Entangled With The Bad Boy
“Don’t call me sweetheart, and it’s not book p**n. It’s called smut.”
“Smut,” I repeat. “Such a fancy way to say p**n, huh?” I tilt my head, still holding the book out of her reach. “So tell me, what’s the smut doing to you?”
“Kai, stop.” She pauses, eyes narrowing like a warning.
She’s too mad at me for the shit I’m about to pull, but I don’t really care. It’s either this or I let her bury herself in her precious smut while pretending I don’t exist, probably imagining the two of us as the lead characters anyway.
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