Page 25 of Covetous

“Cool.”

He studies me for a moment, squinting his piercing blue eyes. “You look…different.” Before I can answer, he cuts in with his observation. “You’re not wearing your glasses.”

My hand instinctively goes up to my face, self-consciously rubbing where my frames usually sit on my nose. “I thought I’d try contacts, but I’m not a fan yet.”

“I like the glasses. They make you look smart.”

“Look smart?”

He chuckles. “You are smart. One of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

A swarm of butterflies flutters in my belly. “That’s quite the compliment. Thank you.”

He started going on and on about how pretty and smart you were back in high school, and how you were still fucking stunning in all your IG pictures.

The air between us seems to shift, charged with unspoken feelings and memories. But as quickly as the tension builds, it dissipates, his expression turning guarded and distant. “You can drop your bag by the door, or I can show you to Izzy’s room.”

“I see she’s made herself at home, then?” I remark, trying to regain some of the playful banter we had before.

His face softens with a smile he can’t hide. “Something like that.”

“You can show me to her room.” I follow after him, dropping my bag at her door and wondering what now as we stand just inside the doorway. Do I stay in here? Or?—

“She told me to get you started early on the daiquiris,” he says, answering my unasked question. Daiquiri it is. I could use a little buzz to help me chill.

“Show me where everything is, and I’ll make it myself.”

“Even better, because I have no fucking idea how to make a strawberry daiquiri.”

I chuckle. “Didn’t think so. You don’t seem like the daiquiri type. You’re a scotch man, right?”

He cocks his head to the side. “How did you know?”

“Esme told me.” She did not. It’s just one of those things I picked up on during my crushing years.

He lifts his backward Houston Astros baseball cap from his head and runs a hand through his luscious dark hair before shoving it back on. “Scotch is still my poison. But I don’t drink it as much as I used to. It’s gotten me into a lot of shit.”

“Like streaking the football field for homecoming.”

He tosses his head back in laughter, and the sound sends a thrill through me. “Shit. You remember that?”

“Doesn’t everyone from Covington remember that?”

“Were you there?”

“No.” Unfortunately. I would’ve loved to see naked Victor live and in color. “But there were videos.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, a mild cringe crossing his face. “There were. And no, I was one hundred percent sober for that stunt.”

“Do I sense a bit of regret?” My chin rises in a challenging gesture.

“I regret a lot of things, Skylar. But that’s not one of them.”

We lock eyes, and it’s as if we’re stuck in this moment, neither of us having the willpower to look away.

My phone goes off in my pocket, and I breathe a sigh of relief at the interruption. “It’s probably Isabella.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” He rushes out of the room as if he can’t get away from whatever that was fast enough.

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