She couldn't ignore his scorching stare, burning a figurative hole in the back of her head. Finally, she muttered, "You're drilling a hole in my head."
He sipped his drink casually. "Really? Must be doing a terrible job at it, then," he replied, his tone teasing. She peeked out from beneath her covers, rolling over with a groan.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she rasped, her voice hoarse enough to rival a frog's croak.
"If I were actually drilling a hole in your head," he began, his lips curving into a smirk, "your cerebrum would be crushed by now, rendering you either dumb for life—or dead. Tempting, isn't it?"
Her brows knitted in confusion as her gaze fell on the lit cigar in his hand. He leaned lazily against her bedroom doorframe, blowing smoke into the air.
"Ew, you smoke?" she asked, wrinkling her nose in disapproval.
His eyes narrowed into thin, dark slits. "Yeah," he said flatly.
"That's disgusting and unhealthy. Don't do it here, I'm sick." She coughed, glaring at him for good measure. In response, he locked eyes with her and took a long, deliberate drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke slowly with a maddening sense of defiance.
"Ugh, forget it," she muttered, rolling her eyes. "Why am I even trying to reason with you?"
"I thought you were faking it to skip school," he said, his tone dry and unimpressed.
Kara groaned, sitting up and grabbing a bottle of water from her nightstand. "It would've been pretense if someone hadn't left me out in the cold for hours yesterday. But no, I'm actually, legitimately sick."
"Good," he said, his expression unreadable.
Her temper flared instantly. "Good? I feel like crap!"
"You look like crap," he quipped, his lips twitching into a smirk.
Her eyes flashed with anger. "Damn you! What's so good about me being sick?"
Before she could continue her tirade, he closed the distance between them in an instant, startling her.
His rough fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his dark, unreadable gaze. Her heart pounded, and she wasn't sure whether it was from fear or something else entirely.
"If you'd made me miss practice today over some fake sick stunt," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, "I'd have had to punish you, Dough."
Her brows furrowed, her voice trembling slightly. "What's… Dough?"
He sat on the edge of her bed, the smirk still playing on his lips. "It's your new nickname," he said simply.
She frowned. "Why Dough?"
His smirk deepened. "Because it's soft, delicious, and has… so many uses."
Her cheeks flushed, both from her fever and the heat creeping up her neck. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to smack him, or hide her face.
"So, since you gave me a nickname, does that mean you… like me?" she asked, biting her bottom lip nervously. Her wide, doll-like blue eyes blinked up at him, framed by long lashes, and for a moment, he found himself captivated.
His gaze darkened as he lifted his thumb to her lips, gently releasing her lip from between her teeth. "Don't do that," he said softly, his voice dangerously low.
Kara's breath hitched, and a wave of heat spread through her, pooling low in her stomach.
She tried to compose herself, but the tension shattered when she sneezed violently. Right in his face.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she gasped, mortified.
His hand froze mid-air. Slowly, he stood up from the bed, his expression unreadable as he reached for a napkin to wipe his face. He stared down at her, his patience visibly wearing thin.
"No need to drill a hole," he muttered coldly. "You were born dumb."