Puck Me Hard
The bedspread was some expensive-looking navy blue shit that matched the curtains and his desk was neatly organized with books, papers, and a fucking gold pen holder.
Pretentious little shit.
My eyes skimmed over the shelves by the window, packed tight with literature books. That caught me off guard. I didn’t peg him as the reading type, more like the guy who’d shop for a new car online five minutes before class. Curious, I left his side, noting he didn’t make a fuss and was probably asleep and moved over to the shleve. I ran a finger along the spines of the books.
At first, it was exactly what I expected. Classics like Great expectations, and the odyssey. A couple of Hemingway novels. Heavy