Seventy-eight

The deep, masculine voice runs over me like melted chocolate, my knees buck and I lean on the door for support. Is he aware of my presence? Is this a trap? Shouldn’t he have asked for my identity? I smoothen the front of my jacket, inhale and push the door open.

Brandon rises with an urgency that causes his seat to clatter to the ground, I swallow my disappointment as he halts midstride. He wasn’t expecting me. Setting my bag on the floor, I take tentative steps forward and he bridges the gap between us in a few strides.

My voice comes out shaky, a muffled whisper, "Hey." His penetrating gaze burns holes into my forehead, weakening my resolve to taunt him. "I’m sorry for calling you stupid."

Tilting his head, he sizes me up, takes a step back with his hand outstretched to me. My gaze lingers on his arm, I link our fingers and he pulls me close to press a kiss to my hair