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“The cup and saucer were so small and delicate-looking that it was almost a comical image. I mean, I knew all too well the strength in his hands; he could crush the cup and saucer with ease if he wanted, yet somehow he looked totally natural, at ease. He was sitting at the breakfast nook, staring out at the Manhattan skyline as the sun rose to shed golden light on the high-rises. He had one calf crossed over his knee, flaxen hair wet and slicked back to one side. He wore a pair of dark jeans with a white T-shirt beneath a slate-gray blazer, Tommy Bahama boat shoes on his feet. The sleeves of the blazer were pulled up just beneath his elbows, his muscular forearms keeping the sleeves in place. The effect was one of casual godliness. I had to remind myself to keep breathing as I slid into the chair next to him.
“Hi,” I breathed, and immediately hated myself for sounding so pathetic. I’d sounded breathy, flirty. Like I should be some air-headed bimbo with one name. Veronica. Bambi, with a... heart over the “I.” “Good morning, Kyrie.MoreLess
“Hi,” I breathed, and immediately hated myself for sounding so pathetic. I’d sounded breathy, flirty. Like I should be some air-headed bimbo with one name. Veronica. Bambi, with a... heart over the “I.” “Good morning, Kyrie.MoreLess
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