stares at my right eye. "Why did you get sick?"

I raise an eyebrow. "If I say it was because I studied too hard, would you believe me?"

He pauses. "I thought it was congenital or from an injury."

I smile. "A lot of people find it hard to believe, but it really was because I studied too hard. I got into NYU for graduate school from UC California, but one morning, I woke up in my dorm and couldn't see clearly anymore."

Luke gently holds me, comforting me with his actions, and kisses my right eye.

In the dim light of the night lamp, we hold each other tightly, and now the atmosphere is getting a bit romantic.

I kind of hope he doesn't stop comforting me, and it would be even better if this comfort moved a little lower, onto my lips.

But Luke doesn't seem to have that intention; his lips stay on my eyelid. I think for a few seconds, then lift my face and move my lips closer to his.

Our lips get closer and closer, and then... my phone rings again.

I push him away, unable to hide my disappointment, and reach for my phone.

It turns out to be the plumber calling to confirm the time for replacing the pipes tomorrow morning.

The mood for kissing is broken by the sharp ring of the phone, and there's no point in continuing, so I walk to the guest bedroom and say goodnight to Luke.

Luke moves his gaze from the book to my face, nodding slightly, "Goodnight."

His tone is no different from how he says "dismissed" after a meeting.

I frown slightly. "Don't you have anything else to say?"

"I do," he nods, "Remember to call HR tomorrow morning and take a sick day. So it won't affect your attendance bonus."

...

The next morning, he puts on his suit and goes to work, while I take my keys and head back to my own place to wait for the plumber.

The plumber comes and goes casually, just as casually taking the brand-new $600 I had just withdrawn from the bank.

I feel a bit dejected, and with the workday almost over, I can't help but call Luke. "Guess who this is?"

Luke isn't interested in childish games. "I don't know."

I frown slightly. "What are you doing right now?"

"Answering your call," Luke replies.

"Do you miss me?" I continue.

"We just saw each other this morning."

I hear a knock on his end of the line. Luke says, "Come in."

"Well, go back to work," I say, hanging up, feeling even more dejected.

Are we really a couple?

I'm starting to doubt it.

Luckily, Charlotte calls me the next moment. "Sweetie, do you miss me?"

She treats me even better than Luke does.

I sigh, "Charlotte, if only you had a dick, I'd make you my boyfriend."

"Huh??" She senses something's wrong, then asks, "Are you in love?"

"Yeah, but he's a jerk."

"Come out and talk, drinks on me," Charlotte immediately decides.

In the neon-lit bar, I sip through a straw and sigh, "I was the one who confessed to him."

Charlotte shakes her head. "Big mistake."

"Is it that serious?" My heart skips a beat.

"Let me ask you, during your relationship, are you the one who talks more?" Charlotte asks.

"Yes," I nod.

"Is he distant and indifferent towards you?" Charlotte continues.

"Yes," I nod again.

"Has he ever said 'I love you'?" Charlotte asks finally.

"...No." My heart trembles at these questions. "What does that mean?"

"It means you're just optional to him. Whether you're around or not doesn't matter to him. Since you confessed first, of course he said yes—having a girlfriend is free, no cost," Charlotte's analysis is sharp.

Hearing this, my heart turns cold. After a long pause, I ask, "So... what should I do?"

"Break up," she takes a sip of her drink. "By the way, I haven't asked, who's your boyfriend, and where did you meet?"

I sigh deeply, "That doll at the sex culture festival."

"Pfft—" Charlotte spits out her drink and starts coughing, "You mean—you mean your boss is your boyfriend now?"

"Mm-hmm." I hand her a napkin.

"Then I suggest you—" she wipes her mouth, "think carefully."

"You just said to break up."

"But he's also involved in your job. What if you break up and lose your job too?"

Good point.

I take a deep breath, "But I don't feel like he likes me."

I point at my phone and say to Charlotte, "Look, I called him this afternoon, and he was busy. But until now, he hasn't called or texted me back. He doesn't care about me at all."

I continue drinking.

Midway through, a guy comes over asking for my number, and I use the excuse of going to the restroom after having too much to drink to wash my face and clear my head.

When I come back and sit at the bar, Charlotte says, "Your boyfriend does care about you, after all."

"What?"

Charlotte points to my phone. "He just called looking for you while you were gone. I answered for you, no need to thank me."

"What did you say?"

"I told him the bar's address and said you were drunk, so he should come pick you up."

I grab my bag and fling it at Charlotte.

She yells, "Is this how you repay your love expert?"

"What love expert? We just started dating, we barely know each other. What if he thinks I'm some kind of woman who drinks all the time?"

"Aren't you?" she teases.

"Shut up!"

I let go of Charlotte and accidentally glance up, only to see Luke already standing at the entrance of the bar.

With no choice, I walk over to him, feeling like a child caught misbehaving.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to your friend?" Luke asks in a very "adult" tone.

I turn and wave at Charlotte, then head home with Luke.

I really did drink a bit too much.

The night wind blows, the shadows of the trees sway, and so does the path in front of me. I try hard to walk in a straight line, but Luke grabs my arm.

"How much did you actually drink?" Luke steps in front of me.

I hold up one finger.

"One glass?" He scoffs, clearly not believing me.

"I can walk on my own," I say, shaking him off to prove I'm still sober.

"Forget it." His voice is low, almost like he's talking to himself.

Then he grabs my hand.

Suddenly, I feel weightless, and before I know it, he's carrying me on his back.

His body is warm, the steadiest source of heat in the cool autumn breeze. I can't help but rest my face on his shoulder.

"Luke."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know what you just did?"

"What?"

"You held my hand." I pause. "If you want to hold my hand, you can just say so. You don't need to carry me to cover up."

"Great. Then get down," he says, suddenly standing up straight.

"Ah—" I lose my balance and scream, instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders.

The tree shadows continue to dance, casting dappled light across his face. And within that dappled light, I notice the corner of his lips is slightly curled up.

Luke is smiling?

This discovery leaves me stunned for a few seconds.

He keeps walking with me on his back, and I can't take my eyes off his profile. He does have a smile on his face, and he looks even more hot when he smiles.

"I like you," I blurt out.

"I know." Luke stops and adjusts me on his shoulder.

"Aren't you going to say anything back?" I ask.

"What do you want me to say?" Luke asks.

"Like what I just said," I say, eyes wide with expectation.

But his next words extinguish all my hopes, "I can't."

"Then I take back what I just said," I say, disappointed.

"Luke Shaw, I hate—"

Before I can finish saying "you," he puts me down on the ground.

I stumble, unsteady on my feet.

But Luke turns, catches me with one arm, and kisses me on the lips.

Just like in a romance drama.