Page 15 of The Vipers and Their Venom

“Don’t leave on my account. I’m happy to sit in silence.”

“Well, I’m not. See you around.”

He watches me as I stride past him, his expression, which I can see more clearly now I’m standing too, seems puzzled.

“Are you one of the kitchen staff?” he asks. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

Okay, heisinsane.

“Are you shitting me?” I demand.

He does a double take and confusion on his face tightens into something else as anger darkens his features.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he growls.

“I should ask you the same. I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but pretending you don’t remember me from literally an hour ago is just stupid.”

He cocks his head. “What happened an hour ago?”

“We met in class.” I almost shout the words at him. This game isn’t funny. “You were a rude, arrogant dick, and now it seems you’re playing some sort of game to psych me out. Well, I don’t like silly boys who play games.”

The darkness in his face morphs into amusement, and his perfect lips stretch into a smile. What the hell?

“Oh, you must have met my twin.”

As if. “Ha-ha,” I say and shake my head.

“No, really, that’s my twin. You can tell because he’s got a mole, here.” He touches his throat a little way below his jaw. “Plus, he’s an asshole, and I’m not.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Really?” If this is a trick, I am going to feel so stupid.

He shrugs. “Why would I lie? To what end? You’ll find out soon enough. Like I say, look close next time you see him. You’ll see the mole right here. Oh, yeah, and the asshole attitude. That’s Lex.”

I feel my anger recede a little. This guy does seem a little friendlier and more relaxed. “So, you’re the nice one, huh?”

He laughs. “I didn’t say I was nice, now, did I?”

Not really sure how to react to that, I say nothing.

“I’m not a rude asshole like my twin, but in many other ways, I’m far from nice. You looknice,though.” His grin widens, and I note that he does have perfect teeth.

It doesn’t pass me by that he said “look,” not “seem.” He’s not ogling me, but his gaze is intense, just like his brother’s.

“So, you’re a new student?”

“Yes,” I say.

“We don’t get many students who look like you.”

“What? Short and curvy?” I say sarcastically.

“No, the ink.” He reaches out and brushes my loose sweater away from my right shoulder, revealing the tattoo there. I swallow as the heat of his fingers burns a path along my skin.

His eyes are so beautiful in the bright sun, they’re dazzling. He and his twin hit every single pretty branch on the way down, and then fell into a puddle of testosterone at the bottom that made their pretty oh-so-masculine in a mouthwatering way.

“The girls here don’t have tattoos?” I’m surprised he thinks my having ink is unusual. Back at the club, not having ink would make you the unusual one. I can’t help wondering if I’ve joined a convent by mistake.

“Not many,” he says. “They tend to be kind of pristine and perfect, you know? Or they try to pretend they are. It depends, I suppose, on exactly what kind of lifestyle they come from. Take the Cosa Nostra girls. They aresoprotected.”

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