I narrow my eyes. “Please don’t fuck with me.” It’s too hard for me to decipher what’s what when people do that.
“You think I killed him? And this,” she holds up the white fabric between us under the lights of the parking lot, “is proof?” She rolls her eyes and the motion sends a hot jolt through me. “Thank you for returning it. I’m going to walk home now.” She turns on her heel to walk along the outskirts of the parking lot, no doubt to the brick walkways that are infamous throughout campus, eventually winding and twisting themselves to nearly anywhere on Drayton’s sprawling estate.
There’s no one out here, though. I’m sure people are awake, including my teammates, partying at some girl’s house or another, getting hammered and doing their version of enjoying the night. Maybe on her walk home, she’ll stop by one of those parties, and with her long blond hair, slim figure, and gorgeous face, not to mention those big brown-green eyes, they’ll invite her inside and she’ll lose that fucking sweater again.
Maybe she’ll forget about me, and Sylvan, and Wednesday night withJackson.
I have no idea if he meant to hurt her or not, but she was really running, and he was clearly no stranger to putting his hands on women.
I take a crisp, cold breath in, then I call out her name.
“Neve.”
She stops walking, her heels pausing their even clatter on the asphalt. The snow is cleared, and there’s nothing falling from the sky now, but somehow, out here, she looks like a nightmare carved from ice.
She doesn’t look over her shoulder and she doesn’t reply to me, but she’s waiting.
“Please let me take you home.”
At this, she spins fast, the sweater clenched in one fist, her eyes narrowed into slits. “Do you know where I live, too?” she snaps.
I stiffen, biting the key in my fist deeper into my skin. “What.” It’s not really a question. My mind races to catch up and I know what she’s talking about.
She stalks toward me, heels clacking with each elegant step. She stops right in front of me, nearly bringing us nose-to-nose as I look down at her.
“How did he find out? How did he know my number? Why did hebreak someone’s fucking nose inside my house?”
My mind races. I don’t speak because I don’t know what she’s talking about. I understand the words, but they don’t make sense. If I’m thinking through each question logically, piecing together answers for her, I guess Drayton’s counsel could have illegally and immorally given Sylvan Neve’s address and her number. But I would think our attorney would want him to stay far away from her, to protect Drayton, if nothing else. Sylvan is a freshman which means he’s reckless. Why would they put themselves in more danger by letting Sylvan speak off-the-record with her?
As for her last question.
“Whose nose?” Her roommate? I assume she has one. Most people do. But if Sylvan hurt a woman, he’s done. And the way he grabbed Neve Wednesday night, then tonight, I don’t think I should put it past him.
Neve is studying my face, like she can read the truth there versus in my words. But I’m not a liar.
“You really don’t know.” She doesn’t ask.
I say nothing.
“I didn’t stab Jackson.” Her voice breaks on his name. “I don’t know how the blood got on my sweater. Maybe because I started my period that night or something.” She says it boldly. I like it. “I took it off so I wouldn’t be so visible in the night when he came chasing after me.” She takes a breath, then glances atmy car. A shiver rolls through her, and she tries to hide it. “Give me a fucking ride, please, Darling.”
FIFTEEN
NEVE
Isqueeze my thighs together as some song I don’t know—a metal and pop mashup—plays through his speakers, the bass hitting hard.
That’swhat I try to focus on.
Not his hand over the fucking shifter.
But… it’s just sobig—his hand—and there are so many gorgeous veins on the back of it, and when he switches gears, I can see the muscles in his forearm, the way his sweater is pulled back a little.
He has a watch on, too.
Silver, and my heart flutters when I read the brand.
Casio.
