Maybe he planned on hanging around—to find me, wait me out, because in his eyes that are grazing over the features of my face, there’s a hint of confusion.
Dray considers me for a heartbeat.
His steady gaze is unflinching. “You slept off quite a hangover.”
I part my lips around words that I don’t have, then shut them again.
There is patience in the way he watches me. But behind his glass-blue eyes, his mind works.
He looks me over, from the flyaways that frizz my braid to the damp spots on my lumpy sweater, a painfully slow look.
He finds some conclusion on me.
He sighs, a soft sound like cashmere running over freshly moisturised skin. “Are we going to do this again? Back to enemies so you feel better about what happened—what youwanted?”
Still, there are no words I can give him.
I just stare.
And I wonder if my mind really has broken.
But what can I say to him?
Sorry, thought you were Eric?
A scoff jolts me, faint and lethargic.
Dray’s jaw rolls, slow, the contours of his dimples darkening with the movement.
The soft pink of his lips part… Lips that traced every curve and freckle on my body, that sucked and kissed and licked between my legs, that gave the most vicious torments I’ve endured.
But he doesn’t get the chance to speak.
Not before a flurry of movement is storming towards us, right for my table.
Instinct braces me.
My gaze darts to the mutinous face of my brother.
I sink back in the seat, as though I can escape him, but before I can so much as utter a sharp breath, Oliver is slamming down a folded copy of the school newsletter on the table.
I frown down at it.
The tension in Oliver’s knuckles sears them white.
A second ticks by, then another—
Then, it hits me.
Oh…
Fuuuuck.
My stomach flips.
My eyes widen on the thin, dusty paper, folded over, and pressed into the table by his tense grip.
I can only make out part of the headline.
