“You don’t want to stay with your friends?” she asks, an innocence to her words that tells me she’s clearly unaware of why I’m asking.
“No, Bookworm, I want to be with you. So, what do you say we leave right now?”
Erin and I step out of Ruby Roulette and into the cool night air. The door closes behind us, and the loud music begins to fade as we walk away from the entrance.
I pull my phone out and fire off a quick text to the group chat.
WE’RE THE TORNADOES, BITCHES!
Me: @Rudy what the fuck was that?
Rudy: Sorry.
Hayes: What did the kid do now?
Me: I introduced him to Erin tonight, considering he’s been whining about how he’s the only one that hasn’t met her, and he just stared at her before walking off.
Rudy: I wasn’t feeling well. Tell her I’m sorry. She looked happy.
Oliver: You sure you’re okay, man?
Rudy: I’m fine. Just one too many drinks.
I put my phone away and shove my hands into my pockets before lifting my arm out to Erin. She loops hers through mine.
We fall into step, soaking in the fresh air and peaceful night. Apart from the streetlights that hum, there’s a comfortable silence between us.
“Do you mind if I change?” she asks when we walk through her door a little while later.
“Only if you’re gonna wear that sexy outfit you told me about,” I tease, wagging my eyebrows. She laughs, shaking her head as she heads up the stairs.
When she disappears around the corner, I chuckle to myself.
I’m falling for a bookworm.
Her every movement has me captivated—the sound of her laugh, the way she bites her lip when she’s concentrating, everyone of her smiles. She holds every bit of my attention without even trying, and I can’t look away.
I don’t want to.
I’m addicted to her.
Light footsteps pad down the stairs before she appears again.
My teeth bite into the flesh of my inner cheeks when fluffy socks, black leggings, and the oversized hoodie with cat ears catch my eye. She’s radiant, comfortable, and completely unbothered.
Yep, I’m falling for her alright.
I must be, because looking at her wearing the most ridiculous sweater I’ve ever seen, she’s an absolute fucking knockout.
“Damn, Bookworm.” I whistle under my breath. “Where the hell have you been all my life?”
“You get a ten out of ten for your consistency.” She chuckles, grabbing a recipe book off the shelf above the kitchen sink. She flicks it open with purpose, clearly knowing exactly what she’s looking for. I’m mesmerized by the way she completes the simplest of tasks as she pulls out ingredients, bowls, and scales.
“And what are you up to?”
“Well, as you pointed out, it’s still your birthday.” She shows me a Jeremiah Dustin recipe. “Can I make you a cake?”
“That sounds pretty great.”
