“How come you never played the flute at school? At assembly or graduation or anything?”
I squint, hoping he’s fucking with me, but his expression is choir-boy sincere. Holy shit, the one thing I want to discusslessthan where I’m living these days—playing the fucking flute. I successfully locate my vape and reward myself with a drag. “You can’t possibly want to know that.”
Jake Graves-Holland grins like I’m being charming instead of a dick, and it strikes me how handsome he is. Properly good-looking. It’s rare anywhere, but especially in New Zealand, where every white person seems to wear a different version of the same face.
“I do want to know. You must have been amazing at it to get into Jullia?—”
I cut him off before he can actually say my alma mater’s name. “I didn’t perform at school because I told anyone who asked that if they made me, I’d take my own life.”
Jake’s grey eyes expand. “Seriously?”
Krissy and the bar staff are still busy, so I take another quick hit off my vape. “I wouldn’t have actuallydone it.”
He grins, cocking his head at me. “You always get what you want?”
I feel another surge of hatred toward this massive, gorgeous, rich celebrity acting likeI’ma spoiled baby. He’s the one who’s gotten everything handed to him. Who was born on third base and still gets to pretend he hits home runs.
“Not so much. And if I may askyoua question, what the hell are you still doing in this bar?”
He looks at me, his bright grey gaze moving from my eyes to my lips. “Thought it was kind of obvious.”
I really don’t like the way my heart stutters against my rib cage. As much as I want to believe it’s an alcohol-based stroke, I’m not that lucky.
“You’re hoping to be mobbed by rugby enthusiasts?”
He grins at the ceiling like he’s got a friend up there. “Cece filled you in, huh?”
“She did. Congrats on the All Blacks… And being one, and all that.”
“Thanks, but you’re the real celebrity around here. I hear your song about forty thousand times every Christmas.”
“Lemme guess, your mum loves it?
His smile-dimple gets deeper. “My nan.”
“Well, everything about that tracks…”
The tequila is really kicking now, mellowing my anger and making my lady-parts shimmer like a mirage. Goddamn Jake Graves-Holland. I’m supposed to be ruining lives, and instead I’m all hot and bothered. Worse still, messing with him feels akin to messingwith a leukemia patient. He’s too nice.
“You look so great,” he says, further cementing his boy-next-door status. “Your hair long like that is… It really suits you.”
God, what is this guy’s problem? Why can’t he fuck off and be all over Cece or something? She’s tall, gorgeous,andshe knows what rugby is.
Then again, that would be too easy for Cece. Not enough like banging your head against a wall and praying it’ll learn to love and respect you.
“Cheers,” I say. “But I don’t fuck fans.”
He grins at the roof again. “I didn’t stay back to try and fuck you.”
“Sure. And my name isn’t incomprehensibly hard to spell.”
He laughs, and I hate the way my heart flips over. Men rarely find me funny, because they suck, but making a hot man laugh still turns the dork in me all starry-eyed. Still, I’m not gonna let that dork validation-bang Captain Popular. I got that humiliation kink out of my system a long time ago.
“Problem is,” Jake tilts his undrunk glass of scotch at me. “Icanspell your name. A-D-A-L-A-S-I-A. Then a gap. R-E-N-A?—”
I clap my hand to his face. I don’t mean to, it just happens. It’s too much, too sweet, too… I don’t even fucking know. Lightning shoots from Jake Graves-Holland’s lips, through my palm and slams into my chest. But, I don’t let go.
Jake’s eyes crinkle, his smile moving against my fingertips. Still, I don’t let go. We’re locked in place, eyes fused, my heart racing like it’s about to burst.
