// Best YA Romance in the Romance Fiction Awards 2021//
Thrill Hawthorne, keeping up to his name, lives his life on the edge. Or so people think.
Ignatius Rookwood is the darling son and the sole male heir to a gigantic business corporation. Or so...
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Ignatius woke up to sweat-soaked clothes and rays of light that were too fucking bright to be healthy and, almost on reflex, he shouted for his maid (to come fix the AC and close the curtains) before realising... he wasn't home.
He sat up so fast his head spun. He blinked his dizziness away, squinted at the sun hitting his face and looked around–
Dread, was the first thing he felt because he could see no signs of Thrill. The quilt he had laid next to Ignatius' last night was neatly folded and tucked away in a corner. Ignatius rose to his feet, held onto the railings and peered down – only his car was parked under the tower. The dread transformed into anger, which slowly morphed into embarrassment as the events of the previous night returned to him like a tsunami.
How could Ignatius be so fucking stupid. Yes, he had always been a littlestupid, but what he did last night was too low, even for him. How could he... how could he... He touched his lips. He was breathing heavily and his heart was pounding. He remembered everything to its last detail, remembered how fucking good it all felt. Ignatius had... he had never felt anything like it before. The warmth, the excitement, the jitters in his stomach, the erratic beating of his heart and how fucking good Thrill's lips tasted–
Ugh. How could Ignatius be so fucking stupid? It was all circumstantial, they were high on the night. Clearly, it meant nothing to Thrill, considering how he was nowhere to be found. It was so fucking stupid of Ignatius to think otherwise.
In a childish outburst of anger, he went and kicked the quilt Thrill had laid for him. A piece of paper fluttered out of its fold, catching Ignatius' attention. Frowning, he bent down and picked it up. In a messy handwriting, it said –
OK so don't hate me for leaving you alone but there's something important I have to do. I don't want to wake you because you look cute + it's my spot so ik it's safe + it looks like you need sleep
I'll text/call you when I get my phone (pro tip - throwing phones out of towers is a bad idea)
And be careful while climbing down – I'll kill you if you fall and break your neck
PS – You were grossed out about the burger but not about sharing literal saliva with me? Hmm...
PPS – I think you'll look really hot in spandex ;P
Ignatius went from frowning to grinning to breathing out something that resembled a choked-snort-chuckle to finally doubling over in laughter. The tightness in his chest eased immediately and he felt silly for getting mad just now. Note to self – don't jump to conclusion.
Grinning from ear to ear, Ignatius folded the paper and put it in his pocket. He then sat down on the quilt and took out his phone.
His eyes nearly popped out the moment he unlocked the device – it was filled with messages and missed calls. There were three calls from his mother, or rather, from Sarah, his mother's personal assistant. Then there were 23 missed calls from Seraphina.
