He smirks. “The door.”
“Why did it sound like you broke it?”
He ignores me, his eyes scanning the crowd of people, who are now standing silently staring at him.
Of course they are. He’s Tristan Wolfe. They must be wondering what the hell he’s doing here talking to me of all people.
“Can we go somewhere private?” he asks.
“No,” I say, surprised how calm I’m able to make my voice sound when my skin is vibrating with nerves.
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. The tension in the room is thick, all eyes on us.
Tristan leans in close again, voice low. “Meet me in the courtyard. Now.”
Irritation sizzles under my skin at his high-handedness. I want nothing more than to tell him to go to hell but refusing him would only make a scene. I’m not ready to tell Katie—or anyone for that matter—about my nomination.
I nod stiffly. “Fine.”
He turns on his heel, stomping off down the hall and out the door. I follow after a beat, my pulse racing.
The cool night does nothing to douse the heat on my skin. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Tristan. “What do you want?”
He takes a step back, which casts shadows over the sharp plains of his face. “You’re not going to back out of this competition. I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier because of…” He smirks. “What happened.”
I clench my teeth. That’s what he came all the way over here for after what I just saw? He doesn’t even care that I caught him masturbating. All he cares about is this plan to humiliate me.
I glare up at him. “Watch me.”
“You won’t.” He reaches out and grabs my arm. His fingers dig into my skin as he pulls me close to him. He leans forward. Our noses brush, and his breath is hot on my lips. “I’ll tell everyone I caught you peeping on me while I jerked off.”
My cheeks burst into flames, but I refuse to cower. “I don’t believe you.”
“Try me.”
I swallow hard, searching for a retort and coming up empty. Tristan probably would tell everyone that. What does he have to lose? He’s gorgeous and charming and has a way with words, even when he’s in large groups of people. He could laugh the whole thing off like it was nothing.
I’m the one who would look stupid. I stood there for who knows how long gawking at him.
Based on his malicious smirk, Tristan must see my hesitation. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Amelia.”
At the opening ceremony for the game, he means, and fuck him for always calling me by my full name. He used to call me Amelia years ago, back when he first started dating Harper. Before she rejected me. Back when I thought he and I might become friends.
He turns to leave, and panic rises in my chest. I can’t let him have the last word. I scramble for something, anything, to wipe that smug look off his face.
“Wait!” The word is out before I can stop it.
Tristan pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “What?”
An idea sprouts. Something not fully formed. It vibrates over my skin before my brain can fully process it.
What if I seduce him? What if I make him want me?
He nominated me for this competition to embarrass me. I don’t know exactly how he means to do it, but my guess is he wants to do a typical cruel joke. Pretending to like me and then yanking the rug from under my feet once I start liking him back. The classic “you really thought I’d be into you?” prank.
What if I were able to beat him at his own game?
It might make it all go away. The pain of losing Harper because of him. The humiliation of having the deepest, most precious part of who I am—my writing—ridiculed publicly.
