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It also shows how hopelessly in lust I am with Merc Watson.
For shame. Stop it, Cos. God, will you move on? You knew from the moment you saw him he was too much to handle. Too handsome, too sexy, too popular.
Stupid move, Cos. And this pain in your heart is the price you pay. When will you ever learn?
Too pissed at myself for a pity party, I finish the class, make notes for Soph, and take my time gathering my stuff to go.
So of course when I step out, he’s right there.
The light falls just so, catching the gold of his hair, the glint of his white smile, gilding the outline of his strong shoulders. He’s so handsome. Everything about him draws me in, attracts my gaze and snags my heart.
My lust, I mean. Yeah, that’s what I mean.
He lifts a hand to grip the back of his neck, such a gu
y gesture, and those muscles in his arms and chest shift and bulge and… oh boy. The guy’s too sexy for his own good—and mine.
Because of course he’s surrounded by girls. Three by my count. Two more hanging back for now, waiting their turn to talk to him, bask in his male glory.
A flush of anger is working its way up my neck, heating my cheeks. A girl steps back into me, and I push her away. I’ve approached the little group too much without realizing, and when he turns at the small commotion, his bright eyes widen a fraction.
Then they narrow into blue slits, and his smile falls, his face settling into hard lines. “You,” he says, looking right at me, and the other sounds fade.
“Merc…”
“Can’t you see?” he huffs. “I’m busy.”
There. A slap in the face that shakes me out of my trance.
“Oh, I can see that. I’m so sorry. Trouble deciding which girl to take home tonight?”
“That’s none of your business.” Every word clipped and sharp.
“You’re right. It’s not.”
The other girls scatter a bit when he takes a step toward me. “Look, I’m not the kind of guy you can jerk about like that. Don’t play those games with me.”
“Games? You’re the player, not me.”
“You don’t know me at all,” he says, his voice deadly quiet, his eyes icy.
“I guess not.” Tears prick the back of my eyes, and I can’t let him see. But when I turn blindly to go, I’m yanked back when he grabs my arm.
“Dammit. Wait.”
I try to shake him off, furious—at him, at myself. “You were playing me. Trying to hurt me.” I wave a hand vaguely at his flock of hens. “What need do you have for that?”
“Playing you? What the hell do you mean?”
I can’t look into those cool blue eyes. “Pretending to be nice.”
“I am nice, goddammit.”
“You’re an ass. You stood me up.”
“Life gets in the way of plans sometimes, princess.”
I can’t avoid his gaze when he says things like that, and I recall that I was worried about him, about the reasons why he never showed up—but too late. “Blond, big-breasted plans?” I snarl.
