Page 37 of Falling in Reverse

A bag of frozen peas is offered up from his outstretched hand, and I gratefully take it, my jaw throbbing for relief of any kind.

“So, you’re the girl who just beat the shit out of Judge Mather’s son.”

The what now?

I watch him give me a generous once-over, and I can’t help but do the same.

His gray slacks and white dress shirt give me a pretty good idea that he’s in shape. There’s a skull tattoo on his left forearm that stops at his wrist and appears to ride all the way up, disappearing behind the fabric of his rolled-up sleeves. The other is completely bare of any black ink.

I don’t say anything as he still holds that relaxed smile that gets me to surprisingly loosen up a bit.

“I’m Reeve.” He doesn’t do what everyone else has been doing to me all night and extends a hand. Instead, he shoves his into the pockets of his slacks as I place the frozen vegetables on the corner of my mouth. “And you’re fucking stunning.”

On any other day, I’d offer him a compliment back, because it’s not every day that I get to look at someone who catches my attention, and not in the I’m going to lay this dude out kind of way.

No, everything about this guy doesn’t scream menacing, drama, or an inkling of creepy.

He’s…alluring as all hell.

“I guess you’d have to say that since you’ve seen my right hook,” I reply, placing the bag of frozen whatever back on the corner of my mouth and trying my best to ignore his hazel eyes accessing me. “And take a good look, because this is the last time?—”

“It definitely won’t be the last time,” he assures me, still taking inventory of me. “Obviously, I’m hanging out at the wrong places if this is the first time I’m seeing you.”

“I highly doubt you hang out in South Shore. You look a little too?—”

“Baby, please don’t tell me rich, entitled, or out of your league, because, trust me, I’m not what I appear like.”

I stretch my aching jaw against the coldness of the peas. “And what’s that exactly?”

“Nothing like this ritzy establishment.” He spins his index finger around the room. “I might come from old money, but I’m not so far inside my world that I don’t see out of it. I prefer being with normal characters with middle-class jobs and responsibilities that don’t include checking the stock market every day.”

“Still not within your realm of people,” I retort softly with a shrug. “Sorry.”

I remove the bag to the other side of my nose, when Reeve’s brows clash together “Ouch.”

I smirk. “Ever been hit, Reevie?”

“Reevie?” he repeats slowly, but it only expands his grin and makes his whole face light up with amusement. “Yeah…plenty of times.”

The corners of my lips rise. “Argument about who has the best trust fund?”

He slowly shakes his head, gaze glued to my battle wound. “Nah…over fucking someone’s girl.”

My brows immediately soar toward the ceiling, and he chuckles. I can’t say I hate the sound of it. It doesn’t reflect forced or faked, but that he maybe is some wealthy dude who isn’t blinded by money and the politics of it all.

“Never said I wasn’t an asshole,” he vouches, then glances over the kitchen. “Can I get some water, please?”

Please?

I can’t help but gape at him when he returns those hazel eyes back to me.

“So, where can I see you fight?”

“Off Marine Boulevard,” another male voice answers for him, causing me to slice my focus to the entrance of the kitchen to find Torin’s buddy from earlier standing there, still appearing both aggravated and pissed.

And ominous.

He’s dressed in black jeans and a tee, with a glass of dark liquid in his palm. He lifts an impatient brow then, when he catches me staring.

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