His gaze sharpens, and his jaw tightens until it could cut a diamond. For several moments, he’s quiet, that familiar rage melting the ice in his eyes. Except, for the first time, it doesn’t feel directed at me.
He pulls the hoodie over his head in lieu of responding, revealing his bare torso.
Any progress I made on figuring out what he’s doing dies the second I drop my stare to his broad chest and down to his stomach. I’ve seen him without a shirt many times, but it never gets any easier to ignore. The muscle straining beneath his tattooed skin is a sight that has brought many girls to their knees. A sight that, admittedly, has made my own weaken.
I clench my jaw and refocus on his face, where he watches me check him out with amusement. And that pisses me off—but mostly because I’m embarrassed for getting caught.
“So, what? You’re going to avoid talking about what you did and then expect me to get in the water with you like I just hallucinated the whole thing?”
He chuckles. “It was very real, darling, but don’t go looking for an apology,” he says. “The old me would've just left you in there rather than taking my anger out on your pussy and letting you walk free afterward.”
I blink at him, stunned for a second. “Are you implying I should be grateful or something?”
He shrugs casually, though his tone is more serious when he says, “No, but you can rest assured it’s not something I’ll ever do again.”
I frown, not exactly sure how to take that.
He studies me closely for a moment, seeming to contemplate something.
“I gave myself one night to feel everything, so I could let it go. I don’t want to be angry at you anymore.”
My head jerks back, blinking rapidly while I try to process that.
It was the last thing I expected him to say.
I open my mouth to respond and then snap it closed again, having no idea what to even think.
“Uh, okay,” I implore slowly after a few more beats, my brows wrinkling with confusion. “Well, I’m still not going to be your bait.”
“No, you’re not,” he agrees easily. “You’re just going to be my girlfriend.”
I narrow my eyes, staring at him suspiciously. “Because of Lio?—”
“No,” he interjects firmly. “It has nothing to do with your father and everything to do with you and me.”
Again, my mouth flops soundlessly, my thoughts fuzzy and disoriented.
“Like… like you’re actually wanting todateme?” I ask, my voice pitching higher with incredulity. “Why?”
He smirks, mirth dancing in his eyes as he saunters toward me. I suppress the urge to back away, my muscles locking tight as he nears. By the time he pauses an inch away, my chest aches from the need to breathe.
He crooks his forefinger beneath my chin before running the pad of his thumb down my bottom lip, further ensnaring me in his intense gaze.
“Because I like you, Reverie,” he whispers, one corner of his lips curling and hinting at the dimple above his cheek. “I like you more than just a friend, and I like more than just your pussy. I likeyou.” He pauses a beat, and then adds, “So fucking much.”
I recoil again, shock stealing my breath.
What the fuck?
I’ve jumped timelines. Maybe I was even sucked into a wormhole and shat out into a different reality.
It’s the only explanation for why the fuck Dreadful Sharpe is telling me he has feelings for me.
His stare dips to my lips, and when it rises again, my stomach flips.
There’s definitely something brewing beyond the ice circling his pupils, but instead of chilling my blood like it usually does, it heats, building to a boil in a matter of seconds.
Something is different about him tonight. He’s quieter. Serious. I’ve gotten so used to seeing cruel smiles or murderous rage, his contemplative silence is jarring.
