Sophia was just so lovely and sweet and wonderful that Ejiro couldn’t help but pretend to be more than he was, while he squashed the real bits of himself smaller and smaller until there was nothing but the mask left.
It’s okay, he tried to tell himself. He just wasn’t comfortable with Sophia just yet, and that was the point of the date. Surely, over time, he’d trust her enough to let her see the real him.
Besides, he wasn’t pretending throughout. When they’d left the waffle house and decided to walk in the direction of the museum since it was close by, the backs of their hands had brushed, and Ejiro hadn’t resisted the urge to hold her hand. She’d glanced at him with a shy but pleased smile, and Ejiro’s heart had soared.
It all came tumbling down in the museum when Sophia tried to kiss him.
They’d been having a frankly wonderful time, discussing the art pieces they enjoyed, and whispering sly remarks about the ones they found obnoxious. Ejiro had finally begun relaxing a little, all the layers he’d built up—he smiled with a bit of embarrassed amusement as he remembered his conversation with Obiora—to hide his vulnerable self slowly peeling away, when he’d glanced at Sophia mid-conversation to find her staring intensely at his mouth, her face slowly, but obviously drawing close.
Ejiro had casually looked away, as though he hadn’t noticed her intention, while his heart had leapt to his throat. At that moment, for some odd reason, he’d felt the strange urge to run—run as fast as he could and never look back. Underneath the urge was also a little bit of irritation, which made him feel deeply ashamed. There was nothing wrong with her wanting to kiss him—in fact, he should feel flattered that she even wanted to in the first place, right? But that thought did nothing to rid him of his discomfort.
Sophia didn’t attempt to lean in again, and if her laughter was a tad higher and more strained afterwards, he pretended not to notice it.
Things smoothed over during dinner, then tumbled again after.
For some reason, Ejiro hadn’t pictured what would happen at the end of the date, but when Sophia followed him out of the limo and toward the mansion doors, it suddenly hit him that he was going to have to kiss her.
Oh God. Nerves hit him with the force and speed of a highway truck.
If someone asked him later what they’d talked about as they’d walked up to those damning doors, Ejiro would have absolutely nothing to say; it felt like he was in a state of mild dissociation.
When they stood in front of the doors facing each other, Ejiro could see that Sophia was practically begging to be kissed; she was standing too close, playing with her hair, biting her lower lip, staring at him so intensely he felt like he was a bug underneath a microscope.
As they chattered about random nonsense, prolonging their goodbye, Ejiro tried to bring himself to do it. He kept glancing at her mouth, trying to imagine it—pulling her close by her hips, or her shoulders, or just cupping her face, but all his muscles refused to obey his commands.
He wanted to kiss her. Didn’t he? He was supposed to want to kiss her, and he did. He did. A little. Maybe. She had really nice lips, full and pink and lush, her lipstick since faded after their meal and from how often she licked them.
The cameras felt too huge. The lights were too bright. There were too many people.
Sweat built up on his lip, on his palms, and under his arms. His heart pounded in his temples, his throat, and his ears.
“I had a really nice time tonight, Ejiro,” Sophia whispered when they’d run out of inane topics to prolong the inevitable, her voice low with obvious desire. Her body was loose and tilted toward him, an open invitation. “I really hope we can do it again.”
“Me too,” Ejiro said, his own voice hoarse with nerves. “Um.” He swallowed. He glanced at her mouth again.
Just do it, Ejiro. You like her, don’t you? You had a nice time. You’re supposed to kiss your date at the end of the night. It’s romantic! And besides, she clearly wants you to!
Screw it.
He leaned in quickly, closing his eyes and bracing himself for the touch of her mouth.
He missed it by a mile, and ended up kissing the corner of her lips instead.
Her eyes widened, pupils blown wide, and her breath hitched softly.
His throat felt clogged. His hands trembled.
“Goodnight, Sophia,” he said, then he was practically running out of there, disappearing into the mansion before she could do so much as respond.
Ameri had warned him that she wanted a brief footage of the aftermath of the date—some small clips to boost his cutaway scenes later—so Ejiro was hyperaware of the cameras as they followed him into the mansion.
He waited for Ameri to yell cut, for Sophia to run in after him, but none of that happened. The other director or producers were probably busy filming Sophia’s own aftermath of the date, the thought of which made him have a little panic, so he shoved it away.
He headed to one of the main sitting rooms almost on autopilot, the largest one where most of the bachelors spent their free time playing board games or just hanging around, his heart still beating too loud.
Lo and behold, some of the bachelors were there. They must’ve been prodded into position by the handlers beforehand, because they were all dressed appropriately and behaving themselves.
“There he is!” Chris Wu said, grinning. “How was your date, Ejiro?”
