Hearing Zhao Ling's call, Meng Yuan came back to his senses, and his face immediately returned to normal. He protested dissatisfiedly: "Call me A-Yuan."
"No." Zhao Ling categorically refused. She was not used to calling people so affectionately. Last night was a temporary affair, and now it seemed a bit embarrassing to make her suddenly call out so affectionately.
Meng Yuan smiled charmingly, with a dangerous light shining in his eyes. He wrapped his long arms around Zhao Ling's slender waist and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"My name is A-Yuan." His tone was like a coquettish child.
Zhao Ling turned her head away. No, she still couldn't speak. It was not that she was deliberately hypocritical, but she never liked to be too close to people, and she had never called others so intimately, and she was really not used to it for a while.
