14. Shoua
CHAPTER 14
shoua
There seemed to be something on Anthony’s mind, and I wasn’t sure what. Ever since Saturday night, he had woken up early every morning for a long run around our neighborhood. This Thursday morning was no different. I had just finished my usual makeup routine for work in the bathroom, when Anthony came barging into my house with his loud knocks.
He was half-naked, wearing nothing but a pair of low-hanging black shorts—showcasing his strong upper body and chiseled lower abs. There was a slick film of sweat all over him, making his sun-kissed skin glisten into a light golden glow under the bathroom light. He was huffing and puffing hard from his run, drawing my attention to the taut muscles of his pecs.
“Can I shower here?” he asked as I quickly averted my gaze to his face to avoid ogling. His brows crinkled together with what seemed to be lingering irritation.
“Why? What’s wrong with yours?”
“I’m out of body wash.” His face pulled into a grimace. “I forgot to get it at the grocery store.”
This was unusual for Anthony. He never forgets these types of things, especially for someone who took personal hygiene seriously. This was completely out of character for him; he always restocked his pine scented body wash in bulk whenever he dwindled down to just a few.
I stepped out of the bathroom, and he quickly stepped in. The shower turned on the moment he locked the door behind him. I busied myself by laying out my outfit for the day on my bed. I decided to go with a gray sleeveless top and matching slacks with a cute belt. I considered wearing all black to avoid showing off all the sweat stains I would have just between walking from my car to the office. But there was no way in hell I was going to do that with the heat forecasted to reach 112 degrees today.
Anthony stepped out of the bathroom just as I came out of my room. I was still in my PJs since I didn’t want to get bacon grease sputtering onto my top or slacks, but this man . . . Well, he was standing there with his wet, slicked back hair and my lilac towel hanging around his waist as low as his shorts were earlier. The said shorts and gray boxer briefs he wore were folded neatly in his hand.
I gawked and he caught sight of it, smirking in return.
“What’s yours is mine and mine is yours, right?” he teased, pretending to adjust my towel up his hips just a tad.
I immediately snapped out of it with the cock of my brow at him. The sweet scent of my peaches and nectarines body wash lingered strongly over his damp skin. It was almost as if I branded him as mine.
“Sir, that’s still my towel you’re using,” I stated.
“Sorry, I forgot where your extra towels were. So, I used yours.” He put up his hands in defense.
I scoffed. “You’re just lazy. They’re in the cabinet, and you know that.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I swear!”
I gave him an exhausted blink. “Sounds like that’s all you’ve been telling me lately.”
“Damn, someone’s digging her words in deep this morning.” Anthony’s eyes flickered brightly with amusement. He reclined against the bathroom doorframe, flexing his strong arms, and slowly grinned. “Someone’s grumpy this morning. What’s wrong, Shoua? Need some coffee?”
“Nope. It’s you. Something’s bothering you.” Anthony’s back immediately straightened rigid, and I eyed him closely. “What’s wrong, Anthony?”
“Nothing.”
I knew I hit a nerve when he slipped right past me toward my bedroom. He brought over some extra clothes after last week when he was too lazy to go home to sleep. So, as soon as he came out dressed in a simple white tee and worn-out, paint-stained jeans, I started speaking up again.
“You’ve been waking up extra early for the last four days to run for an hour around our neighborhood.”
He scoffed. “I don’t run for an hour. Only thirty minutes. I don’t know what Mrs. Turner’s been saying to you, but I don’t run that long.”
Mrs. Turner was our friendly neighbor who owned the house next door. She was a big flirt and wasn’t shy to admit she’d be head over heels for Anthony Hughes if she was just four decades younger. She had been yelling over the fence the last few days about how she had been enjoying her morning coffee out on the porch, watching the sunrise and Anthony running around “in all of his half-naked glory.”
“If she’s going to be out on the porch at six every morning to watch the sunrise and you run around the block shirtless, then she’s going to have something to say about it to me when I leave for work. All right?”
Anthony shook his head as if he didn’t believe me.
“You don’t need to tell me, but I’ll always be here if you need to talk.”
He looked at me as if he had something to say. But, instead of answering my question, he said, “We can talk over coffee and breakfast at my place.”
I sighed with resignation. “Okay. You cook.”
Anthony smiled softly. “Fine.”
Growing up in an immigrant Asian household, I never ate the typical American breakfast. The only time I could recall eating anything close to that was the sad eggs, sausage, and microwaved pancakes schools handed out to us when my mom was in a rush to drop us off. But, aside from those rare moments, we always ate rice and eggs.
