⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
The words hit me hard, like a punch to the gut. Rowan's low, raw "So what if I am?" hung in the cramped office like smoke from a stage explosion-thick and hard to breathe through.
There was no fucking way, this had to be one of Rowan's dumb elaborate jokes.
I felt stuck, my back pressed against my desk as the weight of his confession settled in, cracking open something fragile and terrified inside me that I was trying so hard to keep locked away.
My mouth went dry, and my heart raced in my ears, drowning out the muffled squeals and excited whispers from outside the closed door, where half the office was probably still gathered like starstruck teens hoping for a glimpse of the rock star who had just barged in and pulled me away.
Just how many guys are in love with me now? I thought wildly, a self-deprecating humor bubbling up as a frantic defense mechanism, even as my knees felt weak and unreliable beneath me.
