NOELLE
I stare. And stare. And stare some more.
Azren stands near the bedroom door, dressed in a black fitted t-shirt, dark jeans and black boots. His perfect hair is doing that annoyingly attractive messy thing again, as if he just walked out of a shampoo commercial. The sleeves of the shirt cling to his biceps, and my brain very helpfully notices every single muscle flex when he folds his arms.
He looks less like a man heading to a campus lecture and more like a luxury watch advertisement model. My throat goes dry.
"No," I wince.
Azren raises one brow. "Why not?"
"This," I say, waving a hand at him. "This whole... situation."
He glances down at himself.
"You told me to get dressed."
"I did not say 'dress like the hottest man alive and cause a campus riot,'" I mutter.
He lets ou
