6 - Anastasia.

I race back into my bedroom, burning up. I can't think straight, and my mind is a jumbled mess. Every inch of my body is on fire as I rummage through my cupboards for my laptop. I hid it because I know Dad would try to find it and either throw it in the bin or hide it in a place I'll never be able to find it again. Looking up suddenly, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. God, a mess is an understatement. I look like an ogre. Like a tornado picked me off my feet and threw me down a mountain, and I crawled my way back through the door before Nate arrived.

Which is strange because I looked decent before going out with Emerson this evening. As fast as I can, I run my fingers through my curls to straighten them, and swapped the tank top I'm wearing for a black, hairy, comfortable cardigan, grab the laptop, and get back to the living room where a waiting Nate is relaxed on the couch, his sexy thighs parted, looking like a male model on the front cover of a Vogue magazine.

"First things first, Sir — "

"Nate," he interrupts calmly, looking into my eyes in his usual, disarming way. "Please call me Nate."

"Alright Sir...I mean Nate," I chuckle nervously, taking my seat beside him. "There are a few things I'd like for you to keep in mind. This blog bears no ill intent. The news on it are not different from the ones put out by credible news outlets and the media. The only difference is that I add my own twang. My own style to make it witty and engaging."

"Don't worry about it," he guffaws, taking the laptop from me. "I don't judge. And I'm sure it's a brilliant blog."

He lifts the top and turns it on. Once connected to the house WIFI, I navigate it to Chrome and key in my website on the search bar, then hand it back to him. As he scrolls through slowly, taking in each headlines, I can see the wheels turning in his head as he put two and two together about my online identity.

"You're the controversial Mira Brawn?" he asks in disbelief, raising his face to glance at me.

I panic. And whenever I panic, I start blabbering. "Uh, yeah! It's just a secret I've not been willing to divulge to anyone else, because my parents have never supported this dream of mine. To own a famous blog that speaks on celebrities, and the world of pop culture and entertainment. So..."

He places a hand on my left thigh, and I instantly shut up. "Hey. It's okay. I'm not judging your or anything. Just surprised. That's all."

"D-Do you want a drink?" I blurt out without thinking. His hand on my thigh is warm, and it makes the moisture in between my legs burn hotter. If I couldn't think straight before, right now I can't think at all. My body is attuned to his touch.

It's crazy.

"Sure," he smiles. "Just water will be fine, Anna."

He takes his hand off, and my legs somehow take me to the kitchen where I lean against the door and exhale hard. God. My whole body is buzzing like crazy. Pouring two glasses of water at the sink, I take a deep breath.

Fuck. This must be a dream, right?

It all doesn't feel real at all.

Nate Jackson in my living room.

Nate Jackson, the man who's been nothing short of calm and polite since we first met. Nate Jackson, the man I've had sleepless nights over, lusting, wishing, wanting, is in my living room going through my blog.

'I'm not judging you. I know it's a brilliant blog.'

What if he didn't mean those words? What if he's silently judging me for being nosy, and exaggerating people's reality more than I should for the views? What if he closes the laptop, picks up his phone and calls the nearby radio station to let them in on who the famous Mira Brawn is, and where she lives? What if he makes a post about it? As these thoughts sift through my mind, I nearly drop the glass of water I'm holding. Suppressing the dizziness threatening to envelope me, I pick up his glass of water and head back to the living room, leaving mine back at the sink.

I'm thirsty, but not of water.