Thump.

Enough reading... for now.

I slid the book off my bed and rested my head on the pillow. Monthly tests were around the corner and the closer it got, the more intense I engrossed myself in a bland everyday regime of class, food and study; sleeping optional.

How great it would be to slip into slumber right now...

Just then, my phone decided not to allow me the rare luxury and started filling my ears with constant ringing.

“What?” I answered irritatedly.

“Yes, hello to you too, sunshine,” Paul retorted. “I’m already downstairs.”

His words didn’t make any sense to me.“Downstairs? Why?”

He sighed. “You forgot, didn’t you? Dinner at Checkers?”

I groaned. This was Paul’s great idea for pulling me out of my self-induced house arrest; by taking me to a different restaurant almost every single night. Didn't he have all those other more than willing girls to accompany him for dinner?

“I’ll be down in ten.”

My body felt like it weighed a ton, not that it wasn’t entirely impossible judging by the amount of junk food I survived on every single day to get through the night studying. I slipped off my bed and headed to my modest closet. If I remembered correctly, Checkers was quite a walk from here so I’d better be well protected from the cold.

Don’t want to be getting a flu now.

As I dusted lint off my brown jacket, I snagged my bag hanging by the chair and went out the front door. To my surprise, Paul was walking towards me from the staircase.

He fixed his icicle eyes on mine. “I thought you slept on me.” He looked about ready to break the door down if he had to, just to get me out.

I snorted. "I almost did."

"You'd be dead if you ever try to do that." He pulled me from where he came up.

***********************

“I’ll take your Arrabiata. Thanks.” I handed the waiter the menu.

The tiny restaurant was unimaginably packed. Loads of people were still lining up for a table even though those lucky enough to be seated were showing no signs of getting up and leaving. It seemed to have a reputation that preceded it’s lack of space and there I was, stuck at a small intimate round table in a very confused dash drowsy state, sharing it with Paul.

Paul.

"I just don't want to see you hurt like that by him."

No way was I ever going to be involved in a romantic relationship with Paul. It's absurd to even think of it. Yes, we were extremely good friends -I'd even dare say bestfriends- but that doesn't mean I have to love-love him. How the hell could Ashley dream of such a thing anyway? He goes out the with the really 'mature' experienced girls, the ones who like... know tricks of the trade and stuff. I know nothing. Can you imagine the things someone like him would be up to with girls like them? Ugh, wait. Let's not think about that.

Tap, tap, tap.

Paul’s finger’s start drumming the side of the small wooden table. He looks silently at a corner, head perched on his other hand. I studied him, just as he was lifting the glass of water to his lips. He had big slender hands, the kind that modeled watches and jewelry, the kind that probably knew where to caress to make a girl-

“Is there something fascinating about my hand that you just can’t take your eyes off it?”

He was smiling at me, eyes twinkling.

“Nothing. Just... observing.”

“Be careful, Temperley,” he said in a low sultry voice. “Someone might just think you have fallen for me.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my embarrassment.

Oh. My. God. What the hell was I thinking about his hands? Am I insane? Where the heck did that stupid thought come from anyway? Fortunately, he can't read minds or something; if not I'd just die.

Paul is still looking at me in the eyes, not flinching one bit. “You are so into your own world that you're making me curious enough to pry it open."

Pry it open? STOP IT TEMPERLEY, STOP THINKING WEIRD INSANE THINGS-

"Damn Boston, you always seem to be slipping in and out of your thoughts these days,” Paul continued staring into my eyes, as if trying to read my mind. “I can’t comprehend the kind of obscene things you’d be thinking when you stare at my hands or any of my other numerous body parts like that.”

Holy shit. He can read my mind. Kill me now.

“Excuse me, Mr. Innocence,” I retorted shakily, “but I do not stare at any of your other body parts.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting the part about the obscene thoughts were right?”

"NO," I replied haphazardly. Even a crab can see through my stupid nervousness. "You wish."

It was lucky that Paul decided to drop the subject, perfectly content in staring into my eyes. i wonder what kind of things he's seen- I'm doing it again.

"Excuse me," I squeaked, "but I'm going to wash my face."

