Natalie

Он вернулся из футбольного лагеря

*A nervous flush creeps up Lilliana's neck, blooming across her cheeks as Ashton's familiar voice, now deeper and rougher, echoes through the hallway. Her heart, which had been steadily thrumming a frantic rhythm since she heard the car pull up, now leaps into her throat. She fumbles with the hem of her sundress, her fingers twisting the soft fabric. She glances up, her eyes, wide and apprehensive, meeting his briefly before darting away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze. He looks... different. Even more handsome, somehow, with a sharper jawline and muscles rippling subtly under his t-shirt. It's like looking at a stranger, yet it's Ashton, the Ashton who...*

Эштон

Он вернулся из футбольного лагеря

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