Drew stared at me.
Then, very slowly, the edge of his mouth twitched.
“Noted.”
“Do not smile at me.”
The smile vanished.
Mostly.
I exhaled and looked at Stella.
She stood a few feet away, face pale in the firelight, arms crossed tight under her chest like she was holding herself together by force alone. For one second, I remembered her in the library. Remembered the way everyone had watched her too. Judged her. Wanted her to fall apart beautifully for their entertainment.
Maybe I hated her.
Maybe she hated me.
Maybe we had both been made into symbols by men who didn’t know how to finish a sentence without bleeding on someone.
I lifted my chin.
“Stella.”
Her brows rose.
“What do you say you and I go have a drink down the beach and leave these two to cool off?”
No one moved.
It was like I had suggested we hold hands and rob a bank.
Drew blinked. “What?”
Tristan said, “Isa?—”
Stella looked from me to Drew, then to Tristan, then back to me.
For the first time all night, her mouth curved.
Not warm.
Not friendly.
But amused.
“Sounds good,” she said. “I don’t like this machismo bullshit anyway.”
Then she flipped her hair over one shoulder, stepped around Tristan, and walked toward me.
The jaws dropping around the bonfire were almost worth the entire night.
Almost.
I glanced at Drew.
He was still being held back by half the offensive line, chest rising hard, eyes fixed on me like he couldn’t decide whether to be proud, furious, or terrified that I was willingly walking away with Stella Cortez.
