Page 4 of Broken Hearts

Watching her intently, I close the gap between us. There are far too many people around us for her to start a scene or for me to be assertive. We both know that.

“Are you lost? May I help you?” she asks with such polite coldness it reminds me of the Eva from the start of senior year. The one that was wary of me.

I give her my flirty grin. “Oh, look at you being a good girl and offering me your help,” my voice is low, seductive. “Maybe you can show me your bedroom or, better yet, come for a drive with me. I’ll show you my room and a certain candy you were so fond of,” I add, tilting my hips forward a little.

Her cold, detached look, obviously feigned, only serves to aggravate me. “And why would I do that? That would be foolish, but I’m sure you can find someone else to comply with your delirious demand.”

Taking another step forward, I’m close enough to smell her perfume now, and I lose focus for one second. It’s enough for her to take a step back, and then, suddenly, she turns around, walking to her building as if I am not there.

Laughter escapes me at the sight of her stiff, retreating form. Oh, the chase will be delicious.

She might see me as a ghost from her past, but I’m more like a hound. Flesh and blood, my presence in her life will be as tangible as the bold curves she displays. This second chance isn’t hers alone; I plan to use mine to reclaim what’s mine, utilizing everything at my disposal—my tongue, my hands, my cock—to help her get over her stupid grudge. It’s game on, and I’m more than ready to play.

The game we’re about to play excites me, yet her dismissal still pisses me off. I’m confident, and I don’t need to be vain to know the effect I have on women. I see it in the way they throw themselves at me. As a Westbrook, the sole heir of a multibillion-dollar conglomerate, I possess not just the name and legacy but also the looks and physique to match. Life’s unfairness is evident—some have it all. Well, nearly all. The missing piece? Little Evangeline Sinclair.

I storm into the house with a frustrated growl, my keys clattering in the ceramic bowl by the door, announcing my mood before I enter the room. Ethan and Liam are huddled over the counter, deeply engrossed in Coach’s playbook.

Liam, ever the strategist, looks up and meets my scowl with an unreadable expression. “The coach wants our input on the opening plays,” he says, tapping the book with the authority of a seasoned captain.

Dismissing the conversation with a wave, I retort, “You’re the captain, Liam. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Ethan’s muffled laughter does little to improve my temper, but Liam’s surprise is clear as his brows lift in mock astonishment. “Where’s the all-knowing critic I’m used to?”

Rolling my eyes, I ignore the jab and cut straight to the chase with Ethan. “Still got that tech prodigy in your contacts?”

Ethan’s smirk tells me I’ll be paying for every moment I’ve ever teased him about Curly. Curly… Eva’s friend and probably one of my best ways to get to her, but I suspect Ethan will be quite a gatekeeper there.

“Do you mean my hacker?”

I throw him an exasperated look. “You know I do.”

“Ummm…” He nods. “Look who’s not so high and mighty now, huh?”

Liam, sensing the shift in our conversation, exhales a heavy sigh. The concern on his face is paternal, the look of a man who’s witnessed too many of my reckless decisions. “Is this about those girls you inquired about? You know what? Never mind.” He stands up, the captain’s resolve hardening in his voice. “I’d tell you not to do anything stupid, but you’d see it as a dare. Just…” He pauses, his gaze seeking some divine patience. “Avoid getting arrested, alright?”

We wait in a silent pact for Liam’s departure before Ethan speaks, his tone more serious than before.

“He’s pricey—really pricey,” Ethan says, grabbing his phone and looking at it.

“Oh yeah, because money is clearly an issue for me,” I scoff, sinking into the plush leather chair by the TV.

He looks up from his phone, seemingly hesitant. “You’re not going to do something bad, right?” he asks, his loyalty to me wrestling with his conscience.

I tilt my head, considering his question. “Define bad.”

“Something illegal.”

There’s a shadow of a smirk on my lips. “Ah, that I can’t promise, but don’t play the saint with me. You want to know if whatever I’ll do with Miss Evangeline Sinclair will get you in deeper shit with Curly.”

“Her name is Poppy.”

I know how much he dislikes it when I call her Curly, and this is exactly why I do it. I’m not a shit-stirrer for nothing.

“Listen, you and I? We’re not that different. We’re both trying to crawl out of the pits they’ve tossed us into. My methods are more…”

“Unhinged?”

You have no idea, I think, but I scowl instead. “I was about to say direct.”

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