Now as an adult, the only things I ever wanted to eat for breakfast were a slice of sourdough bread, eggs, and bacon. If Anthony was fancy, he’d make us some hashbrowns or pancakes. He was never much of a cook before we moved next to each other.
But ever since we started to have breakfast like this together, he had been making some of the most mouthwatering breakfasts I had ever had. It was honestly the only thing he really knew how to cook. He couldn’t whip up anything else, and I would happily eat it every morning for the rest of my life.
I sipped my coffee from my usual lilac glass cup as I watched him at the stove wearing an apron. His thick, corded arms moved with ease as he flipped the sausages, his movements practiced and confident. The aroma of sizzling bacon filled the kitchen, mingling with the rich scent of freshly brewed espresso shots. I leaned against the countertop, content to watch him work.
“How was your run?” I asked.
The toaster dinged and I quickly took out the two thick slices of our favorite sourdough from our neighborhood bakery around the corner. Even though Anthony didn’t say anything, his silence was more than enough to make me look up at him.
He avoided my gaze as he plated the food. “Anthony Nhia? — ”
He let out a long sigh as he set the plate he was holding down with a loud clack . “I don’t like Kelvin.”
That wasn’t news to me, though. He said this the moment we got in the car after our night at the fair. To be honest, I hardly thought Kelvin was that big of a threat. Evelyn was probably the one we should be more wary about. The fake relationship wasn’t deterring her from pursuing Anthony at all.
“That’s why you’ve been running for the last few mornings? Because you hate that guy that much? I didn’t know you were someone to be consumed by hatred,” I said.
“No, I’m serious, Shoua. He bothers the hell out of me and it’s something I just can’t shake off. Even with all this running! There’s just something about him that not only bothers me but creeps me the fuck out. You need to be careful around him.” Anthony’s brows furrowed tightly together as his lips pulled into a deep frown. He was worried about me. “Promise me you’ll stick to my side when we go bar hopping with Tyson on Saturday.”
We were planning to take Tyson to the Twilight District, which was the best place to bar hop. There were several blocks of the most popular bars in our city. It was always packed full of people with the greatest food trucks each weekend. If you wanted a good night out, then you’d go there. That was exactly what Tyson wanted.
“You don’t need to worry.” I shrugged and sat down at his small kitchen table where I had already set everything up.
He brought over my plate of food and set it gently in front of me. He clamored into his chair with a long sigh. I excitedly dug into the fresh strawberries I had washed earlier as Anthony spoke up, rather gravely.
“By the way, don’t freak out . . .” he started. “But Evelyn told me that she’s intent on making me hers.”
“What? When did she say that to you?”
“Saturday night at the fair.”
I was in total disbelief as my heart began to drum in my ears. If Evelyn said this to him on Saturday, why didn’t he say anything until now? Why did he wait this long to even mention it?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Anthony’s lips mirrored the frown I wore. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not that worried about her.”
“There is no point in us scheming around if she’s going to disregard us being together. Fake or not.”
His brows creased together again as he grabbed a slice of toast and ripped it apart furiously. Agitation was so clearly mapped on the lines of his face.
“Evelyn isn’t who I’m worried about anymore. Her motives are clear, but she’s not going to get what she wants. But Kelvin? I know he wants you. He’s so quiet about it that it makes me unsettled. He stresses me out. Thank fuck we’re together so I can at least keep him at bay from you by being your boyfriend and all.”
Boyfriend . He casually called himself my boyfriend instead of my fake boyfriend , making my heart leap right out of my chest. He continued to quickly dip his toast into the sunny-side up yolk he made and took a bite of it angrily. He didn’t even realize what he had just said without hesitation.
“We’re fake, Anthony.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop myself.
He blinked, almost looking perplexed by why I was even reminding him of this. His steady gaze at me tore away to another corner of the room. “Right.” His tone was slightly clipped.
I wasn’t sure why his anger was now targeted at me, but I was starting to get irritated as well. “Look, I don’t think you should just brush Evelyn off. I know you’re concerned about Kelvin, but she can easily expose us. I know she can see how awkward we are with one another.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as we ate. “She’s not that much of a threat. Kelvin’s the one we should worry about.”
“She told you she wants to make you hers,” I said, exasperatedly. “Yet, you’re telling me that that’s nothing to worry about? I’m supposed to be your fake girlfriend, and that’s supposed to deter her away from you. Not attract her to you even more. If she doesn’t care about that, then either we’re not convincing enough, or she wants you. No matter what.”
Anthony blinked again as he glanced up at me. There were sprinkles of crumbs from the toast he devoured at the corner of his lips, making him look boyish. But he was very much a man as he looked at me with his bright, confident eyes. The soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window made them have these beautiful iridescent golden flecks as he smiled arrogantly.
