The conversation hadn’t even been planned. I’d gotten two sentences out with Tori before she froze, as if I’d asked for nuclear codes. Then Elise slid in, moving as though the hallway belonged to her, smile polished and lethal as glass.
“Looks like your friends are warming back up.” Elise’s nails skimmed the strap of her bag, casual but deliberate. “Funny how fast things shift when the right people remind them who’s in control.”
I didn’t answer Elise. Just tilted my head as though I gave a damn.
But to someone across the hall who couldn’t hear the words or read the tension, it probably looked as though we were catching up. Maybe even friendly.
Shit.
By lunch, the storm had arrived.
I spotted Mila before she saw me—charging across the quad, long brown hair wild from the wind, gray-green eyes locked on me. A dark storm cloud in denim. No tray. No food. Just fury.
“King,” she snapped the second she reached our table. Chase and Jax cut off mid-sentence. Theo raised an eyebrow.
I pushed to my feet. “Mila.”
“Walk. Now.”
The guys didn’t move. They blinked as though they were watching a soap opera play out in real time.
I leaned down, close enough that only she could hear me. “You dragging me off to yell, or is this foreplay?”
“Keep talking and I’ll drag you off to bury you,” she growled.
God, she was pissed. And fuck me if it didn’t do something to me.
We ended up near the back of the courtyard, under an old tree that didn’t do much against the sun. A couple underclassmen sat on the lawn nearby, so we kept moving—until we hit the chain-link fencing behind the gym.
“Want to tell me what the hell that was?” she demanded, arms crossed tight.
The vintage olive-green shirt she wore stretched across her breasts, the deep V-neck dipping just enough to drag my eyes where they shouldn’t be. Distracting as hell. I forced my gaze back up. “Elise?” I played dumb. Badly.
“You think I didn’t see it? You didn’t exactly look like a hostage.” Her mouth twisted. “Pretty rich, considering you kissed me as if I was the only thing that mattered last night.”
Her words punched into me. Because the taste of her—salt, heat, defiance—was still on my tongue every damn time I let myself think about last night. I sighed. “Mila?—”
“She’s dangerous, Luke. You said it yourself. So what? That doesn’t count if she shows up in lip gloss and batting lashes? You think I forgot what I overheard? Her talking about drugging you if she had to?” Her eyes flared. “We’re supposed to be a team. Not letting her crawl back into it.”
I stepped forward. She didn’t move. “If you’re going to accuse me, at least make it interesting.”
“I’m asking,” she shot back. “Are you double-crossing me?”
That landed harder than I wanted. Still, I let her come at me, because every jab, every accusation, meant she cared enough to fight. And I would take her fire over her silence any day. “No,” I said, voice low. “But you’re assuming a lot for someone who said this isn’t about us.”
Her index finger tapped against her arm. “It’s not.”
“You sure?” I leaned in. “Because you’re acting jealous.”
She let out a sharp laugh. “You wish.”
“I don’t need to wish.” I held her stare. “You wouldn’t have stormed over here if you didn’t care.”
Her head tilted. “I care about not being played. There’s a difference.”
“And I care about not having a move I make questioned as if I’m some pawn in your trust issues.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again. “Maybe if you shared the plan, I wouldn’t have to guess.”
