"I am so sorry I'm late." My red woolly hair flopped onto my face and I huff, throwing my bag on the chair to put it up. I haven't noticed the prisoner yet as I pull down my black pencil skirt that stuck to my hips a little too tight due to the shrinkage in the washing machine. "This. . . is my therapist?" A deep mock...
"I didn't ask to be in the middle of your ego-battle," I grumble. Blake pins me to my locker, hands resting on either side of my head. "Well, you got it in anyway, Darling," he whispers. His face is inches away from mine and damn me for licking my lips. I am NOT falling for these guys. And then, at the corner of my e...