550: Miya Ford Extra Story 11 (Third Update)

"I was just wondering how long it would take you to look at me," he said with a smile hanging at the corner of his mouth, the folds of his double eyelids deep, his eyes half-droopy, a bit careless yet sharp, making his words sound like a joke.

Miya Ford glanced outside the window only to realize that it had already gotten dark, so she closed her book. Just then, the librarian came in, asking if she needed to arrange dinner.

When Roshenge stood up, Miya Ford noticed his right hand pressing on his stomach.

"Are you not feeling well?" she asked, out of kindness.

"Stomach ache," Roshenge replied, no sign of discomfort showing except for a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, "from waiting for you."

Miya Ford didn't know how to respond to his comment.

Then he answered the librarian, "No need," his amber eyes twinkling mischievously while looking at Miya Ford with an unmistakable tone, "She's inviting."

But Miya Ford didn't want to invite Roshenge to dinner.