Falling For The Biker: The Vice President’s Girl
She’s laying in my bed, dressed in my shirt, and looking bored out of her mind.
The text attached reads: Wen r u cumng hoom!
Then another text drops: hoem*
And I snort. I don’t know which is worse, ‘hoom’ or ‘hoem’.
I don’t respond to her message, I’d call her once I’m out of Ray’s office.
Ray clears his throat, squinting at me. It’s then I realise that I’m smiling, my lips literally splitting across my face.
“You seem happy about that text,” he says.
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