Page 38 of Hateful Games

“Omelet or scrambled eggs?”

“Omelet, please.”

Turning toward the stove, he switches it on and settles a clean pan on it. Then says over his shoulder, “You two also spent quite some time alone in the locker. People were complaining.”

I narrow my eyes at his sly insinuation, even though he can’t see me. “We didn’t fuck, Mr. Nosy Pants.”

“No one’s going to believe that.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t live here then.”

“Ever heard of social media? Twenty-first century? Internet?” he teases, as he transfers a perfectly cooked omelet onto a plate. Passing it to me after coming to stand beside me against the island, he shares, “You two are the talk of the town after that little stunt. I told you not to get lost.”

“You’re not an idiot, Malcolm. I bet you knew Nova was going to react badly.”

His voice drops low as he leans closer. “So did you, love.”

The retort is on the tip of my tongue when the slamming of the front door pulls us apart. I frown when I hear two sets of footsteps, followed by a girl’s cheery voice.

Instantly, Malcolm’s whole demeanor changes to his original frostiness. More intense than usual while his shoulders stiffen as the voice comes nearer. We’re both standing close as we see Nova and a girl, who looks about my age, round the hallway.

My fingers curl against the island when I take in Nova’s ample muscles in broad daylight, looking like he came from a morning run. Sweat gliding down his chest makes his golden skin glisten over a tight set of abs, corded arms with his veins popping, while his running shorts hang dangerously low over the V of his hips.

I’d be a fool if I denied his body was a work of art.

Strong.

Coiled with aggression.

Chiseled and muscular.

And I had all of him pressed against me last night.

Retreat, retreat, retreat.

I yank myself out of the stupor, listening to my brain’s warning when Nova’s sharp gaze zooms in on me, roaming down the length of my body. I suddenly feel naked underneath his brazen stare. Payback for me doing the same a second ago, before narrowing in the corners when they flick to his roommate standing cozily beside me.

Is he jealous? I push away the absurd thought.

Our connection breaks when the strange girl, who I completely forgot about, comes forward and introduces herself.

“Hey, Rosalie, I’m Miya,” she says with a smile. “We didn’t get to meet last night. Apparently, someone was hogging you all to himself.”

The name rings a bell and I recognize her instantly as Nova’s cousin. Tall and willowy with short wavy hair hanging to her shoulders and exotic features, she’s a gorgeous woman. The energy she’s exuding, paired with a genuine grin, she reminds me of my older sister, Jasmine. If they ever meet, they’ll click like two peas in a pod.

I can’t help but smile when she says the last part with a pointed glare toward Nova. Only to nervously bite it down when Nova stares at my lips, looking feral and annoyed. I school my features and focus on Miya.

“Hii, Miya, I’ve heard about you.” I wave my hand in a hey motion. “I didn’t know you were coming to meet me.”

Her head whips to an impassive Nova. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Do I look like a pigeon?” he quips, running his fingers through his messy hair as he walks past an irritated Miya and deeper into the room.

Miya rolls her eyes at his response before looking apologetically at me and murmurs sarcastically, “My arsehole cousin suffers from short-term memory loss.”

“I think he’s just an ass,” I reply, making Malcolm snicker.

Miya finally takes notice and their eyes lock, the tension between them palpable. And if I said Malcolm’s icy exterior was scary, his heated intensity takes the cake. The man looks like he could eat her alive.

---