Chapter 140: Better Single Than Be One of Those Girls[June’s POV]
My poker face?
Oh please. I was about to roast him alive when Ian’s phone started ringing.
"Yo, Casper, what’s up?" he answered the call, putting it on speaker.
Casper’s voice came through the speaker. "Bro, where tf are you? We said noon. It’s literally one. Don’t make me pull up on you."
Ian scratched his neck. "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming. Just... cleaning my room, you know. In case..."
He cut himself off.
In case what? My eyebrow went straight up.
I could see his reaction from the bathroom glass door.
Casper didn’t even let him slide. "In case what? Oh, wait. Don’t tell me... oh my God."
He started laughing. "You’re such a player. Hot chicks are coming. I even invited those hot cheerleaders. Bet you’ve already picked which one you’re shooting your shot at. That’s why you’re cleaning."
Ian grinned, not even denying it. "Man, you already know."
I gagged.. obviously he didn’t hear me.
So basically, I’m cleaning his nasty room so he can smash a random cheerleader later. Love that for me.
Casper was still cracking up. "Anyway, switch up. You’re off alcohol duty. Dom and Ren are already grabbing it. You, my friend, are officially on..."
"Don’t you dare say trash duty."
Casper laughed harder. "Nah, nah. You’re helping me set up. Balloons, lights, whatever. You’ve got the muscles, use them. We can’t have the party looking like a middle school dance."
Ian groaned, throwing his head back. "Bro, no. I am not your interior designer."
Right then, Casper screamed across into the phone. "Hey! Don’t drain the pool, dumbass! We need it full for tonight. Jesus."
Casper snorted. "Anyway, yeah, just get your ass here. We’ve got like five hours before this place fills with sweaty teenagers. Bring deodorant."
"Ha ha, so funny," Ian muttered, smirking.
"Don’t make me FaceTime you while I’m waiting," Casper said.
"Relax, I’m coming. And I’m not touching balloons. That’s where I draw the line."
"You are touching balloons."
He ended the call.
And me? I was standing there holding the rag in hand, judging the hell out of them.
The door creaked open and Ian stuck his head out.
"Finally. You move slower than my grandma. Hurry up."
I raised a brow. "Uh, sorry for not sprinting to clean your room so you can have a cheerleader sleepover."
He smirked. "What, jealous much? If you don’t want me to bring anyone over, I won’t!"
"Jealous?" I gagged dramatically. "Please. The fact I’m even touching your dirty socks is trauma enough. You bringing a girl in here is actually disgusting, and none of my business."
Ian leaned against the wall, grinning. "Careful, June. Keep talking like that and you’ll end up on the bed instead."
"Ew. Absolutely not. I’d rather set myself on fire."
"Sure you would." He dodged. "You talk too much for someone scrubbing my floor."
"And you breathe too much for someone whose entire love life consists of flirting with everything in a skirt."
"Ouch." He clutched his chest. "That was personal."
"It’s facts." I sprinkled him water. "You’re literally making me Cinderella this place just so you can have a one night stand in a room that smells like boy sweat. That’s not personal. That’s gross."
He shook his head. "Better gross than single."
"Better single than be one of those girls."
We glared at each other for a second before he laughed and walked away.
Few Minutes Later.
I came out of the bathroom with the mop bucket.
Then...boom.
Ian was in the middle of the room, yanking his shirt over his head.
And holy hell...
Abs.
Veins.
Shoulders.
And don’t even get me started on the V-line below.
My ovaries! Why is he so hot?
"Oh my," I nearly dropped the bucket. "Put your shirt back on, perv!"
He smirked, dragging the shirt off slow, like he knew exactly what he was doing. "Relax. It’s just skin. What, never seen a naked man before? You’ve literally seen me naked, I have nothing to hide anymore."
I choked on air.
It’s true, I still can’t stop thinking about it.
It’s still traumatizing me.
"You’re not a man. You’re like... a walking red flag. And why are you shirtless in the middle of me cleaning? Do you just... enjoy traumatizing me?"
"Maybe," he said, tossing the shirt onto the bed. "Or maybe I just like watching you lose your mind."
"Whatever, I’m done here."
Except Ian didn’t let me off that easy.
He leaned in as I walked by, bracing one hand on the wall, lifting the other just enough to tilt my chin up with two fingers.
"What...what do you think you’re trying to do?" I hissed, frowning at him.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He kept staring like my pupils, like he was testing how far he could push.
"Looking at you how?" I yanked his hands off.
He smirked. "Like that. I know that look."
What the hell is he talking bout?
His grin softened. "I’m not going to lie, your eyes are really pretty."
My breath hitched.
Oh God. Why did he say it like that? Like he was undressing me with his voice.
And judging by the way his thumb lingered near my jaw, he knew. I’m not playing his games.
Is this how he tricks girls?
I gave him my fiercest glare, but my hormones clearly hadn’t signed the contract.
Because instead of disgust, my eyes flickered with something else, something way too turned on for my own good.
What’s also this tingling sensation? My legs felt weak.
He caught it, his smirk deepened.
And then my brain started yelling at my hormones.
I don’t even like him. I don’t. He’s cocky, irritating, allergic to shirts, fucking sex addict. Literally a walking red flag in human form.
No. Absolutely not. I like Ren. I’ve always liked Ren.
I doodle Ren’s name in my notes like a middle schooler, for crying out loud. So why...why does my chest feel tight and my stomach flip just because Ian Han is leaning this close?
Is he about to kiss me?
Should I push him away?
I mean... I’m not gonna lie. He’s hot. Like, really hot. The abs, the veins, the height, the way he knows he’s hot, it’s all very... illegal.
And yeah, he loves flirting. He flirts with eveyone for God’s sake.
But still...no. Nope. I don’t want him.
I snapped out of it and shoved his chest, ignoring how stupidly hard it felt under my palms. "Dream on, Han."
But instead of stepping back, Ian’s hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer.
My breath stuttered.
"What! Ian, no." My voice cracked.
His grip tightened, in this possessive way, like he wasn’t letting me go.
His eyes flicked down, to my lips, to my eyes, back to my lips again, and suddenly every nerve in my body lit up.
I froze. My eyelids fluttered, I shut it on instinct, my head kept shaking as if that would stop the heat flooding between us.
Don’t do it. Please don’t kiss me.
His stare didn’t move. It lingered, right on my lips.
And his hand didn’t let go.
He was so close. God, he was too close.
I hated the way my cheeks burned, the way my lips parted, the way my thighs pressed together because my hormones were apparently traitors.
So why... why do I feel like if he leaned in right now, I wouldn’t stop him?