Page 30 of Don't Be in Love

He rolled his tongue in disbelief.You don’t believe me?

I know you.

His brows rose.Really?

Yup.

Maybe I know you.

Do you?I bit the inside of my cheek.

He tapped his watch.You’re already ready to leave.

I pressed my lips together.Point taken.

He hid a smile. The lines beside his lips softened like butter as his smile dropped altogether.

Opening his mouth, I read the words he shaped out.

You look beautiful.

My heart thudded against my chest.

Thank you,I mouthed back.

His face was peaceful. No crease or smirk or fidgeting. It was romantic, in theory. It seemed genuine, in theory. Being told you looked beautiful could confuse anyone. It warmed you from the inside out like a sip of mulled wine running down your throat on a night where the windows were frosted over.

But I knew Dorian. I knew men like Dorian. They chased. Caught. Relished. And then moved on.

Watching it firsthand between your parents wasn’t necessary but that’s where I gained my patch of honor inSpotting Typical Men,stitched right onto my frontal lobe.

Each student here had assisted in providing me enough evidence of that only ten minutes later when we sat down to eat. Almost every head was turned towards Dorian.

The tables around us were loud with chatter, but ours was rowdy with whispers as people peppered him with questions about his dating life.

Princesses, models, actresses. There wasn’t a category we hadn’t touched on. New files were opening and labeling themselves in my brain the more everyone spoke.

So much for the students being academic titans that I would have to fight off with my planner and overheated laptop.

A phone rang and everyone quieted. I immediately caught strands of dark hair falling forward in my peripheral.

Dorian leaned over to whisper something in James’s ear. James said something with a disapproving look before Dorian stood and walked out of the room on a call. Everyone stared at the empty seat and glanced at James.

“You think he’ll come back, right? The dancing hasn’t even begun yet,” Sabrina asked, worry strung across her brow.

“I’m sure it’s just a quick call,” Mia assured her.

“It’s probably Victoria,” a girl across from us—Amber, I think—whispered.

“Who’s Victoria?” another girl asked.

“She’s Dorian’s girlfriend,” she responded.

The files I had been building in my head suddenly burst from their cabinets. Agirlfriend?

Sabrina’s fork clanked against her plate.

“What’s her name?” Mia sat forward instantly.