His pupils flare as his eyes drop to my mouth. “If you keep doing that, I’m gonna try to kiss you again,” he murmurs, playing right into my hands.
“Maybe you should,” I whisper, shrugging.
He grins like the goddamn sun, then leans down and captures my mouth in another kiss, this one even deeper than the first. I hear the bench creak as Ford tenses on the other side of the table, but I don’t stop. I tangle my fingers in Wes’ hair, pulling him closer, letting myself drown in the heat of it.
It’s so good I forget where I am for a second– forget I’m in the middle of the Bistro and that the whole room is probably watching. In the moment, I don’t even care. All I can focus on is the soft drag of his tongue, the way his hand slides up my back, the small sound of surprise he makes when I bite down on his lower lip.
By the time we break apart, I’m breathless, cheeks red and heart pounding like I just ran a marathon. I swing my gaze back to Ford, his expression completely blank and unreadable. Then a slow, wicked smile spreads across his lips.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he coaxes, voice low. “It’s fucking hot watching you two.”
Raf abruptly pushes to his feet, snatching his backpack off the floor and slinging it over his shoulder. He mutters something about class, then turns and stalks away without waiting for a reply.
I glare at Ford, daring him to say something else. He just holds my gaze for a few seconds, then winks, going back to his phone.
Asshole.
I get up, willing my hands to stop shaking as I smooth my skirt. “I’m going back to the library,” I announce.
Wes looks up, confusion creasing his brow. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” I say, snatching the paper coffee cup off the table. “Thanks for this, though.”
He looks like he wants to follow me, but I turn away before he can offer, the heels of my boots clicking against the tile as I stride back toward the doors.
I feel the weight of too many stares, but I try not to let it get to me; try to pretend I’m above it now. But my skin still prickles with awareness, every nerve ending lighting up.
Maybe this is just how it is now.
Maybe this is the price for playing their game.
I keep my head high all the same. If I’m going to embrace being their Doll, I may as well fully lean in.
If people are going to talk regardless, I may as well own the narrative.
CHAPTER 16
AVA
The sky is already duskyby the time I leave the library, the last smears of daylight bleeding out through the ancient oaks that line the quad. Evening settles over campus like a held breath– quieter, slower, the usual chaos stripped down to something almost peaceful. I grip the straps of my backpack and tuck my chin, but the late-autumn chill still slips beneath my clothes, needling along my spine until I shiver.
I’m only halfway caught up on the week of class that I missed. Honestly, it’s a minor miracle that I’ve managed that much already– most of my waking hours since coming back have been spent either trying not to fall apart or playing catch-up on everything except my actual coursework. But tonight, walking the main path through campus with a to-do list running through my head and the steady, grounding rhythm of my own footsteps beneath me, I almost feel normal again.
Except for the fact that every single person I pass is openly staring at me.
At first, I tell myself it’s just in my head. That I’m still hypersensitive from weeks of being the campus freak show, the shiny new Doll, and the property of the Kings. Of course I’m going to notice every side-eye and half-whisper… right?
But this is different.
People aren’t looking away when I catch their gaze. Their stares linger, groups bunching up around stone benches and under trees, conversations stalling mid-sentence as I approach before picking back up in low, deliberate murmurs once I’ve passed. Like I’m the subject of their conversations, not just a passerby.
Like I’m the evening’s entertainment.
I do my best to keep my head down and push forward, ignoring the steady hum of voices rising and falling in my wake, but it’s impossible. I try to pretend I’m invisible, but it doesn’t work. Their attention locks in, tracking my every move.
Their eyes strip me down to skin and bone, crawling over me in slow, invasive passes. Hands that aren’t there, fingers tugging at my hair, the quiet, collective assessment of my worth, weighing me in units of humiliation per second.
I haven’t seen any of the Kings since my last class with Raf hours ago, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still watching. They could be lurking in the shadows themselves, could’ve put someone on my tail to keep track of my movements. I try to pick up my pace and walk faster, but the scrutiny around me only intensifies, hitting me in pulses.