“We’re perfectly convincing enough. Jonathan texted me saying that Tyson was lapping up whatever we did on Saturday night,” he said. “I think Evelyn’s just saying that to see how we would react. And that’s it. I’m certain of it.”
My brows creased together, unsure.
“By the way, why don’t you come to dinner with me tonight?” Anthony asked.
I let out a long breath. I wasn’t in the mood to socialize. “Tonight?”
“You still haven’t attended one of these dinners with me, you know? Aunt Sue may start saying something and I’d rather she not.”
Anthony gave me a nod, trying to implore me as I glanced at my phone screen for the time. The last thing I wanted was to go over to his parents’ place for dinner. Not because I didn’t love his parents, but I was trying to minimize my time with Aunt Sue and her entourage.
Aunt Sue was always great company to be around. She was loud and full of life, but unlike Anthony, she loved to be the center of attention. Evelyn hadn’t made it easy to get to know her over the years, and the way she’s been acting towards Anthony and me haven’t sat well with me. I’m neutral with Kelvin for the most part, even with Anthony’s obvious dislike of him. But I wasn’t jumping out of my seat in excitement at the thought of it.
I honestly didn’t care whether I have dinner with them or not. My social battery still needed to be recharged from this past Saturday at the fair with them and Tyson.
“It’s past seven already. Shouldn’t you be heading towards your job site?” I asked.
Anthony scoffed with a pout as he stood up with his plate and utensils. He walked around the table toward me and firmly announced, “I’m going to tell my mom you’re coming to dinner.”
“Antho—” I started only to be interrupted by him.
Or, more specifically, by what he asked .
“Is it all right if I give you a kiss on the temple before I leave? For practice.” Before I could retort, he continued. “We’re still awkward, and I’d like us to sort that out before we go out on Saturday.”
I could tell he was stressed as he let out a long sigh. It was always great to see Tyson when he was in town, but we both knew he could possibly throw a wrench into our fake relationship act. If there was a single slip up, he’d say something about it out loud for everyone to hear.
“Fine. Kiss me, then.”
Anthony leaned in swiftly. But before his plush, hot lips could make contact against my skin, I immediately jerked back, worried. What if all this kissing made me fall in love with him? When I agreed to be his fake girlfriend, I wasn’t expecting this . I also didn’t expect him to tell Tyson how he’d be heartbroken if I passed away in that car accident last year.
How was I going to survive with my heart pounding in my ears with each temple kiss he gave me? Or each time he talked about how he “fell in love” with me?
Anthony let out a frustrated sigh as irritation knitted his brows together. “Shoua,” he scolded. “You can’t keep doing this. No one’s going to believe we’re a real couple if I can’t even kiss you without you freaking out. You know we’re going to have to kiss at some point to look convincing when we go bar hopping, right?”
“What if I kiss you first?” I blurted without thinking. My voice was firm, surprising us both. Anthony raised his eyebrows at me as he set his plate back down.
“Sure.” A moment passed as I continued to sit there, completely unmoving. I needed a moment to grapple with what I just got myself into. “Well? Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
I scooted my chair back, scraping it across the floor in a loud screech and making my nervousness worse. I motioned for Anthony to lean in with a shaky hand. When he was close enough, I leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. My lips barely grazed his skin before I pulled back.
Anthony flashed me a look of utter disbelief. “What the hell was that?”
“A kiss.”
“That wasn’t a kiss. Give it some more umph and actually put your lips on me.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine.”
He leaned back over to me, and I gave him a half-peck on the cheek, mere millimeters from his lips. Before I could fully retract, Anthony caught me with one of his large hands behind my head. His cheeks were slightly flushed pink but not from embarrassment.
It was from simmering annoyance. I could see it in the hard edge of his eyes. He drew a long sigh into my face as his other hand came up to hold my face gently in his calloused hands.
“That was half-assed and you know it,” he murmured.
I could barely utter anything back before he closed the space between us. I tried not to whimper at the way his hard chest pressed against my now-erect nipples. Within a second, he placed a big, hot kiss against my temple and pulled away, leaving lingering trails of fire behind. It quickly ignited all over my skin, making me sweaty and bothered. Then he pulled away.
Anthony stood up tall with a triumphant smirk while my heart twisted and ached. This was all just to keep up our lie, I reminded myself. None of this is real.
“It’ll be the corner of your lips next time if you don’t come with me tonight,” he said.
A searing blush crept up my face. “Is that a threat?”
He threw me that charming, wide grin, and my stomach flipped and flopped. He casually walked out of the kitchen like he hadn’t just marked my soul. Before he stepped out of my house, he glanced over his shoulder
“With you, definitely.”