𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙂𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙏𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝘽𝙖𝙙

Bonus chapter 6: University x Proposal

♦ ♢ ♦ Kaitlyn ♦ ♢ ♦

Start of freshman year to almost the end of senior year, it's been a crazy journey. It's been so memorable but feels like we started on this road just yesterday, too.

Both Xavier and I made new friends while at Harvard. Him with mostly his hockey team, that I'm also close with, and me with a few girls I'd met when auditioning for the after hours course for dance, which I'd backed out of, because of the sheer amount of workload that was dumped on me because of my biochemistry course.

I feel a strange longing for the adrenaline rush I used to get towards the end of high school, when I competed, but at some point, I had to make a choice between managing my time with my own course and finding time to spend with Xavier with his packed schedule due to all his practices, games and classes.

To say that the start of freshman was scary as hell for me, was an understatement. I found it surprisingly difficult to make friends, here. Mostly because of so much work all of a sudden, and not knowing how to manage my time well at the start, but also because I'd been surrounded by people I'd known for so long, I'd never had the trouble of having to introduce myself to many people.

Xavier was a natural at getting integrated into the university life. I already knew he'd be better, since he's the social butterfly out of the two of us, and because I've just had my nose buried in a book for the duration of four years, but he helped me a lot.

I know it must have been stressful for him, too, managing his course all the while attending all his practices and doing so exceptionally well in games, he'd be held back to get interviewed. But he never failed to give me time, when I really needed him the most.

God, he's so fucking handsome.

If I thought nature couldn't give him anything more to add to his appeal as a man, still so young it should be illegal, I thought wrong.

At twenty one years old, the man is the definition of man-candy.

Still so tall. A little more toned, so much more mature...

Jesus Christ.

It's already difficult focusing on all my subjects. And then there he is, existing like a greek-god walking on earth, driving me crazy.

He's added more tattoos to his sleeve on one arm.

That alone makes my pussy throb.

His features have only grown more defined. Sharpened with age and added experience.

I love every little thing about him.

What's annoying?

Oh. I'll answer that.

The stares.

Everywhere I look, whenever I'm out with him, at least five women are leering at him. And when I glare discreetly as a bit of a warning to not even think about making a move, they wipe their drools off and stare at me wide-eyed.

I'm honestly used to it, at this point.

He's even got offers to be a fricking model, because so many people watch him. Not only is he pretty, but he's a damn beast on ice.

Are. You. Shitting. Me?

And the man refused to be a model.

Refused?!

I'd stared at him wide eyed, my jaw on the floor as he'd casually told me about Dior–motherfucking Dior– reaching out to him, while he served me some soup he'd made for us.