“Thatgood.” Tristan lifted his shades onto his head. “Leo was full throttle golden retriever energy. Following her around the table like she had the answers printed on her jeans. Which, by the way, I think he memorized.”
“Didnot,” I muttered.
“He totally did,” Tristan shot back. “Every time she leaned over the laptop, I thought his pupils were gonna dilate out of his skull. It waspainful.”
“She into it?” Xavier asked.
Tristan gave a lazy shrug. “She gave as good as she got. Sharp tongue, quick comebacks, sarcasm turned up to eleven. She’s got claws.”
I cleared my throat and grabbed my water bottle, hoping to redirect.
It didn’t work.
“Oh and get this,” Tristan said, lighting up now. “At one point, I draped an arm around her just to see what would happen—Leo nearlybit the glassoff the coffee table.”
Garrett hooted. “You serious?”
“Dude looked like he was gonna rearrange my face.
“Shut up,” I grumbled.
Xavier stepped in, still grinning. “So what’s the plan, Holt? Gonna actually make a move or just keep acting like she’s not living rent-free in that over-inflated head of yours?”
“There’s no plan,” I said.
“Bullshit.”
“She’s…” I paused. “Complicated.”
“Translation,” Tristan muttered, “she’s not rich, not connected, and doesn’t suck up to you like everyone else.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
“She doesn’t belong here,” I finally said, jaw tight. “Not in this world.”
Xavier raised a brow. “And yet here she is—wearing the uniform, checking all your boxes, and somehow still not giving a single damn what any of us think.”
“She’s got balls,” Tristan said. “I’ll give her that. But the real question is—what are you gonna do when she stops pretending not to notice you?”
I looked out at the court. At the ball. At anything but them.
What was I gonna do?
No idea.
But if I didn’t figure it out soon, I was gonna lose more than a few hours of sleep.
I was gonna lose my edge.
Chapter Eight
JADE
The verbal pingpong with Leo was starting to drive me absolutely insane.
One minute he was ignoring me like I was background noise, the next he was brushing hair off my face and inventing nicknames like he’d branded me. Then he’d go cold again, like I didn’t exist—unless Tristan touched me. Then he was all clenched jaw and silent rage.
