It was very discomforting, sitting beside Carl like that.
Not just discomforting—unnerving. My entire body felt like a coiled wire. Tense. Rigid. Over-aware.
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I barely breathed.
I sat there, next to him, like a statue wrapped in a cocktail dress, terrified that the slightest twitch of my fingers or breath of my mouth would give away just how flustered I truly was.
My back was too straight. My legs too crossed. My smile too fixed.
And all the while, Carl sat there, relaxed and easy, his arm behind the couch and his legs sprawled in that unapologetic, masculine way men claimed space when they knew it belonged to them. He glanced at me again, that wicked grin tugging at his lips.
"Let it go," he said.
I looked at him, confused, caught in the storm of his effortless calm.
"What did you say?" I asked, trying to keep my voice smooth, low, nonchalant. My lips barely parted—I didn't want to open my mouth too much. What if my breath stank? God. I didn't plan for this. I hadn't brushed a fourth time after the chocolate. I hadn't used mouthwash. I didn't gargle before sitting beside a walking, talking sin wrapped in muscle and scent and jawline.
"Let it go," he repeated, chuckling, his voice soft and teasing. "I mean… stop holding your breath. Breathe, Sidney."
Heat flooded my face.
Oh God. He noticed.
Of course he noticed. I'd practically turned to stone. No doubt I was giving off mortified maiden energy, clutching at my nerves like a Victorian ghost bride.
He smiled wider—that smile. That devilish, playful smirk that made my stomach tie itself into little sailor knots.
I swallowed hard, feeling exposed in a way I wasn't used to. Not because he saw my skin. But because he saw my discomfort. He saw me, and he wasn't pretending not to. That was the scariest part. Jake never saw me like that. Jake didn't look. But Carl? He noticed everything—and didn't even pretend to be sorry about it.
What is happening to me?
Suddenly, everything hit me at once.
Why was I sitting with my boss's guests?
Why was I letting myself be pulled into flirtations with a man I met a few hours ago?
What happened to my professionalism, my discipline, my emotional firewall?
Sidney, grow up!
My brain screamed at me, louder than the jazz in the background or the steady pounding of my pulse.
I stood up so quickly the room spun for a second.
"I'm sorry," I said, voice tighter than I intended. "I just remembered—I have something to do in the kitchen."
Carl blinked up at me. "Oh really?"
"Yes. Very urgent. Kitchen... emergency."
He raised a brow, clearly amused. "That's okay. Would you be needing a helping hand?"
"NEVER!"
The word flew out of my mouth before I could rein it in.
Loud.
Sharp.
Unhinged.
Both Carl and Jake turned to me, surprised.
I froze. Why did I scream? What kind of horror movie behavior was that?
"I mean—" I fumbled, "I'm sorry. I meant... no. Thank you."
Carl leaned back with a chuckle, one hand raised in surrender. "Alright, alright. I get it."
Jake looked more amused than anything else, like I was a curious episode he hadn't fully tuned into yet.
I didn't wait. I spun on my heel and bolted to the kitchen, nearly tripping over the throw rug on the way. My pulse was pounding so loud in my ears I thought I might pass out. Once inside the sanctuary of stainless steel and ceramic tiles, I collapsed against the counter.
"What the hell is wrong with me?" I whispered aloud.
The kitchen was cool, clinical. A welcome contrast to the heat radiating through my chest. I gripped the edge of the sink and took a deep breath. Then another.
"You're fine, Sidney. It's just a man," I said to myself. "A very hot man. With perfect teeth. And eyes like late-night confessions. And hands that feel like poetry. But still... just a man."
I ran cold water over my wrists, trying to calm my nerves. My reflection in the microwave door caught my attention. My cheeks were flushed. Lip gloss slightly smudged. Eyes wide like I'd seen a ghost—or touched one.
I shook my head. No. This wasn't me. I didn't lose my composure like this. Not over a smile. Not over a few stares and one hand-holding moment.
But he noticed I was holding my breath…
The intimacy of that realization made me want to scream and melt into the floorboards at the same time.
He noticed.
He paid attention.
The door creaked slightly behind me. I held my breath again—but it wasn't Carl. Thank God.
Instead, I heard them again.
Their voices carried into the hallway, light and animated as they fell back into the comfort of football banter.
"Man, your defense was trash last season," Carl said, laughter in his tone.
Jake scoffed. "Says the man supporting Arsenal. We don't even need defense when we've got actual strikers who know what a goal looks like."
Carl chuckled. "Bold words from someone whose team spends more time trending for scandals than scoring."
Jake grunted. "You wait till next season."
"Next season, next season," Carl mimicked. "Every year you say the same thing."
Their voices faded slightly, the sound of glasses clinking followed.
I exhaled, slowly, leaning against the kitchen counter and covering my face with my hands.
I needed to get a grip. Right now.
This wasn't a rom-com. This was my life.
A very complicated, twisted life that included being a glorified maid in the mansion of a woman I barely tolerated, suddenly finding herself caught between the fantasy she'd spent two years obsessing over and the reality that just walked in and set her soul on fire.
I sat down at the tiny kitchen breakfast bar and rested my head on the table.
Jake. Jake was supposed to be the one. The quiet, confident crush that carried me through long, boring nights and impossible days.
But Carl?
Carl was the storm I didn't see coming.
And I didn't know whether to run for shelter...
...or dance in the rain.