The door creaked open, and his heart did freaking flips.
She was so fucking gorgeous.
And what was she wearing? A T-shirt.
His T-shirt, varsity jacket, and jean shorts.
HIS DAMN CLOTHES!
"Dear God," he whispered, running his hand over his face.
"Damn, shawty, you make breathing hard," he teased, and she chuckled.
He loved it when she was shy. She was like an adorable little kitten.
That's why he'd bought a cat and named her Frida in his condo back in Vegas. He missed her, and the cat reminded him so much of her.
"Sorry, I haven't done my laundry, so all my clothes are a mess. Hope I can use yours?" she asked.
She freaking asked.
"God damn," he thought, trying not to sound like the needy man that he was.
He wanted to do a lot.
So much.
So damn much it was killing him.
She had to study.
She had freaking exams.
He did too, but he was already done with his curriculum for the year. They were a bit too slow, and he was far ahead of them.
