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“Go talk to him,” Blain says, her voice weary. “I’m going to get ready for bed. Worrying over you has left me exhausted.”
I snicker. She always has a delicate way of putting things.
If she’s going to stay in here, then I’ll be alone with Woon in a small room. Why does that feel dangerous?
He’s a celebrity, I remind myself. There’s no way he’d go for a girl like me. Nothing to be worried about. I take a deep breath and nudge the door open, and then close it softly behind me.
“Good news,” Woon says when he sees me.
He takes a seat on our couch, setting Blain’s phone down in front of him. There’s no tension in his body, no confusion in his features. He’s totally comfortable, so I should be too.
I chose the chair furthest from him, anyway.
There’s a small coffee table between us and we’re sitting diagonal from each other. He narrows his eyes for half a second before scooting over so we’re directly across. My gaze flits to the floor, heat tickling behind my ears.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and I catch his knees straightening in my peripheral. “I’m imposing, aren’t I?”
I look up, mouth open. “What?”
“Now that I’m safe and I’ve made my phone call, I should go.”
He starts to get up, but I latch onto his wrist. “Wait.”
Why can’t I just be a regular person who responds when they’re spoken to? He must think Blain convinced me he has to go, when in reality, just the opposite happened.
“You don’t need to leave yet.” The words come out tiny, and for a moment I’m not sure he heard them.
He sits, and my gaze travels to his face. He’s on the edge of the couch. I had launched forward when I grabbed for him. That leaves our faces closer than they should be. This coffee table is much too small.
“Sorry,” I say, removing my hand from his like it’s scalding.
“You keep apologizing,” he says, not moving from his position.
When I look at him again his eyebrows are down, mouth thin. His eyes are so clear, brown stained glass with sunlight beaming through. Common sense tells me to turn away, but I’m swallowed up in his gaze.
“Don’t,” he finishes in a whisper.
My tongue has turned to metal. I have to say something or he might run away again, but speaking is harder than I remember it being.
“Habit,” I say, the word breathy.
He chews on his bottom lip, his dimple popping out with the movement of his jaw.
This isn’t real. He’s too beautiful to be concrete. What if he wasn’t a superstar? What if we had met in a coffee shop like regular people? What if I wasn’t terrified of him?
I clear my throat and scoot back, breaking the stare. He hangs his head, one of his hands rubbing the other fist.
“Goodnight!” Blain calls to us walking from the bathroom to the bedroom and giving us a wave. I don’t think she heard any of that with the water running.
“Night!” Woon and I say in sync.
She shuts the bedroom door and I can hear the fan going. She really wants us to be alone. Probably so I can get over Woon.
“You were telling me some good news?” I ask, trying to swim through the awkward.
He doesn’t look at me as his head bobs yes. “I have a way to get back to Korea.”
My heart drops to my stomach. “Oh? That’s fantastic.”
I hope he buys my words, because I sure don’t. He’s still not looking at me, and there’s a stabbing pain in my chest
“Yeah. It is,” he says, reaffirming it to himself.
Crap. He’s leaving, and I screwed up our friendship. If I really want him around, I need to act like I can handle that instead of being weird around him.
It’s wrong of me to crave him the way I do. I’m keeping him for totally selfish purposes, and I know it. Even with that knowledge, I can’t stop myself. It’s like Blain is whispering in my ear to quit being such a prude and let myself feel for once.
I’ve spent two weeks trying not think of him, and I’ve done nothing but. This is as much as we can be, and yet, I have to see it through. If he leaves now, I’ll spend forever dwelling on the time we had. I need him around so I can get him out of my system.
“When do you go?” I ask, my heart cracking.
He lifts his head, his face squinting. “I was going to ask you about that, actually.”
I sit up straighter. “What?”
Woon rubs his hands on his thighs. “You see, my groupmate can’t get away right now with management watching him so close. I need to stick around until tomorrow night.”
“Oh,” I say again, trying not to sound triumphant, even though I feel it. “Of course.”
The thinking part of me must be working again because I manage to keep myself from jumping in the air and shouting, “YES!”
“Are you sure?” he says with one brow raised.
I’m sure, but why wouldn’t I be? I nod to confirm, and he gives me the full effect of his smile. It’s dazzling.
“I don’t want to put you at risk. You can kick me out any time. Say the word and I’m gone.”
Never going to happen. I take a deep breath, feeling light. “Sounds good.”
I love the way his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Great.”
He leans into the couch and I stretch my arms forward. I want to keep talking to him, but I really stink at conversation.
I point my thumbs behind me. “I should get ready for bed.”
“Sure,” he responds.
“And,” I say, “I’ll bring you a blanket.”
He nods. “Whatever you have, I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”
If only he knew how much I like having him around.
I stand up to leave when I hear a rumble behind me. Flipping around, I find Woon stiff-backed with one hand on his stomach.
“Was that—?” I start, looking at his hand placement.
He cringes. “I might be a little hungry.”
I throw my head back as I laugh. “You should’ve said something.”
I’m not sure what we have lying around, but there is food. I start searching through the cabinets. “How does ramen sound?”
“Perfect.”
I pull out a pot and get the water boiling. There’s some green onion in the fridge and I chop it up to add to the water for flavoring.
“Can I help you with anything?”
I jump, spinning to see Woon right next to me.
My fingers are sprawled over my heart. “You scared me.”
He smiles. “I keep doing that, don’t I?”
I swallow. He is way too close.
“Yes,” I say, busying myself by cracking an egg. I don’t even know if he wants egg, but I have to do something.
He doesn’t leave my personal bubble. “I’ll try not to do that anymore.”
I have to get myself together and talk.
“I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”
“No,” he says, taking the egg bowl from my hand and whisking it. “I came over here because I couldn’t let you make my food for me. Now move.”
