Page 39 of Hateful Games

I’m too busy observing them to notice the sudden warmth against my back. Nova’s musky scent hits my nostrils, raising the tiny hairs on my neck. I behave as nonchalant as possible while wondering when he moved so swiftly, as silent and graceful as a panther.

His hand brushes my waist, like he has every night to touch me intimately, as he wedges his shoulder between me and Malcolm to steal a bite of my omelet.

“Hey! That was mine,” I snap, when he steals another.

“My house, my food,” he arrogantly replies. Pushing me aside completely, almost tripping me in the process, he grabs my plate and walks off. “Cook your own.”

“Jerk,” I say to his retreating back as he goes to the living room, where he slumps down on the big couch. Malcolm follows suit with his own plate. I stare at their heads, flabbergasted as they switch on the television to some random soccer match.

“Selfish pricks.”

“Are they always like this?” I mutter to Miya, who wears a matching expression like mine.

“You’ve met them, right?” Her tone is sarcastic. “I love Nova but sometimes, I just want to smack the shit out of him.”

Her threat still holds a deep note of affection, revealing they are more like siblings than cousins. Although, I find it extremely hard to believe he’s capable of loving anyone. Or has the capacity to be nice. Or possess humanity.

Because with me, he’s demonic, leaving nothing but destruction around.

“Too bad, ’cause I want to do it all the time.”

She laughs. “Do you want to go out and have breakfast together? My treat.”

My first instinct is to say no since I don’t really know her. The idea of making small talk with a stranger, especially one related to Nova, sounds painful. Nevertheless, she came all this way to spend time and doesn’t seem half bad, so I swallow down my natural impulse and nod.

“Sure.”

“Perfect, I know an amazing café.”

Chapter Eleven

Rosalie

“You’re not much of a talker, huh?”

Blinking, I look up at Miya, sitting across while watching me with mild amusement. We’re seated in a corner booth at a small family-owned café, down the street from Nova’s high-rise apartment. I suddenly realize I’ve been quietly eating my pancakes while sipping on coffee since we sat down, which was almost half an hour ago.

My closest friends are used to long expanse of silence from me when we’re hanging out. So, I forget it may come off as weird or plain rude to a total stranger.

“I don’t really know you.”

“And how will you if you won’t allow us to have a conversation?”

“Small talk isn’t my jam.” Besides, I don’t trust Nova not to send her to spy on me. Cousin or not, she’s still a D’Cruz. They cannot be trusted. As has been drilled into my head ever since I can remember. I believe what my father says with a grain of salt but so far, Nova’s family haven’t proven otherwise.

Miya smiles, a thoughtful look crossing her light green pupils. Her friendly demeanor shifts to a person who’s wise beyond their years. There’s more to her than meets the eye. When she speaks, I’m proven correct.

“You don’t trust me, do you?”

“We’ve only just met,” I reply politely. “Trusting someone takes time—years, in fact.”

“Spoken like a person whose trust has been shattered.”

“Takes one to know one.”

She chuckles, tucking one curl behind her ear, and shrugs one shoulder casually. “Everyone’s been betrayed once or twice in their lives. Doesn’t mean you should give up on people entirely.”

“Jasmine will love you,” I mutter, making her frown. “You’re hanging out with the wrong sister.”

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