ZOE
Blake and I are… okay. I think.
We’ve been spending more and more time together, and to my surprise, Preston has mostly backed off.
After I threatened him that I will talk to our parents if he do anything to harm Blake.
Which is how I ended up here, doing Blake’s groceries. Honestly, I’m not sure what I was expecting, but walking into his apartment and finding a practically empty fridge—except for a few sad bottles of beer and a jar of something that looked older than me—wasn’t it.
“Alright, let’s just say it: you live like a frat boy,” I muttered, scanning the half-empty shelves in his fridge.
Blake shrugged, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, one eyebrow raised. “I’ve got the essentials—beer, hot sauce… couple of condiments. What more do I need?”
I rolled my eyes
