When a Bad Boy Falls Inlove
I sputter like a fucking idiot, turning around quickly to put in my locker combination before grabbing the gift bag I'd stashed in there all day and turning back to see a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips.
“It's... It's very pink,” he mutters, blinking in surprise as he takes the bag from me, and I blush hard.
“I can change it if you want,” I offer, but he chuckles, shaking his head as he clutches the bag to his side, the colour a stark contrast to his dark male aesthetics.
“It's okay, Blondie; I mean, it's cute, like you,” he smirks and turns even redder. God, why am I reacting this way over a simple compliment?
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