His head turns sharply, eyes cutting to mine.
"You’re sleeping in my bed and we shared a shower this morning, while you stared at my erection. I’d say that’s close enough."
My cheeks heat instantly, and I make a sweeping glance around, suddenly hyper-aware of people nearby, the way that sentence could mean something it doesn’t.
"Thanks," I manage instead of arguing like we usually do.
"Don’t mention it."
I know I should take this as a win. Having lunch with my arch nemesis who hasn’t given me the time of day since I got here. I should keep my mouth shut and let him get comfortable with me before trying to pull more information out of him, but damn it, I’m not that kind of person.
"So… prep school. Where did you go for that?"
His eyes are on the tv watching a highlight sports reel on some sports media channel.
"England," He says flatly with no sign of divulging more information.
It’s on-brand for him, at least.
"Hmm. An all-boys prep school. Is it as insufferable as I’m imagining?"
"It was worse," he says without hesitation.
"Why?"
"Because everything has a rule."
"But you love rules," I tease.
"That’s true. Rules keep things clean and tight. But these rules were more than that. How you stand. How you speak. How you eat. How you fold your clothes."
I raise a brow. "Do you still fold your clothes like that?"
His gaze shifts to mine and holds. "Yes."
I laugh under my breath. "Why am I not surprised?"
He takes a sip of his ice water that was there before I walked up. "It wasn’t all bad. I have some good memories there too."
Now we’re getting somewhere.
"Really?" I lean back on my stool’s backrest. "Like what? Sneaking out at night to climb into the windows of the all-girls school next door?"
A ghost of a smirk crosses his mouth, so quick I almost miss it. The kind of smirk I’m starting to realize I secretly live for.
"No," he says. "There wasn’t a town that close. It was remote."
I wait because I can feel there’s more, and he’s deciding whether I’ve earned it.
Then he sighs, like he’s annoyed with himself for even letting the memory surface.
"When I was ten, my dorm floor smuggled in a one-eyed tabby cat."
My eyebrows shot up. "You’re kidding."
He shakes his head once, deadpan. "We named him Lord Whiskers."
I make a sound that is absolutely undignified. "Stop."
