His gaze flits from disbelief to shock to something that’s achingly familiar. Hunger. It nearly rocks me to my core. Ian takes a step forward, and I resist the urge to flatten myself against the workbench. “How did you get in?” He asks, and before I can even drum up an answer, he adds, “I mean, the acceptance rate’s less than one percent, and tuition…” He pauses. “You must’ve gotten some sort of scholarship.” My heart flutters like a hummingbird as I remind myself, once again, that Ian has no idea. He can’t know.
Gods, GOOOOOOOOOODS 💀💀😭
