Then his voice gentles, hopeful, eyes locked on mine.
“However, the position has not dissolved. It is simply… evolving.”
“Evolving?” I inquire, eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” he confirms, completely serious. “Rather than the one post of GBF, I’ve been told of promotions—elevating both your status and mine. The G simply transfers to you, making me your BF, and then you become my GF.”
It’s so ridiculous, so corny, and so utterly him that I snort. “Leo Euler?—”
“Actually,” he interrupts, puffing up like a peacocked dork, “it’s Leopold Christopher Euler the Third.”
That makes my eyes sparkle despite myself. “Okay, Leopold Christopher Eulerthe Third, did you just ask me to be your girlfriend like we’re in middle school?”
“Yes,” he says simply, no hesitation. “Yes, I did.”
I press the paper flower harder against my chest, smiling despite the lump forming in my throat.
“Yes. I would love to be your girlfriend.”
The relief that floods his face is so raw and genuine it almost undoes me.
He steps closer, closing the space between us. His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, then lingers. His palm curves against my jaw, fingers sliding behind my neck, warm and steady.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low.
I nod, my heart tripping over itself.
“Yes. But only a small one. No making out at work.”
His grin tilts. “I’ll behave.”
He leans down, brushing his lips softly against mine. Once. Twice. Sweet, steady, and dizzying all at once.
When he goes in for a third, I slip a finger between us, stopping him with a laugh.
“Don’t you have class, Professor Euler?”
His eyes crinkle. “Shit, you’re right.”
He presses one quick kiss to the tip of my nose before pulling back, reluctant but grinning, and then he’s striding out the door like he just won something.
I stand there for a long moment, the paper flower still clutched to my chest, lips tingling, my whole body humming with the aftershock of something that feels both brand new and long overdue.
When I finally make it back to my desk, there’s a folded note waiting for me. My name written neatly on the outside in his handwriting.
I already know what it is before I even open it—he’s too smug not to have planned something like this.
Inside, the words make me laugh out loud.
Dear Girlfriend,
Please come to my house for dinner tonight. Seven o’clock. Wear something comfortable. But feel free to wear something lacy and uncomfortable underneath if you so choose. I will not object.
Lovingly,
Boyfriend
I shake my head, grinning like an idiot at the sheer nerve of him. He left that copy room and went straight to class, meaning he wrote this note and left it on my desk before ever stepping foot into that copy room.
