The Boy Who Tattooed My Name on His Chest novel Chapter 93

The next morning, when I went downstairs, I saw Gary standing at the dorm entrance. The dorm aunt was eating sunflower seeds and, seeing me come out, whispered in my ear:

"Seems like he’s here for you, lucky girl. One is more handsome than the other." Then she said loudly, "Oh, is this your boyfriend?"

"This is the first time I’ve seen a guy waiting for you downstairs."

Afterward, she winked at me. When Paul was chasing me, he also often brought me breakfast downstairs.

During our three years together, he also waited downstairs to go out to eat with me. Gary must have known.

Hearing the aunt, he smiled slightly, leaned over to my ear, "Baby, did you bribe her?" I had gradually gotten used to his nickname for me.

Thinking of the plastic bottles, express boxes, and fruits I had given the aunt over three years, I stiffly nodded: "Probably."

When I reached the school gate with Gary, I bumped into two of Paul's other roommates. Instinctively, I pulled my hand away from Gary's.

He lowered his gaze, his eyes deep and unreadable. Fortunately, the two guys didn’t seem to notice anything, and they walked towards the basketball court.

As soon as we got in the car, Gary bit my collarbone with a look of grievance:

"Sis-in-law, am I really that embarrassing?"

I instinctively tried to comfort him: "Of course not."

The corner of his lips curved up, and he was immediately cheered up.

The car started and stopped at the shooting range. I didn’t expect that after I liked a video the other day, I had intended to tag Paul, but my finger slipped and I tagged Gary instead.

I quickly retracted it, but to my surprise, he had seen it. After we entered, the people inside obviously knew Gary and welcomed us in.

Gary demonstrated for me. Ten shots, all hitting the bullseye. Through special glasses, half of his perfectly sculpted side profile appeared before me.

Paul could shoot too, but not as well as Gary. He looked at me, took off his glasses, and with a slight smile on his lips, he asked:

"Baby, who’s better, me or him?" Without hesitation, I praised him.

"Of course it’s you." "You shoot so accurately." "You're so fast."

He pressed his lips together, seemingly displeased.

I felt a little awkward. Carefully, I added: "I mean, you're better at shooting than him." "You shoot so quickly, too."

The atmosphere dropped to freezing point. It seemed like he was even more upset.

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