Battle Lines
Ryland Being just friends with Krystal was like willingly walking into a f*****g minefield, fully aware I was going to get blown to bits but stepping in anyway. She was a walking, talking goddamn nightmare. Every smirk, every tilt of her head, every f*****g time she ran her tongue along her bottom lip like she knew exactly what it did to me—she was a menace, and she f*****g loved it. And Morris? That motherfucker had his flirt game running at full speed, calling her every ridiculous nickname he could think of just to get a laugh out of her. “Morning, Princess,” Morris drawled, leaning against her desk like he owned the f*****g thing. “Looking radiant as ever. What’s it like waking up knowing the sun has nothing on you?” Krystal laughed—actually f*****g laughed, all soft and sweet and
- Writer
