Jannah's POV
"Shit! Hold still," Ethan's voice echoes in my ear. My head is against his chest—warm and inviting, like a pillow, even though it's anything but soft. My body feels foreign to me. I feel like I could fly if I wanted to, so I spread my arms to the sides and move them up and down.
My flying spree almost lands me on the ground, but Ethan grabs my waist and pulls me back before I fall.
"Hey, I was about to fly," I hiss. When he ignores my accusation, I poke his nose with my pinkie. By the third poke, he looks like Rudolph.
"Phew, let go, you old buzzer," I protest weakly, giggling as I pinch the bridge of his nose, following each pinch with a soft "poop." Ethan lets out a tired sigh, but his grip on me doesn't loosen. Instead, it tightens.
My body feels like it has all the adrenaline in the world coursing through it, yet at the same time, I feel clumsy. Now, I'm just restless and hyperactive.
I shut my eyes for a minute, humming a tune I just made up. Bored, I open them again and take in his face. I notice the faint lines at the corners of his eyes—just two or so. His hair falls over his forehead, and if he leaned any closer, it would probably tickle my face. I watch as the breeze flutters it before deciding it's time I touched it too. Without thinking, I grab a fistful.
"Not my hair. Please," he groans, shaking his head violently. When I don't let go, he slowly pries my fingers away.
"There's still a lot I haven't tried before I go bald, so cut it out," he snaps. I stick out my tongue and roll my eyes.
The next thing I feel is his arms sliding down my thighs. When they finally reach my knees, he scoops me up bridal style, and I let out an excited whoop.
"Now we're married. Everyone, we're Mr. and Mrs. Hunt!"
A few heads turn our way—some people smile, others just stare blankly before looking away.
I soak up the kind smiles of a few women who even wave when Ethan says, "I had no idea helping you would cost me this much."
"You can drop me now, Mr. Hunt," I chuckle. Leaning in closer, I wrap my arms around his neck—it's more comfortable that way. His body goes tense for a moment before relaxing again.
"I'll drop you once I'm sure you're in your room," he states. From his tone, I can tell he's a little annoyed. Not that I care.
"You can stay the night if you want. That way, I don't have to imagine you fucking me from behind," I slur, my voice heavier now. Ethan clears his throat.
"You didn't strike me as a prude."
At this point, I'm hurt. I just shot my shot, and he's already ignoring me.
"You don't seem like a hooker," he deadpans.
His face, like the rest of his body, has so many interesting features, but none catch my attention like his lips—full, with a deep cupid's bow, a warm shade of brown on the outer edges, while the inner corners are a soft pink.
"I could kiss you all day if you let me," I murmur.
When he doesn't respond, I pull at his lower lip. I'm about to do it again, but he sucks them in.
"I bet you taste like coffee—black, plain, ugly, bitter, sad coffee."
Ethan lets out a dry chuckle. "And you'd know because?"
His response makes my lips twitch into a lazy smile.
"Because you look the part. Because you're so mean. Good thing I like mean boys." I yawn.
His eyes meet mine for a second—brown, darkened slightly, shimmering with something raw and unguarded. My gaze darts away, settling on his Adam's apple. I can still feel him looking at me.
"Kiss me," I say hoarsely.
Ethan stops walking. The air around us thickens—or maybe it's just him. Either way, an awkward silence lingers.
"Why won't you?" My tone softens, almost a whisper. My vision blurs as tears well up. We're indoors now, somewhere along the hallway.
"Where's your room? And your key card?" he asks, adjusting me so I'm balanced better in his arms.
"Is it because of Raquel?" I let out a dry, shaky laugh. His eyebrows lift slightly in question. I lick my lower lip.
"Where's your room, Jannah?"
When he says my name, I find myself blushing. That's when I realize—he barely ever calls me by my name. In fact, I don't think he ever has.
"Somewhere on the third floor. I mean, Raquel—your girlfriend. I know she's pretty, but I'm a way better kisser. All my exes can vouch for me," I add, reminding him he hasn't answered my question. His response is a scoff.
"Aren't you gonna say you want to kiss me too?" I sniffle. My voice is muffled because my thumb has somehow found its way into my mouth.
"You're drunk. I don't make out with drunk people."
"So?" I hiss. "People make out when they're drunk all the time." I say it like it's a fact. Even though my face is partially buried in his chest, I can tell there's a smile on his.
"We're on the third floor," he announces. I tell him my room number, and in no time, we're at my door. He swipes my key card, and we're in.
He doesn't move immediately. Instead, his eyes scan the room, probably deciding the best place to put me. I yawn for what seems like the hundredth time, stretching my arms and legs. My eyelids grow heavier.
My eyes are already shut when I hear him mutter " Goodnight, Jannah."
" I hate you," I murmur.
If he says anything else, I don't hear. Sleep takes me immediately.