I stare at him with my mouth hanging open. His eyes travel to our two-person kitchen table then back to me. “Go, sit.”
“But—” I say, reaching for the ramen packet.
He takes it before I can, and holds it to his chest like he’s guarding it. His toe hits my foot as he gestures for me to sit again. “I can make ramen by myself. It’s not hard.”
I don’t like it, but I take a seat anyway.
He opens my fridge and takes out hotdogs, cheese, and rice. “Your ramen was a good start,” he says, chopping up the hotdog into pieces. “But this needs to be taken to the next level.”
I roll my eyes, but don’t argue. Hot dog in ramen sounds like the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard of.
Now that the water’s boiling, he throws in the noodles and seasoning. He warms the rice in the microwave, and adds the hotdogs with the egg into the ramen pot. The cheese goes in at the last minute.
Maybe it’s a good thing he’s cooking. I can take full advantage of his leather pants from here. I should probably get him something more comfortable to sleep in, but I’m a touch shorter than him and Blain is a touch skinnier. I’ll have to get him something in the morning.
Snatching a hot pad from the wall, Woon uses it as the centerpiece for the ramen pot. Then he serves up two bowls of rice, with chopsticks.
“What’s this?” I say, looking at the bowl he’s placed before me.
“Dinner,” he says matter-of-factly.
I press my lips together, looking at the ceiling. “I’m not hungry, and you didn’t ask me.”
“Seriously?” he says, “After what we just went through? You need food to help you recover.”
I’m still reliving it, and it makes my stomach churn. Food is not a good idea right now.
He sighs, picking up his chopsticks. “You’re shaking, you need to eat.”
“No, I’m—” I start, but then I notice my trembling hands.
“Open up,” he says.
I’m in the middle of a “Huh?” when hot noodles touch my tongue. I slurp, pulling in as much air as I can to tame the burning. Really ladylike. There’s a bite of hotdog in there, and some cheese, too. It’s actually amazing.
“Mmmmm,” I say involuntarily.
“See,” he says, using the same chopsticks and reaching into the same pot. I guess he’s not worried about my germs. “You need nourishment. Now eat your rice.”
Might as well resign myself since he won’t let it go.
I take a big bite and chew slowly, memories of home flooding me with the taste. I swear this rice is better than when I made it earlier, but I have no idea how he did it.
“More water,” he says.
I look up, confused.
He then points to my rice. “It needed more water, so I added some before microwaving.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, and then open them again. How did he read my mind?
He dips a spoon into the ramen broth and takes a sip. “I cooked for all my bandmates.”
Uncanny. I wasn’t going to ask him how he knew so much about food, and yet he answered the question before I could ask.
“Of course,” he says, continuing the one-sided conversation. “I mostly just made ramen, but I’m dang good at it.”
So crazy. I was just wondering if he could make anything else this good. Now I want to test him. If we really are on the same wavelength, maybe he can read what I’m thinking right now. I narrow my eyes at him and think as hard as I can, asking him the question in my heart.
Would you stay as long as I asked?
He has to leave, and I know it. But this is the first time we’ve sat down together and I want to get to know him more. If he leaves tomorrow night, it’ll be a repeat of the pain I experienced the first time we separated.
I watch him eat for a few minutes. He keeps looking at me, but not saying anything. I really want to know if he can crack my question.
“Eat,” he finally says around a mouthful of food.
I pick up my chopsticks and try some more of his ramen. So much for that.
“What?” he finally says after we eat in silence for a while.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“No,” he says, putting his elbows on the table and locking his fingers. “Not nothing. You want to ask me something.”
Some ramen broth goes down the wrong tube, and I start coughing. How did he know? Maybe he didn’t get it exactly right, but he knew I was thinking of a question.
I take a sip of water and clear my throat. “That’s insane.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What is?”
I smirk. “The way you can read my mind.”
My face instantly flames up. I cannot believe I just said that.
He laughs, and I can’t help but look at him. “So I was right?” he says through the laughter. “I was just guessing.”
I don’t want to laugh with him, but his face is so happy I can’t help but join in. Just another check on the list of reasons why he’s not real.
“So ask me,” he says, his smile still wide.
“Oh no,” I respond, shaking my head. “I can’t. Too embarrassing.”
He tilts his head. “Now I have to know.”
“Nope.” I shovel more food into my mouth to prove my point.
“Come on,” he says, poking my arm.
I flinch away from his touch, feeling it all the way up my spine. So not fair. He’s totally comfortable while I’m a wreck.
“So...” I say, needing a subject change. “You told me you’d explain what was happening downtown.”
He scratches his head, and then studies his hands. “My career is a bit of a mess right now.”
Okkkayyy... I don’t think he has any idea how much I’ve been researching him.
“I think I know,” I tell him. “This is just a guess based on what I’ve read online, but you’re under a terrible CSTAR contract and you want out.”
He’s still looking at his hands, and I watch as his chest fills with air then collapses. “I wish it was that easy,” he says. “If it was just the contract I could hire a lawyer, but what can I do when I’ve been kidnapped?”
My muscles go rigid. No wonder he’s been running. I wish the people of the internet knew so they’d stop talking bad about him.
His fists are flexing hard, and I decide to listen instead of respond so he can say what he needs to.
“My future is over,” he finally says. “My company in Korea will never take me back.”
“What?” I ask, confused by the strong statement.
He grips the table, shaking the pot enough for drops of liquid to splatter around us. “I didn’t have a choice. They stole me away from my company, forced me to sign at gunpoint, and then sued to get out of my previous contract.”
I slowly sit forward, feeling more on edge than I was during the chase earlier. “What are you going to do about it?”
He looks at me, and I can see the tears pooling there. “I don’t know,” he says, inhaling roughly. “But I have to get back to Korea to figure it out.”
