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“I know about the black lace.”
I snatch the joint out of his reach and take a big, calming inhale. “When have you had time to go through my dresser?”
He leans over, taking the joint from me with long, elegant fingers, and I breathe in, trying not to be conspicuous about it. It’s not my fault that he smells so good. I’m pretty sure he uses whatever body wash Gabriel buys, but it’s different on his skin.
Ugh.Ugh.Rainbows. Explosions.
“I didn’t go through your dresser. I switched some laundry from the washer to the dryer.” He gets a serious look on his face. “Awasheris something you use to clean clothes. It’s a big square, and it has buttons on it that—”
“I know what a washer is. Next time, you can just—you can leave my panties where they are.”
“Not if I need to wash some stuff.”
“Guys don’t care about wearing dirty clothes.”
He snorts. “Some of us care.”
The weed is going to my head already. “Do you care about school? Like, choosing a school?”
“Why? Do you care about it?”
“I just didn’t know if you had one in mind.”
“Haven’t thought much about it. I didn’t think some fancy prep school was on the table.” Nate grimaces at the joint. “People there roam in packs. I’d rather be a loner at whatever public school’s closest. Cheaper, anyway.”
“I don’t think Gabriel cares about money.”
He laughs. God, I like that sound. “Yeah, he does. That’s how he got so much.”
“I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” Down below, a car almost rear-ends another car. The beeping horn bounces off the brownstone.
“What if you weren’t a loner? Would you go to one of the nice places?”
“Uh-oh. The princess wants to take me under her wing.”
“No, I don’t. You’re way too tall.” I’m high. That’s why I’m staring. I think he’s model-hot. Really. “I just think it’d be easier if we went to the same place.”
Nate pinches off the joint and tucks it down by his chair. Then he repositions, leaning closer with a soft sound. He was in afight. A bad one. And he got out alive. If he was shirtless, I could probably see…
His abs.
And bruises.
But mostly abs.
He leans in close, and I’m just—I’m high, and so I lean in, too. Our knees are almost touching.
His hand comes up, and then two of his fingers are under my chin.
“Let me guess.” His eyes move over my face like he’s reading my future in it. “Gabriel had all that art shit delivered the other day. Elise is into cooking, so I bet it was for you. I bet…you want to go to one of those weird schools where you can spend half your time making a ten-foot painting of Jesus.”
“Elise likes baking.” He’s model-hot. The bruise just makes him look tough. “And I…don’t want to make a ten-foot painting of Jesus.”
“Whatdoyou want?”
Oh, God. “I like to sketch. I want to—to do something with that.”
