Page 144 of Bad Prince

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“Don’t get soft on me, Vale,” she teases one afternoon as we cross the quad.

“I’m not.”

“You sure?”

She nudges my shoulder with hers.

Physical.

Comfortable.

Confident.

It feels good.

That’s the dangerous part.

It feels good to be wanted without complication.

To have a beautiful, high-performing athlete flirt shamelessly with me.

To not feel like I’m walking on emotional landmines.

She’s sunshine.

Stella was lightning.

I immediately feel guilty for the comparison.

Because it isn’t fair.

They’re not the same.

Isa is polished.

Well-adjusted.

Social.

Stella is raw.

Sharp.

Quiet until she’s not.

Isa smiles for cameras.

Stella forgets they exist.

I hate that my chest tightens at that thought.

One night, we’re in the library working on our project.

Isa tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, chewing on the end of her pen as she studies the spreadsheet.

“You always this intense?” she asks.

“Yes.”

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