“You love me.”
My nose wrinkles. “That’s a little strong.”
“Whatever.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “Don’t stop on my account, Santos. Lift, be strong, rip those muscles.” Faith winks at him, and I see red—just for a second, though, quickly reminding myself of who he is, that he matters not even a little bit to me.
I huff, feeling my workout high slipping away one miserable moment by miserable moment. “Maybe next time.”
“Working out or riding?” Santos teases.
“Or fucking?”
I roll my eyes. “Working out.”
“That’s a shame,” Santos taunts. I just stare at him. Could he mean—I shake my head.Absolutely not.
“I’m leaving.” And I do. I turn on my heel and stomp from the barn. Faith bounds after me, skipping over the ground like she didn’t just ruin my morning workout with her ridiculous sexual innuendos.Like Santos and I would ever want to fuck each other.
“Do you have any Halloween plans?”
I bark a laugh, pulling open the front door and slinging off my shoes. “Me and what friends?”
She punches my arm. “Me, you asshole.”
I don’t look at her as I continue walking toward my room. “No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t do Halloween.” What I don’t tell her is I don’t do events where I could be an outcast. I’d rather be alone in the safety of my own home than alone in a crowd of people. And I will be alone—I’m awkward and far too focused on what everyone’s thinking about me to have any fun.
“That sounds like an excuse,” she sing-songs as she skips after me.
She’s like a sick dog with a bone—won’t even give up when her teeth are rotted and decaying from the poison in her mouth. “Why?” I whirl on her.
She skids to a halt, bumping into me. Her face tips up, and she flashes me a mischievous grin. “It’ll be fun, I promise. Drinks, costumes,drinks.”
“I’ll go, but under one condition.”
She bounces on the balls of her feet like a small child, and I instantly regret offering to go at all.
“Yes, anything!”
“You have to make McCrae go. And he has to dress up.”
TWENTY-ONE
RAFAEL SANTOS
October 31st, 2025
“What are you supposed to be?”I try,and fail,not to stare at the glistening skin of my enemy,I really do.But she looks so soft and hard at the same time, like a velvet covered sculpture, and my fingers ache with the need to touch her.
She shifts on the balls of her feet, looking down at the red corset and matching ruffly shorts that do nothing to cover her ass, along with the black fishnet tights and black, red-bottomed heels. She looks sinful, and she fucking knows it.
If she wasn’t my enemy, I’d turn up the charm and do whatever necessary to take her home tonight. As it is, I’m trying to keep my hatred and rage buried deep enough so I don’t burst into flames at the sight of her.
Currently, I’m not doing so hot.
“Jessica Rabbit?” She points at the bunny ears like that’s supposed to be obvious, and I fight off an eye roll.
