ZAIJIAN HEWSON
The apartment smelled of ginger, garlic, and simmering chicken broth by the time she knocked on my door again.
Gone were the rain-soaked clothes. Acir changed into an oversized cream sweater and a pair of gray lounge pants. Her damp hair had been roughly dried with the towel, though a few strands still curled around her face.
She looked tired, but warmer.
“Feeling better, baby?” I inquired, watching her intently.
Acir’s cheeks warmed. “So much better now.” She slipped off her shoes by the entrance. “I didn’t realize how cold I was earlier until I stopped walking.”
“The weather will do that.”
After our make out session, we both took a long and hot bath—even got to round three–and now, we decided to hang by the living room since we’re not sleepy yet.
Outside the livi
