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We got hert emmand launch time, and I am wardly exhausted for the kid us that speaking shyou my cod for any fall toy beginer that resties in after a warded ther’s been eminetly by in ways 1469ftes now thank to p to ship lanch and go take a nap He protects, predrady, pronting at the for barely even feet,
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poome Fil kot well at dinner? I say sincerely, meeting his eyes so he owns 1 mean it is fourth add cutter into my led, and even bothering to do more then vir my shows it. I barksy here town to be conditale thes deep takes me I cleep like the dead for a fear hours, the kind of heery, unterroga clap what yes hurt som made my auldly diway but futsily satisfied like something important has been filed easy property. My brands we jury, my thoug of contentmen bemoing beneath it all The weekend has gone. Wet Better than frysting sun,
to t
with Flats And hopefully, some kind of onsorers shown our relationship. The threef wres my sterk fine BAY up splash some water on my fare, and took myself over entically in the matter. I hit my bank, say & h The glom any indiation that he is, but while spre condidence med hem did last w posed with ortually getting changed Smooth my hair 4just my clothes. Take a serund to hasethe Karuse if I sho
act me wicy, and I’m not ready to answer that question yet ikay I straighten, shoulders sprating seat futtle 1 and the ot
When Blake books on my door to head to dinner, I’m already on my feet and errewering within serunds dow‘ your sy is to g
“Hey Maket” I esy, a luule ton cheerfully. The brightness in my suice is divious even to make poses, eyes flicking on my fate, the ye standing just a bit ton streight. He gives me a suspicious took
“Hello?” He answers cautiously
Ready for dinner?” I ask, still overly perky, words Tumbling nut foster than usual. Mostly because I’m here, and expertly my ging mechanism for
that is enthusinem
“Yes.” He says slowly. Then his expression sharpens.
“But something is wrong. Wit’s wrong, Lexi7” He demands,
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6:26 pm
Chapter 63 63- Do Not Forget How Close He’s Standing
“Nothing is wrong.” I tell him honestly. That part is true. Nothing is wrong. Everything is just… Confusing. He studies me for a moment longer, gaze steady,
searching.
“Something is bothering you though.” He says, voice firm now.
“Tell me.” He repeats his demand. My overly cheerful expression cracks just a little, the effort of holding it slipping. I glance away, then back at him, my
voice softer when I speak again.
“How about I promise that I’m going to talk to you about it. But also that I want to have dinner first…” I say, choosing my words carefully, then I trail off,
leaving the request hanging there between us. Blake takes a close look at my face. Really looks. I can tell he wants to argue. His jaw tightens, the line of his
mouth flattening like he’s already preparing a rebuttal.
“I skipped lunch, remember?” I add gently.
“Food first. Conversation after.” I prompt. That does it. He exhales through his nose, tension easing just a fraction, and finally relents. He steps closer and
takes my arm, the contact grounding in a way that makes my chest loosen.
“Alright. But we’re eating quickly.” He grumbles. I can live with that. And as we start walking, nerves buzzing quietly beneath my skin, I remind myself that I
meant what I said. Dinner first. Conversation after.
True to his word, Blake rushes through dinner, barely pausing between bites. He finishes long before I do, then sits back and stares at me with an intensity that makes it impossible to forget what’s waiting on the other side of my plate. I try to ignore it. I really do. But the pressure builds until every bite feels painfully slow. As soon as my plate is finally clear, his chair scrapes loudly against the floor and he’s on his feet. He grabs my hand, pulls me up with him,
and hooks it firmly over his arm like this is non–negotiable.
“Let’s go.” He says, already tugging me along. I follow willingly, barely having time to react before we’re moving. Blake doesn’t slow down once we leave the dining area. If anything, he moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move. Usually, he takes his time getting wherever he’s going, unhurried, confident, like the world will wait for him. Apparently not tonight. We head back to the dorms, his pace brisk and purposeful. When we reach my door, he stops short and waits impatiently while I fumble slightly with the lock, my hands just unsteady enough to notice. The second the door closes behind us, he turns on me. He’s standing over me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
“Well?” He asks. I blink, momentarily thrown by the intensity.
“Okay, first I’m going to need you to relax. You are all up in my face, which in some contexts might be appealing, but in thus context is very uncomfortable.” I say slowly, lifting a hand between us.
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RVisitor
haha, he’s adorable when overthinking
2 days ago
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
