Page 46 of They Break Beauty

Talking him down or interfering in a reactive way wouldn’t counter it or be able to stop it.

I knew him far better than to believe that.

No, it required a proactive approach.

But to be able to implement that, I first needed to determine the true root cause for his fixation.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Chase Arlington, the football captain I now had under my thumb. He was the heir to an oil tycoon, a billionaire who possessed a great deal of power and influence.

My father represented many just like him with his infamous law firm, Honor Hall Law, but fortunately, Atticus Arlington wasn’t one of them. He was outside my father’s usual circles, which meant my father wouldn’t be able to register what I was about to do. I could keep it off his radar.

“Mason,” Chase answered. “What’s up?”

“Time for the start of your service to Hex.”

“All right,” he responded nervously. “What do you need?”

“Put me in contact with your father’s PI.”

“That guy’s really hard to get a hold of, Mason.”

“Then you’d better get on it. ASAP. Set up a meet between us just outside Stonewell. No details are to go through our phones or any devices. Relay the meet information to me in person.”

“Sure, yeah, I’ll handle it.”

“Good boy.”

I hung up and pocketed my phone in my jeans.

Time to discover what skeletons Brianna Walker had hiding in her closet and, more importantly, what had Levi believing they paired so well with his.

“Mason!”

I spun around to see Colt rushing down the hallway to my left.

He was wearing that studded leather jacket of his that was a masterclass in bling in itself, along with that cropped white tank that clung deliciously to his pecs. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also rocking those tight-as-sin ripped blue jeans that did incredible things for his hot little ass.

“Did you get my texts?” he asked, breathing harshly when he slowed his run to a stop right in front of me.

I dropped my voice low so the few people passing by couldn’t hear. “Let’s see, was it that text you sent me while I was eating my Cheerios this morning asking me if I could still taste your cum on my tongue and if it was better than adding boring ol’ milk to my bowl? Or could it be the one begging me to finger you in my Porsche in the parking lot between classes?”

He grinned. “Hot, huh?”

“That’s not the word I’d use to describe it.”

How many times had I told him not to send me provocative texts during a weekday when I needed to focus on my classes? Too fucking many.

He reached out to touch me and I instinctively jerked back out of his reach.

Dammit.

The hurt all over his face cut into me like a dozen knives all at once.

“I’m sorry. When we’re in public it’s just—”

“It’s a reflex, I get it. It’s okay,” he said, forcing a smile.

The urge to make it better properly so that his smile would be genuine and not just put on in a bid to push beyond the awkwardness of it, was right there.

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