His to Ruin: Breaking Chelsea
I pulled the left earbud out and handed it to him across the table.
He took it, his fingers brushing mine. The contact was brief, accidental, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight up my arm. He put the bud in his ear. I put the right one in mine.
I hit play.
The soft, acoustic intro of a song filled the space between us. A guitar melody, slow and melancholic: ‘Time, mystical time / Cutting me open, then healing me fine...’
Denver didn't speak. He didn't make a joke about my taste in music. He just listened. He rested his chin in his hand, his eyes drifting shut as the music washed over him.
Bab Populer