Page 525 of Bad Prince
“Do not sweetheart me.”
His gaze drops to my mouth for a second.
Then back up.
Too slow.
Too deliberate.
And all at once I remember that Drew Travers did, in fact, put the moves on me once.
Before Tristan went quasi-available.
Before I let myself believe maybe I could make the safer choice and actually mean it.
Before Stella Cortez came walking back into his orbit and every false piece on the chessboard got swept away.
Drew asked me out after a football game in September.
I told him I’d rather chew denim.
He looked delighted.
Psychopath.
“Okay, Texas,” he says now. “What do you want?”
That throws me.
“What?”
“You’re glaring at everyone like you’re about to start handing out death sentences. What’s the move?”
I laugh without humor.
“The move is surviving the training room without committing homicide.”
“Done. Sit by me.”
I blink.
“That is your solution?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s stupid.”
He tilts his head.
“People will stop giving you pity eyes if I’m sitting here looking mean enough to eat drywall.”
I look him over.
Massive shoulders.
Thick forearms.
Thighs like somebody sculpted a bear and taught it route running.
