“Something wrong?” he asks while studying my face. I put my head down and head into the kitchen, switching on the kettle, avoiding him. Willing my burning face to cool down; I know I’m probably blushing like mad.
“No.” I answer over brightly and focus on getting the mugs ready.
“You’re acting weird, shorty … What gives?” he’s frowning. Noticing it from the corner of my eye, I carry on with what I’m doing; the blood has rushed to my face even more so now and I am mildly freaking out.
“I’m just making coffee.” I shrug, trying to appear normal.
Jesus, Jake, leave me be. Stay back.
“Look at me then,” he commands. I tense and glance up, pasting a fake smile on my lips. Raising eyebrows before returning to what I’m doing, the heat radiating all over me and return quickly to looking at an
