His tanned cheeks were flushed, his eyes hazy as he feigned composure. But his lips, usually pressed into a firm line, kept breaking into one silly smile after another.
Was this the same proud, cold Lex Cross she knew? He was nothing more than a big, goofy, tough guy.
"Hey, go back to your room and sleep it off! You're drunk." Flora Bloom poked his rock-hard chest, trying to push him away. But she never expected him to be so audacious; he actually leaned into her finger, pressing closer.
Suppressing the churning discomfort in her stomach, Flora Bloom snapped, "Hey, hey, hey, I know you're still conscious! Don't use being drunk as an excuse to take advantage of me! Watch it, or I'll punch you!"
THUD. His heavy head dropped onto the crook of her neck, his hot, heavy breath tickling her unbearably. She raised a hand, wanting only to shove his head away.
"You—Lex Cross! Wake up!"
