I gulp, quickly looking away before he notices I was letting my gaze travel up the new tattoos littering his body.
His knees parted, gym shorts showing off his legs, he leans back against the driver’s seat, still texting. My scowl deepens as I watch him reply to messages instead of driving me home.
He must have been working out in the home gym at the manor. His top is tight against his chest, the taut muscles still swollen from his session. There’s a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and wavy black hair nearly as dark as his soul falls over his forehead.
He has a sun-kissed tan that makes me look like a ghost.
As much as I’d like to say I’ve forgotten everything about Kade Mitchell, I’m a terrible liar.
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