What's wrong with you, Temperley? Jeez, I can't take anymore of this. The thoughts are driving me insane. It's probably fire from the fuel- yes, this is all Ashley's fault. Chummy. I'll kill her when I see her.

I stare myself at the mirror and splash water onto my face. Get a grip. Phew, okay. Just eat and leave, easy as that. Absolutely no more thinking.

Walking back to the table, I spotted a table of girls at a were all whispering like high school girls. What in the world are they looking at anyway? I turn to the direction all of them were facing and pointing, it was directed at someone that was really tan and had gold hai-

Oh, yeah. Paul.

I sat on my chair and filled him in. "The table by the far corner is pretty excited about you."

Paul turned towards them, obviously having been unaware of the attention, and set them all in a reddish blush with his flirty wink. He grinned and turned back to face me; his blue eyes going back to staring deeply into mine.

Why is he doing that?

“Anymore staring and you’ll burn a hole through my pupils.”

He grinned playfully and looked away. “Well, that won’t do. You have nice eyes to look at.”

"Stop flirting with me. I'm your friend, you don't need to butter me up and everything, you know."

"It's not flirting, Temperley," he said decidedly, "it's giving a compliment where compliment is due."

"Ahem, sorry mister," a waiter apologizes, "but the table over there -pointing at the table of said girls- asked me to hand you this."

Paul casually took the note, read it and smirked. "Don't mind me, Temperley but I'll just get over to that table and introduce myself." He walked over to the table, much to the excitement of every one of them and started introducing himself, offering handshakes all around. Must be probably burning through their skin right now. Wait... waitaminute, why is he pointing at me for? What are they laughing at? Huh???

"So it is you." A smooth velvet voice said out loud.

I turned around only to lays my eyes on a pair of grey irises, partially covered by thick eyelashes.

He smiled warmly at me. "So we meet again. What are the chances?"

It was Trey. Trey Walsh from the charity run, Trey Walsh from the after party. Trey Walsh; the one that handed me his number. He looked as delicious as ever, casually dressed in a grey cashmere sweater over his white shirt. He removed his Yankee cap and ran a hand through his brown hair. It was like watching a shampoo commercial. People were staring. I was staring.

"So... you didn't call," he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I shifted queasily in my seat. "Um, yeah... you see I don't really do that kind of stuff."

He laughed carelessly, a lock of hair falling onto his face. "Ah, so you're that kind of girl. I wouldn't have expected any less."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong Temperley," he started, assuring me through his warm grey eyes, "I didn't mean it in a bad way. Most girls these days have no self-respect and do more than just try to have a drink with you, if you know what I mean. I find it rather disgusti-"

"Sorry is there a problem?"

Paul walked straight up to him. They were almost head to head with one another, Trey just slightly taller than Paul was. With them standing side by side like that, it felt as if the whole place was going to explode. Everybody was looking at them. I was looking at them. It was hard not to, considering the fact that they were both helplessly good looking; plus it seemed as if they fed off each other, each making the one another look than more handsome. As I said, it was hard not to stare.

Trey was not even mildly affected by the condescending tone in Paul's voice. Instead, he graciously smiled back. "Sorry for disrupting your dinner, I'm Trey Walsh."

Paul nodded his head. "Ah yes, the man who helped Temperley during the charity run incident."

"Yes, that's right," Trey reiterated. "I was just catching up with Temperley here."

Folding his hands, Paul nodded impatiently, "Well, sorry Trey, but we're on a tight schedule here. She has to rush back to get some work done."

"Oh right, don't let me stop you." Trey apologized, looking at me. "Anyway, that's my table. Hope I'll get to chat longer one of these days." He smiled once more before heading off to the other direction.

I was still staring.

"That's a surprising coincidence," Paul admittedly sarcastically.

"You sound like you don't believe it was."

Paul looked very annoyed-almost angry. "Come on, Boston. 3 occasions in 2 weeks? Don't you think it's just too far-fetched?"

"I guess you're right."

3 occasions in 2 weeks? Don't you think it's just too far-fetched? It really was, I mean, those kind of things only happen in romance novels not in real life.

Then again, who can help but wonder?