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If I had to pretend to date anyone, I’d choose her a hundred times over.
“Eventually I’ll only need to be able to write one thing.” “Which is?” “My autograph.”
He makes to move off me, but I shake my head, digging my nails into his skin. “I like it,” I mumble. “You’re like a sexy blanket.” He laughs against my neck. “I don’t want to squish you.” “Mm. You are pure muscle.”
“Call me when you get to your dorm room,” James says eventually. He throws on a pair of sweatpants and walks to the door with me. “Okay?” “I can just text you.” “Call.”
If I could only pick one person to be around, one person to know, one person to love, for the rest of my life—I’d choose her.
