Chapter 7 That Cliché Moment

• 《 Shirley 》
• "You know why I didn't knock on your door?" I asked, and he shrugged. "Because you're the one I want to knock out."
• Dylan chuckled dryly. "Oh, really? With your puny hands and little to no strength, you think you can put a scratch on me? How cute."
• "But my puny hands can pick this up, and with my little to no strength, I can step on it," I said, grabbing his laptop with one of my hands.
• His eyes widened as a few incoherent curses left his mouth, something about not saving an important draft. "Woman, put that down."
• "Yes, I'm about to."
• "Argh, fuck." He inhaled a sharp breath and spoke in a much calmer tone, "Hand it to me. It contains data more important than your life." Dylan really liked putting me down, so I was going to do him a favor and put his precious laptop down.
• I flashed him a tight-lipped wide smile and was about to whack it on the ground, but I was stopped by a large hand grabbing my wrist.
• I glared at him and tried to wriggle out my arm, yet his hold was firm.
• "Leave my hand."
• "Why, your puny hands can't muster the strength to force its way out?" he mocked.
• I clenched my jaw and tried not to get fazed by the faint scent of his shampoo. Just then a brilliant idea flickered in my head.
• My lips curved in a smirk. Horror flashed across his face as he understood my intention. My smirk grew wider as I released my grip on the laptop, letting it hit the white marbled floor with a loud thud.
• His wide, angry eyes scanned over the damage of his laptop, his hand still grabbing my wrist, but this time, it was tighter.
• "Do you have any idea what you have done?" he asked, his eyes darting daggers at me.
• "What are you going to do about it?" I tried to put up a brave front. To be honest, I was a little scared of his intimidating look.
• "You don't want to know," he said slowly and tightened his grip on my wrist. I was sure it was going to leave a bruise.
• Subconsciously, I started taking steps back while speaking, "Why not? Let me see what you can do to me. I-" my words were cut off as the back of my knee hit the corner of the bed, making me fall back, tugging Dylan along with me.
• And before I knew it, I was lying on his bed on my back with Dylan on top of me. It felt strangely good in that position. It was just him and me in the world, breathing so close.
• As my eyes locked for a brief moment, I saw something I didn't expect to see. There was emptiness, sure. But on a closer look, they hid away the pain. The dark secrets. The painful memories. The yearning for something I had no idea of.
• For the few times I had seen Dylan up close, he always seemed emotionless, and my collected data said the same thing.
• But could a person really not have any emotions? They had to have it somewhere, right? They must feel emotions too. Like right now. I could feel a little tinge of spark between us. He was sensing it too, wasn't he?
• Dylan opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a knock on the open door.
• "What is it?" Dylan asked before propping himself up from me. I heard a creak as he stood up which was probably due to him stepping on his own broken laptop.
• He grunted and shot me a glare, and I smiled sheepishly.
• "Sir, Madam Sienna told me to ask why you didn't pay her a visit while you were in the capital," said the same old maid from earlier. She didn't have any reaction to us laying on his bed as if that was something that happened every day. Well, I wouldn't deny it was somewhat a cliché incident.
• "Tell her I didn't know she was there for the shooting," Dylan replied, picking up his laptop and putting it on the coffee table. In the meanwhile, I sat up on the bed. My heart rate had calmed down considerably from before.
• "You tell that to her yourself, and please try picking up her calls sometimes. Don't get me involved in your mother-son banter," saying that, she left.
• "I get why you wouldn't want to receive my calls," I started saying quietly, and Dylan looked over at me. "But you should answer your mom's call at least."
• "She's not—" he stopped midway. He cleared his throat before speaking again, "Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."
• He was probably right. I shouldn't meddle in his private life too much. I only meant business for him.
• "Sorry," I mumbled quietly.
• Dylan sighed and said, "Anyways, if you're done bothering me for the day, you should leave."
• "But I'm not done," I protested, standing up. "Why did you leave me hanging without informing me you won't be in town for three days?"
• "Because I didn't want a nuisance like you bothering me in between my Mafia work," he admitted.
• "How mean!" I exclaimed.
• "Should I be mode or median then?" Dylan arched an eyebrow, and I held back a chuckle. He was a little childish, alright.
• And he loved mathematics. I didn't hate the subject all that much, but the weird teaching method of my teacher at high school still left a bitter feeling inside.
• "Okay, look," I tried to settle the issues between us first. Since he had the upper hand in the situation, I had no choice but to abide by him. But I was going to do it my way. "The tournament is in three months. We haven't got any time to waste. You understand, right?"
• Dylan nodded.
• "So let's start our training as soon as possible."
• "Before that, I demand an apology." I furrowed my brows in confusion. I knew I had a lot of things to be apologizing for, but for what exactly?
• "For what?"
• "For invading my privacy and breaking my laptop," he replied.
• "Fine, I'm sorry," I grunted.
• "There wasn't any sincerity, but I'll take it."
• I frowned and thought, just what does he think of himself?
• Quite high, replied my subconscious.
• Shrugging off all other matters to the side, I stated what I had initially come here for, "I booked the western racing grounds for us tomorrow at 10 o'clock. So be there on time."
• "Who do you think you are ordering?" He narrowed his eyes.
• "I'm ordering Dylan Lewiston. Any doubts?" A little naughty smirk made its way through my lips. I was going to have my way in this one at least.
• "None, but don't you think I should be the one deciding the time and place?" He tilted his head to the side, letting the strands of his damp hair fall over his forehead. The image of his perfectly crafted shirtless body flashed in my mind, warming up my cheeks once again.
• "You can decide next time," with that, I ran out of his bedroom before I could embarrass myself.
• What happened to make his ears bleed? asked my subconscious while I made my way out of the manor.
• Ah, shit, I didn't accomplish my main goal.
• Then no cake for one month it is, happily chirped the voice in my head.
• I banged my head on the steering once I got in my car, letting out an exasperated sigh. I thought back to whatever happened between me and pushed them to the back of my head.
• It was normal to get flustered by all those. It was nothing special. It was because of watching those cliché scenes in the movies. Single life was getting to me, I told myself repeatedly before driving away. For a dangerous yet enticing person like that, I shouldn't be feeling that. He was like a trap I would regret stepping my foot into.
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