I spear a piece of chicken from my plate and hold it near her lips. “Try this.”
She stiffens, eyes darting around at the spectators definitely watching our every move. Playing along, she leans in and takes the bite. A tiny spot of sauce clings to the corner of her mouth, so I swipe it away with my thumb, then pop my thumb into my mouth to lick it clean, never breaking eye contact.
A chorus of low whoops and giggles rises around the table. I flash the onlookers a lazy grin. “Enjoying the show?” I drawl. That earns a round of snickers and a few of the gawkers finally turn back to their own lunches.
Maddox drops into the seat across from us, tattoos flexing as he tears into a sandwich. “Almost better than the goat,” he says around a mouthful.
Mara blinks. “The goat?”
Knox smiles wide. “You haven’t heard? Rook and Mad here painted ‘OCK RULES’ across a prize show goat and let it loose in the main hall.”
“They—” Mara’s fork clatters against her plate. “That goat got seized by PTO. My brother said it’s being boarded out somewhere.”
That makes Maddox barks out a laugh. “They stole my fucking goat?”
“Correction,” Rook cuts in, “Dredyn’s goat. And it’s not just any goat. That was a registered Nubian—expensive bloodline.”
Mara stares at him. “Why the hell would you care about a goat?”
Rook finally cracks half a smirk. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Beck pipes up from two seats down, not looking up from his laptop. “Technically, PTO filed the damages at nine grand. If Rook and Mad don’t fake community service, the Greek Council is threatening sanctions.”
Mad throws a fry at him. “Fake? I’m putting in the hours. Shoveling shit at the animal shelter counts.”
“Yeah.” Knox snorts. “But only because you’re the one who put it there.”
That cracks the whole table. Even Rook lets out a quiet huff of amusement.
Mara shakes her head. “You’re all insane.”
“Accurate,” I say, tilting her chin toward me with a finger, forcing her to look at me while the laughter simmers around us. “But you’re sitting right in the middle of it. That makes you what, Princess?”
Her lips part, ready to argue. Then, she shuts them.
“Complicit,” CJ says.
Mara shoots him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He just shrugs and downs the rest of his soda.
I drop a kiss against her temple just to watch her bristle. “Exactly. Complicit.”
Under the table, I slide my palm onto Mara’s bare knee, just below the hem of her skirt. Her entire body tenses and she shoots me a warning glare, which I answer with a light squeeze of her thigh. My fingers creep an inch higher, warm against her soft skin.
Mara sucks in a quiet breath. To anyone watching, we probably look like we’re huddled together, whispering sweet nothings.No one can see how my hand is inching up her skirt. She shifts in her seat, crossing her legs tightly.
“Talon, quit it,” she hisses under her breath, keeping a smile fixed for our audience.
I dip my head closer, feigning innocence. “Quit what?”
“Nothing physical is needed when we aren’t in front of cameras,” Mara mutters, staring hard at her tray as if it’ll save her.
A low chuckle rumbles in my chest. I give her thigh one more teasing squeeze. “Think of it as practice.”
She responds with a strangled little sound in her throat, then goes pointedly silent. Resuming her meal, she ignores me, though the telltale redness in her face isn’t going away anytime soon.
By the time lunch is over, Mara is as tense as a bowstring. I sling her backpack over my shoulder and curl an arm firmly around her waist as I steer her out of the dining hall. If I weren’t holding her, she may sprint away.
When we reach the lecture hall for our shared class, Mara tries a last-second swerve toward a row of seats in the middle—likely aiming to slip away. Nope. I herd her firmly to a pair of seats off to one side, ignoring her annoyed huff.
