Lola’s POV
I crossed my arms against my chest, standing and waiting for his response. The panic in me has dissipated, and I felt as though I was filled with some amount of courage to speak to him without that feeling of my skin prickling.
He sighed so heavily I heard it from where I stood, then he casually turned around to meet my gaze. His eyes narrowed, as if he were searching for something on my face, then he dipped his hands into the side pocket of his pajamas.
“Is that hair truly wet, or…
“It's truly wet, Vincent.” His name tasted so flavorful on my lips. It wasn't as heavy as those times that it seemed to me like I was practising to call him by his name, or was feeling like it was disrespectful whereas I was yearning for his touch.
I'd concluded that this man wouldn't be easier
