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He was gone, thank God. Maybe he hadn’t noticed me. Maybe he hadn’t seen me. Maybe he hadn’t—
“It’s rude to stare,” a calm voice said from above me. “And it’s even ruder to quickly look away and pretend you weren’t staring.”
Wincing, I turned toward the voice despite already knowing who I would see. Heath stood above me, hands in the pockets of his low-slung basketball shorts. His brown hair was brushed back from his arresting face. The smile was back yet again—the smile so painfully fake it physically hurt me.
He reminded me of one of those politicians I always saw on television. Fake smile, immaculately dressed, the epitome of perfection…but a darkness in his eyes.
Despite that darkness, I didn’t feel uneasy around him. I should’ve—he looked like a damn psychopath with that blindingly white smile—but I didn’t.
Maybe someone disrupted my programming.
Aiden’s proposition flitted through my mind.
Flirt.
Discover what he knows.
“Sorry,” I said, the blush that darkened my face not at all an act. “I didn’t mean to, you know, stare.”
He flashed me another one of those smiles.
“I would’ve stared too if I had noticed you. What’s your name, doll?”
Doll. I normally hated pet names, but I couldn’t help the strange thrill that zinged through me at that one word. He probably said it to everyone. Probably had a whole arsenal of nicknames at his disposal. I was nothing special, I knew that, but that one nickname…
“Bianaca,” I answered, extending a hand. He shocked the fuck out of me when he brought my hand up to his lips and pressed a kiss on the sensitive skin.
“Bianaca.” His eyes turned contemplative as he tested the name out, swirling it on his tongue. Goosebumps pebbled on my arms. “I’m Heath.”
“I know,” I replied immediately. Stupidly.
Way to not look like a creeper, B.
Inappropriately, I wanted to add that I commonly stood over his bed eating cereal while he slept, but I figured we weren’t at that level yet.
Something flickered in his eyes at my confession, but it was there and gone before I could process it. His smile never once wavered from his face.
“That makes sense,” he said at last.
“What does?”
“Why you were looking at me.”
I was so lost.
My confusion must’ve been evident, for Heath took a step closer. He practically emitted heat in palpable waves.
“You want information,” he whispered conspiratorially. His smile blinded me.
“Information?” I parroted meekly.
With another large, brilliant grin, Heath stepped out of my space and picked his bag up from the ground. Swinging it over his shoulder, he stared at me intently, searching for something. What he was searching for I couldn’t discern.
“Tonight. 8 p.m. Room 321.”
I was left dumbstruck as he walked away, singing softly beneath his breath.
What the hell was that?
