It’s not until I stand up from my chair that I realize how enormous Vincent is. It makes sense that he’s tall—he’s a Division I basketball player, after all—but I’m nearly five foot eleven, so it’s not often that I’m towered over. It throws me off. I snatch my lanyard, keys clanking against my water bottle in my haste, and loop the strap tight around my fist as I march around the desk and brush past Vincent. I catch the scent of laundry detergent and something warm and spiced—and then I absolutely do not think about how good he smells, or how small he makes me feel, or how much I like it.
OG MY GOD OKAY WERE GETTING RIGHT INTO IT THEN. IF SHES FIVE ELEVEN HOW TLAL IS HE OH MG GOS🤤🤤🤤
