Page 5 of Perfect Praise

Locke opens his mouth and quickly closes it. Lines etch near the corners of his mouth in a frown.

“Locke?”

This girl appears out of nowhere. Not nowhere exactly. She’s sitting in a car with the window rolled down. Beautiful—no, gorgeous—blonde, and just as mysterious looking as he is. Someone who would never take anyone’s shit.

“You couldn’t have just said you were datingher?” I sigh.

“She isn’t my girlfriend.” His chuckle catches me off guard, and he doesn’t even glance her way. “She doesn’t give a shit about me.”

As if on cue, she curses under her breath, rolls the window up, and looks at her phone.

“Why don’t you give a shit about anything?” I question him.

His dark brown eyes twinkle in amusement and pity. “You should try it.”

“But how do you do it?”

The idea blooms from the dreading jealous pit in my stomach, and I will literally die if I don’t speak the words that are now clogged in my throat. I want to be as nonchalant as he is. I want the I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude.

“Teach me.” My words are barely audible.

“What?”

“Teach me,” I whisper slightly louder.

Locke looks startled. “Teach youwhat?”

“How to not give a shit.”

He looks at me like I’ve completely lost it.

It’s definitely up for debate.

I resort to pleading. “Please.”

I scowl. “No.”

Maren swallows, like she’s second-guessing whether she should have spoken.

“Fuck no,” I add for emphasis before she can say please again like that. I thought she was going to ask me to teach her how to play golf—which might be an even less ridiculous idea than that, and that’s saying something.

She taps her tiny foot an inch off the ground. “Why not?”

“That’s… mildly cute,” I say, eyeing her long legs. “Answer’s still no.”

She scrunches her face in offense. Her button nose is sexily speckled with freckles, but I doubt she’d be thrilled if I said that either.

“Please don’t call me mildly cute.”

I’m not unaware of the effect it has on people, so flashing her a rare smile is all it takes to make her soften. “What do you want to be called?”

Nope, back to mad.

Her body stiffens. “I’m not doing that so you can get inside Russ’ head,” Maren says.

“Do what?”

“Whatever you’re trying to do; psychological warfare so you can win. Pissing contest. Arm wrestle. One-upmanship.Dick measuring. Whatever. I really don’t want to be a part of whatever was going on between you two. I’m not going to play your weird alpha-male game.”

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