JAY-JAY POV
I woke up to someone wrapping their arms around me.
Warm.
Heavy.
Familiar.
For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
Then I turned my head and saw him.
Keifer.
My breath caught. "What???" I muttered, half‑asleep, half‑shocked.
He didn't move.
His grip was steady, clipped even in sleep, like he was holding me in place without asking.
I stared at him, my mind flashing back to fragments of last night — the drinks, the laughter, the fight, the collar, the kiss.
God.
Did I really say all that?
Did I really tell him I gave up?
I pressed my hand against my forehead, groaning.
My head was pounding, my throat dry, but the weight in my chest was heavier than the hangover.
Then I looked at myself.
I was wearing Keifer's shirt.
What the hell?
I didn't remember this.
I turned my head — Keifer was shirtless.
"What the FUCK?" I screamed, voice echoing through the room.
Keifer stirred, eyes half‑open, jaw tight. "Again," he muttered.
"Again? What the hell do you mean again?" I shot back, glaring.
He rubbed his face, clipped as always. "What — you said 'fuck,' do you want me to—"
He couldn't finish his sentence because I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him. "Shut up!"
I shouted, dramatic, chaotic.
I pressed my hands to my face, fake tears spilling out of my voice. "I had sex with you, you ugly man!"
His jaw tightened, but his eyes glinted with that maddening calm. "Ugly? Jay, you said I had a good body."
I froze, then snapped back instantly. "I never said that!" I defended myself, voice sharp, stubborn.
He smirked, leaning back, unbothered. "Jay, you're loud even when you lie."
"I'm filing a case against you. You had sex with me without my consent!" I shouted, dramatic, clutching the blanket tighter.
Keifer sat up, eyes narrowing. "What the hell, Jay? Would you really think—"
"The hell I'm about to!" I snapped, cutting him off.
"Nothing happened between us," he said, voice clipped, steady.
"Then explain how I'm wearing your shirt!" I demanded, pointing at myself.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "You took my shirt because you said you had nothing good to wear."
"Then why are you shirtless?" I shot back.
"What do you think? You're wearing my shirt," he said, leaning closer, his tone maddeningly calm.
I glared. "What are you doing in my room?"
"You know, you ask way too many questions," he said, leaning toward me with that smug look.
"Fuck off, Keifer!" I shouted.
"Can you stop cursing?" he asked, clipped but teasing.
"If I want to curse, I'll curse!" I said, then started rattling off every insult I could think of. "You animal, bitch, motherfucker, fucking asshole, idiot—"
Before I could finish, he pinned me to the bed, his eyes locked on mine. "You know your mouth is really dirty. You cuss a lot."
My cheeks burned.
"Do you want me to clean for you?" He said
"Why don't you cuss?"I shot back, trying to sound defiant, but my voice cracked.
He smirked, leaning closer, his breath brushing against my ear. "We can clean it together."
I turned my face away, blushing furiously. "Fuck off."
His smirk widened. "One more time you use profanity, Jay, I'll kiss you."
My heart skipped, my face heating even more.
I opened my mouth, ready to curse again, but the words stuck in my throat.
Because for the first time, I realized he wasn't just mocking me.
He was flirting.
And worse — it was working.
He finally got off me, his expression unreadable. "Come on, get ready. I'll make breakfast," he said, voice clipped, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
I blinked at him.
Since when could Keifer cook?
The man barely knew how to smile, let alone handle a frying pan.
But honestly… Did I care?
No.
As long as I got food, I didn't care if he burned the kitchen down in the process.
I sat up, tugging at his shirt that still hung loose on me, watching him move toward the door.
He looked too calm, too confident, like he actually knew what he was doing.
And that annoyed me.
Because Keifer wasn't supposed to be calm.
He was supposed to be clipped, cold, impossible.
"Don't poison me," I muttered, half‑teasing, half‑serious.
He glanced back, one eyebrow raised.
He glanced back, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching like he was holding back a smirk. "Jay, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't waste time with breakfast."
I groaned, flopping back onto the bed.
God, why did he always have to sound so smug?
And why did the thought of him cooking for me make my cheeks feel warm?
I got ready and went downstairs.
Keifer was cooking.
Cooking.
And why did he look… handsome?
No. Hot. Jay, control yourself.
He is an asshole.
He glanced at me, spatula in hand, voice clipped but teasing. "What, are you planning to eat me for breakfast?"
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms. "In your dreams," I shot back, trying to sound sharp even though my cheeks felt warm.
He smirked, turning back to the pan like he hadn't just thrown me off balance. "Dreams? Jay, you're loud enough when you're awake. I don't need dreams."
My face burned instantly. "Shut up," I muttered, grabbing a chair and sitting down, pretending to be unbothered.
But I wasn't.
Because the way he stood there — shirtless, focused, calm — was unfair.
He was supposed to be clipped, cold, impossible.
Not… this.
I buried my face in my hands, groaning.
God, why did he always have to win?
And worse — why did part of me like it?
He got breakfast ready and placed the plate in front of me.
I stared at it like it was some kind of alien experiment.
"Did I hurt you last night or something?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.
His brow furrowed, clipped as ever. "Why would you think that?"
I stabbed at the food with my fork, suspicious. "Because you're cooking… and smiling."
For a second, his lips twitched, the faintest curve of amusement. "Jay, I don't need you to hurt me to cook and I don't need a reason to smile."
I froze, fork halfway to my mouth.
Since when did Keifer Watson say things like that?
Since when did he smile at me like that?
My cheeks warmed instantly.
I shoved a bite of food in my mouth just to cover it up. "Don't get smug," I muttered, glaring at him.
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. "I don't have to get smug. You're already blushing."
I nearly choked on my breakfast. "I am not!" I snapped, voice too loud, too defensive.
He smirked, calm, clipped, infuriating. "Jay, you curse, you yell, you throw pillows… but you can't hide that face."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands.
God, why did he always have to win?
And worse — why did part of me like it?
"You're such an asshole," I muttered under my breath, stabbing at my breakfast.
Keifer's head snapped up. "What did you say?" he asked, voice clipped.
I looked him dead in the eye. "Asshole."
His lips twitched, the faintest smirk. "Profanity."
I groaned. "Seriously?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stood, walked over, and leaned down.
Before I could react, his lips pressed against mine —
quick, firm, deliberate.
I froze, eyes wide, cheeks burning. "Seriously,"
he said, his voice low, calm, almost smug, as if the kiss was proof enough.
My heart raced, my face heating uncontrollably.
I shoved at his chest, glaring. "You can't just kiss me because I cursed!"
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, that maddening calm never leaving his face. "One more time you use profanity, Jay, I'll kiss you again."
My cheeks flamed even hotter.
God, why did he always have to win?
And worse —
why did part of me want to curse just to see if he'd keep his word?