One Nightstand with The Bad Boy

9- Beating heart

I find myself standing before the mirror, fixated on my reflection, lost in thought for what feels like an eternity. The tasks I came here for were completed ages ago, yet I linger, unable to shake the sensation that he's just beyond the door, waiting impatiently. If you think I'm overreacting, I assure you, I'm not. My heart races as though I'm standing on the edge of a precipice, though I can't quite pinpoint why. With a sharp inhale, I attempt to steady myself, but the tension remains palpable, hanging heavy in the air.

Suddenly, the door bangs three times, jolting me from my reverie. My heart leaps to my throat, a sensation that feels uncomfortably close to panic.

"Mia!? What's taking you so long? Are you alright? Open the door or I'll knock it down!" His voice, firm and commanding, cuts through the silence like a knife.

"I'm coming," I manage to reply, forcing myself to step out of the restroom, only to be met by a furrowed brow and a displeased Clark.

"What took you so long? My race is starting in about 10 minutes. You're..." He begins, his irritation evident in his tone.

"Whoa there!" I interject, holding up a hand to halt his tirade. "You're the one who dragged me out here. So, you'd better start talking now," I assert, hands planted firmly on my hips as I shoot him a pointed glare.

He smirks, a response that only serves to fuel my frustration. "Feisty, I like it," he remarks, shaking his head in amusement.

"Just cut it, David. What do you want to talk about?" Impatience drips from my words, though I'm uncertain how I manage to maintain this facade of strength.

"Getting impatient, are we?" he teases, his smirk widening. I arch an eyebrow in response.

"Alright... Alright," he relents, raising his hands in surrender. "I want you to stay away from Peter," he states plainly, as though it's a simple request. I'm stunned. Did I hear correctly?

Who does he think he is? Does he believe I'll just comply with his demands without question?

"Excuse me!? Who do you think you are!?" I retort, my anger simmering just below the surface.

"I don't want him near you, Mia. Not him, not any other guy," he insists, his tone serious.

"So what!? You don't want me to be with other guys, but you're with another woman!? You've got to be kidding me," I seethe, my frustration boiling over. This is beyond cliché.

Ah, the perpetual nagging of my conscience, always eager to chime in with its unwelcome reminders. Thanks a bunch! (Insert sarcasm here) I mentally rolled my eyes, inwardly exasperated by the unwanted commentary.

"It's either you like it or not, Mia," he stated firmly, leaving no room for negotiation in his tone.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about!? This is utter nonsense! I'll go out with whomever I please, and you couldn't care less!" I shot back, frustration lacing every word.

In an instant, I found myself pressed against the nearby wall, a sharp jolt of discomfort coursing through my spine. Hemmed in by his arms on either side of my head, our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, mere inches separating our faces. His scent, a heady mix of mint and masculinity, swirled around me, momentarily distracting me from our standoff.

"Don't you dare defy me, Eliot. You're mine now!" he growled, his gaze piercing into mine with unwavering intensity. A surge of fear threatened to overtake me, but I refused to show any sign of weakness. He wasn't my superior, nor did he have any authority over me. Summoning every ounce of courage I possessed, I met his gaze head-on, determined not to yield.

"N-no... I-I'm nobody's," I stammered, mentally berating myself for the sudden loss of confidence. Where had my boldness disappeared to? He was undeniably intimidating, but I refused to cower in his presence.

Drawing closer, he loomed over me, our faces still locked in a tense standoff. I refused to back down, refusing to let him see any hint of vulnerability. Despite the overwhelming aura of dominance he exuded, I met his gaze with unyielding resolve.

"Try me, Mia. I'll get what's mine, no matter what you do. You'll always be mine," he declared, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Speechless, I stood my ground, my heart hammering erratically in my chest. What was happening to me?

We remained locked in our silent confrontation, neither of us daring to break the palpable tension that hung between us. Should I disclose the truth about Peter and me? But it was only fake dating...

I know, but... I...

"Let's go, my name is already called. Remember what I told you, Mia," he interjected, abruptly pulling me from my reverie. Suddenly, he stood directly in front of me, mere inches away.

"Peter is my date tonight, Clark. I can't just leave him, and you also have a date, right?" I retorted, avoiding his gaze.

"What!?" His exclamation echoed loudly, followed by a string of curses as he began to pace in agitation. What was the big deal? We weren't in a relationship. He was being absurd.

"Can you please stop? You're making me dizzy," I snapped, irritation seeping into my tone.

"I'll drop you off after the race; you don't need to go with him," he declared firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"But..." I attempted to protest, only to be swiftly cut off.

"No 'buts,' Mia," he insisted, his expression stern. Recognizing his seriousness, I reluctantly acquiesced with a nod.

"Let's go then," he urged, seizing my hand and intertwining our fingers. I glanced down at our joined hands as we walked, feeling a rush of confusion. Was this all part of a game? Was Clark somehow involved in Peter's scheme? The turmoil of my thoughts left me bewildered.

As we navigated the narrow hallway, I couldn't shake the feeling of being caught in a whirlwind of chaos. Yet, paradoxically, I found solace in Clark's presence; there was something undeniably different about being with him.

Finally, we entered the underground space where the race would take place. The cacophony of the crowd's cheers assaulted my senses, eliciting a cringe. Then, the host's booming voice cut through the noise.

"Last call for Clark David!" he announced, punctuating the air with urgency.

I glanced at Clark and halted in my reverie, a pang of sadness tugging at my insides. Gently, I withdrew my hand from his grasp, a gesture laden with unspoken emotions. He turned to me, his brow furrowed in concern.

"You better go," I murmured, forcing a smile in an attempt to mask the turmoil churning within me.

He simply nodded in response, but what he did next left me utterly dumbfounded. In a bold move that sent shockwaves through my entire being, Clark leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, right there amidst the throng of onlookers. Then, with a self-assured smirk and a playful wink, he pivoted on his heel and strode off toward the host.

I remained rooted to the spot, my eyes wide with disbelief, fixated on his retreating figure. What on earth had just happened? What did that kiss mean? Where did it leave us?

In that moment, I couldn't muster the energy to care about the curious stares of the bystanders, their gazes fixed upon me as if I were some spectacle. All I could focus on was the tumultuous whirl of emotions swirling within me.

Despite my best efforts to quell them, my heart continued its erratic rhythm, each beat echoing the undeniable truth: whenever Clark was near, my world seemed to tilt on its axis.