Page 51 of Lunar Crest University

“That was never my intention?—”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Genevieve chimes in.

My body freezes, thinking she’d heard everything after all, but then Luca’s calm voice reassures her he was only making sure I felt okay, that he didn’t want anyone else to get sick. Knowing we won’t be able to continue talking any further, I pull out my headphones and put them in before he can try to finish what he was about to tell me. The people pleaser in me feels sick to my stomach leaving our conversation like that, but I turn up the music to drown out the thoughts trying to sabotage what’s left of my sanity today.

I’m going to be okay.

Chapter Twenty

LUCA

MONDAY, OCTOBER 23RD, 2023

I’m an asshole.

Sandwiched between the girls on the plane, that’s the only thought that flickers through my mind. I’m further reminded when I peek to my right at Finley, who is still staring out of the window with her headphones in. She hasn’t looked at me again for the entire duration of the flight so far, and I can’t say I fucking blame her.

In the midst of finding another guy outside of Finley’s apartment this morning during my usual stakeout, I didn’t think about how it would possibly come across to her seeing me stressed and chaotic earlier. But I couldn’t explain that to her. I couldn’t tell her I’d been watching her apartment, where she works, and even her walks in between classes to make sure she was okay. I couldn’t tell her about the blood on my hands from protecting her.

Two hundred and three.

I was in such a hurry to dispose of the body and clean up before getting to the university this morning, only to realizemost of the students who were supposed to attend the trip were out with the flu. Dean Maddon bombarded me in the parking lot on the way in with the information, unsure if he should still okay the trip at all.

Thank God I’m persuasive, because getting the fuck out of Lunar Crest is exactly what needs to happen with the way Javier’s men are trailing her. For a week, she’ll be completely safe. For a week, I can look at her and talk to her and not have the worry in the back of my mind about whether someone is going to pin her in an alley again.

I need to talk to her right now, fix this, but it will have to wait, because Genevieve is just within earshot. And apparently, nosy.

So, instead, I spend the entirety of the ten-hour flight with my head shoved between a neck pillow, sleeping, or watching the short list of available movies the airline offers on their tiny little screen on the back of the seat in front of me. Ten hours feels like ten days when I’m sitting on my repressed feelings, unable to tell her I have never been and never will be just ahit-it-and-quit-itman. I’d never use her like that. She must think I regret our questionable decisions, but I don’t—I crave more bad decisions with her, over and over and over again. I find myself thinking about the way she tastes, the way she sounds when I make her come, nearly all day, and I haven’t even gotten to bury myself inside her yet.

Key word:yet.

Finley doesn’t look at me for the entire ten hours—not when the plane lands and she grips the seat for dear life as I fight the urge to comfort her again, not when we get off the plane, and not even when we wait in the line for customs and baggage claim. Genevieve tries to attempt conversation every so often, but I don’t even have the patience for that. I cannot focus on anything but the raven-haired beauty who has me so wrapped around herfinger, I don’t think I even realized it until she ignored me for ten hours straight.

A knife to the gut would’ve sucked less.

It’s an exhausting battle, trying not to look at her every two seconds so Genevieve won’t catch me gawking and trying to pretend I don’t want to drag her away somewhere and show her just how much Idon’tregret this.

I hail a Black Cab for the three of us as we finally emerge from the airport, which felt like it added another ten hours to my day, and I load all our luggage into the trunk as the girls slide inside. My disappointment masks itself with a thin-lipped smile when I get into the cab and see Genevieve sitting in the middle, but my lips quirk genuinely when I peek around her for a split second and see the anger flash in Finley’s irises. When she catches me looking, she swiftly turns her head to stare out of the window.

“So, what’s the room situation like?” Genevieve asks, inspecting her cuticles before batting her lashes over at me.

“Everyone has separate rooms on the same floor.”

She purses her lips. “Right next to each other?”

“I’m not sure,” I say as calmly as I can, even though I want to roll my eyes. “We’ll just have to see once we get there.”

And when we arrive at the hotel, we, in fact,dohave rooms side-by-side-by-side. Mine rests at the end of the hall, Finley’s is next to mine, with Genevieve’s on the opposite side of hers. This could either be the best or the worst thing to happen thus far, and I lean toward the latter as we go to our rooms to get ready for dinner later—realizing the walls are insanely thin, because I can hear Finley showering next door.

Fuck.

It’s like I’ve reverted to a sixteen-year-old kid going through puberty all over again as my mind travels to places it shouldn’t, thinking about what her naked body looks like covered in soapas it slides down every inch of her skin. I can only picture the parts of her I’ve seen: the curves of her hips, her long, porcelain legs, and the tiny stretch marks that paint the dimples of her ass like a canvas that belongs in a museum.

Fuuuuuck.

I could go over there now, tell her I’m sorry as I fuck her over the bathroom sink.

The shower water turns off, snapping me back to reality and making me come to my senses as I shake my head. We’re supposed to meet in the lobby in half an hour to head to dinner, so I turn on the TV to drown out any more sounds as I rummage through my luggage for an outfit that isn’t insanely wrinkled. I settle on a sweater for the chilly night air, along with a pair of khakis and dress boots. Looking in the full-length mirror next to the bed, I sigh at the messy curls on my head before shoving my glasses on the bridge of my nose.

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