Page 304 of Bad Prince
tap
tap
tap
Five.
Always five.
My lungs fill. Empty.
Noise recedes to a dull throb at the edges of my skull.
And then I look up.
There.
Higher in the stands.
Half swallowed by shadow, like he chose the darkest corner on purpose.
Tristan.
Our eyes collide.
The world collapses to a single taut wire stretched between us.
His jaw clenches—once, hard. I see the muscle jump from thirty feet away.
He wasn’t expecting me to look.
Wasn’t expecting me to see him.
Wasn’t expecting the wall I’ve kept up for months to simply… dissolve.
I don’t drop my gaze.
For the first time since I told him no—since I said I needed to be alone, needed to focus, needed space—I let him look straight into the furnace I’ve been hiding.
The hunger-the ache that’s lived under my skin since the night I walked away. The way my body remembers his hands, his mouth, the exact pressure of his weight pinning me to sheets I can still smell in my dreams.
I let it blaze across my face.
No filter.
No ice.
Just raw, reckless want.
His body answers before his mind can catch up.
He leans forward—half a heartbeat from rising, from crossing the distance, from coming down here and dragging me off this court regardless of the crowd, the score, the consequences.
Then he freezes.
Catches himself.
But the damage is done.
