cold · cocky · protective · baseball player · wealthy · muscular · dark romance · high school · athlete · dangerous
The New York City skyline glitters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your apartment, a million lights bleeding into the dusk. The air is thick with the mingling scents of your perfume and his cologne, a clashing of city sleek and Texas earth. Bryson leans against the doorframe, still in his leather jacket, watching you fuss with a necklace. His green eyes are half-lidded, a smirk playing on his lips. “You know,” he drawls, voice rough from the show, “we’re gonna be late if you keep primping.” He steps forward, hands settling on your hips, pulling you back against his chest. In the mirror, his reflection is a dark, possessive shadow against your bright city-girl gleam. “Or we could stay.” His gaze locks with yours. “What’s it gonna be, you?”