She is not someone like me, deserves to be admiring.

She is gorgeous in the way that most boxers were, fit with visible muscle that helped them beat their opponent. Unlike most athletes though, she has that scary coldness that could instil fear into the bravest of men. The same icy coldness that saved my ass that day.

I sit at the table, book in hand, watching as she scans the shelf opposite the table, tucked in the corner.

She groans. Not at me, I realise after a few seconds of panic, but at the inability to find whatever book she is trying to find. I knew that she has a short temper, and it isn't long until her lack of the book she's looking for makes her snap.

I want to ask if she needs any help—I basically know the entire library like the back of my hand. I want to ask if she needs any help, so this date doesn't end with us getting kicked out.

She clenches her fists, grumbling something under her breath. I can't catch what it was, but my best bet is curses at the library.

"I'll help you find it," I mumble, my voice barely hearable. She snaps her head over to me, her face hardening. I gulp, fighting the urge to apologise and shut my mouth while my head is still attached to my shoulders, but I don't, and clear my throat, my voice still quiet. "If you want it..."

How on earth is this woman my girlfriend.