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“World’s Hottest Billionaire.” “I hate you.” “Nah. You love me. I’m the sunshine to your grumpy.” My brows pinch together. “What?” “It’s a thing in romance books—”
If I have to throw chips at her to make her laugh like this—the kind of laughter that hurts your stomach and gets you kicked out of class—so be it. I’ll throw chips at Rosie Belmont every damn day.
He looks at her like she terrifies him. And she looks at him with stars in her eyes. But they’re both too alike to say a single word to each other. It’s adorable.
