All Chapters of Boys Like Him: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The next morning, the winter sky was a crisp, pale blue, and the glare of the December sun off the frosted windshields in the parking lot was almost blinding. I stood by the passenger side of Malik's truck, buried in my heaviest coat, watching my breath cloud in the freezing air.Malik was already aggressively scraping a thick layer of ice off the driver's side window, his broad shoulders moving rhythmically under his heavy canvas jacket. He didn't even look cold."You know, a normal friend would have let me stay under the blanket for another ten minutes," I called out, shivering as a sharp gust of wind caught my hair.Malik stopped his furious scraping, leaning his forearm on the roof of the truck to look over at me. A lazy, knowing smirk spread across his lips. "A normal friend would let you skip your morning lecture, get a C on your attendance grade, and regret it during finals week. I'm a business major, Nyelle. I optimize your schedule.""You're a tyrant," I muttered, but a smile

The drive to Mariah's salon felt like crossing a finish line. The winter sun hit the snowy streets of the city, turning everything a blinding, brilliant white, but inside the truck, the heavy tension from the Munich phone call had entirely evaporated. Malik drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console, close enough that our knuckles occasionally brushed whenever he shifted gears.We pulled up to The Velvet Room, Mariah's sleek, modern salon. The large glass windows were frosted with decorative snowflakes, and the warm, golden interior lights made it look incredibly inviting against the gray December afternoon.The moment we walked through the door, a chime jingled, and the sweet, sharp scent of expensive hairspray, eucalyptus, and heated styling tools wrapped around us."Finally!" Mariah's voice boomed from the back. She stepped out from behind a styling station, holding a professional curling iron like a weapon. She had her hair tossed up in a fl

By Friday afternoon, the heavy, suffocating weight of the practical exam was officially behind us. The culinary school's practical exams had been brutal four hours of intense, high-heat cooking under the judgmental glare of Hensley but we had survived. My sugar dome had turned out flawless, and Malik's spun-sugar showpiece had practically looked like a modern art exhibit.When we walked out of the academy doors into the crisp December air, my chef's whites were tucked safely in my duffel bag, and my chest felt lighter."I can't believe it's over," I sighed, stretching my arms over my head as we walked toward Malik's car. "No more timed line-checks, and sanitation audits. Just a whole winter break.""We earned it," Malik countered, throwing his duffel bag in the back seat. Instead of opening the passenger door for me like he usually did, he turned around, leaning casually against the side of the car with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. A mysterious, lazy smirk tugged at the cor

"Who says I'm playing?" I whispered.The air between us turned instantly volatile. Malik didn't move a muscle, but his pupils dilated until the dark centers of his eyes completely swallowed the light. A thick, heavy silence slammed down on the room, so intense I could hear the rapid, erratic fluttering of my own pulse.He let out a low, rough exhale through his teeth. Slowly, deliberately, his hand slid up from my shoulder, his large, warm palm cupping the side of my neck. His thumb rested right against my jawline, tilting my face up just a fraction. He leaned down until his lips were hovering barely a millimeter from mine.I could feel the scorch of his breath against my lips, the absolute ghost of a touch that made my entire body go rigid with anticipation. My fingers instinctively gripped the crisp fabric of his suit jacket, pulling myself up on my toes, desperate to close that agonizingly small gap."You have no idea what you're doing to me right now, Nyelle," he rasped, his voice

He didn't wait for a reply. Keeping his large hand firmly anchored at the small of my back, he guided me away from the bar and directly toward the massive, crowded center of the ballroom. The jazz quartet had shifted into a slower, heavier rhythm, the deep thrum of the bass vibrating through the polished floorboards and echoing right into my chest.As we stepped onto the floor, the sheer scale of the university gala swallowed us. Hundreds of students were moving under the brilliant cascade of the crystal chandeliers. But the moment Malik turned to face me and pulled me into his space, the entire crowded room ceased to exist.He slid his right hand securely around my waist. His other hand closed around mine, his long, calloused fingers squeezing tightly, locking our grip together.I placed my free hand on his tailored shoulder, looking up into his heavy, hooded eyes.We moved together effortlessly. For a guy of his immense size, he shifted with a dangerous, fluid grace, his long stride