Mason Graves
I adjusted the cuffs of my shirt, straightening the fabric before reaching for my watch. The time read 7:40 PM. I had twenty minutes before I had to be at Serena’s place.
A small smirk played on my lips as I thought about her reaction when I asked her to dinner. The hesitation in her eyes, the way she chewed on her lower lip as if debating whether she should agree—it had been fascinating to watch. But what had been even more satisfying was hearing her say yes.
There had been a momentary flash of doubt in her gaze, a moment where I could see the internal battle waging inside her. I’d seen it before—when we had first crossed paths all those months ago. Back then, it was about control, about navigating the space between us, never really touching, never really giving in. But th
