Yvonne Finley really wanted to stick these two things on Warrior Tucker's head.
Was she the type of woman who would charge violently at something?
Even if she was.
There had to be a proper procedure.
After all, Caleb Baker was only twenty-three years old, young and easily frightened, right?
But what was even more dangerously burning now was the distance between them, which was no more than twenty centimeters. His gaze was somewhat indescribably sticky, like warm water being poured onto transparent ice, quietly melting it. She was that piece of ice being scalded.
It was a stalemate.
He seemed to be really waiting for her answer.
Yvonne Finley really wanted to say, it was me, was he satisfied with the dish?
But when the words came to her lips, she missed again and raised her hand towards him. Holding two packets in her palm, she then said nonchalantly yet seriously, "Wanna play?"
She could see the trace of his eyebrows raising inch by inch.
