When Travis Miller returned, Abigail Hemsworth had already dumped the books from her bag onto his bed.
"Abigail Hemsworth."
Travis walked over and placed the cake he was carrying on the desk by the window.
Abigail sat among the pile of books, holding a juice and looking at him, "What's up?"
"Is your bed meant for studying?"
Abigail swung her feet, "My bed can do a lot of things."
Does homework really have to be done at the desk?
Travis's dark eyes squinted slightly. He stood by the desk, looking at Abigail's innocent and open face, lowered his eyes, glanced at her swinging white ankles at the foot of the bed, then turned to take a sip of water.
"Come down," he said coldly, his back to her.
"But I haven't finished my juice."
Travis said nothing, but Abigail saw the tray he placed on the desk, obscured by his body, gradually move into her line of sight.
