Page 50 of A Heart of Bluestone

Doesn’t.

The tension is still tight on my jaw as I turn to him, and the flurry is still fluttering in my belly.

I barely look him in the eyes before he moves for me. I flinch.

But all he does is reach for me—and brush his fingers down my hair.

I jerk back with a hiss.

Unfazed, he lets his fingertips graze down to my shoulder. His eyes trace his movements to a thread tugged free from my white knit.

“Why do you never come to the games?” His pink mouth moves over the murmured question.

I blink, once, twice, then, “What?”

His gaze lifts, and it’s like the cut of a glass shard swiping at me from under long lashes. “You heard me fine, Little Life.”

Little Life.

My upper lip twitches with a snarl. “Don’t you call me that,” I spit at him and hit out. I whack his wrist, smacking his hand from my shoulder. “Don’t you dare call me that.”

Behind me, Jim sets down the whisky bottle.

Dray doesn’t so much as glance at it. “Answer me.”

“I… Why would I?” I frown at him. “I don’t care about your stupid games, your stupid teams. Why would I spend my weekends watching assholes like you—”

“Careful,” he whispers a warning, and though his voice is soft, it prickles the hair up the back of my neck. “I would hate for you to sour my mood with that ugly tongue of yours.”

My mouth crumples at the insult.

He leans in. His hand comes down on the bench, his body inching closer, manoeuvring me around until my back presses into the bar.

My gaze swerves to Courtney across the pub.

She stares out the window with a frown, though I don’t know why, it’s so condensed and frosted that it’s impossible to recognise the faces of anyone out there.

I swallow, thick, and lift my gaze to cutting diamonds.

Dray’s lashes lower over gleaming eyes. He looks down his fine nose at me. “Fortunate for you, my spirits are still light.”

I arch a brow. “Then let me pass.”

His sandy hair falls into his face. “Are you going to thank me?”

“For what?”

“The drinks.”

“Maybe you have had enough of those.”

His mouth quirks at the corner. A ghosted whisper of a smile, pink and full—but dark and malicious. “Enjoy.”

That’s all he says before he snatches the bottle from the bar, then pushes away from me.

His ‘favourable’ mood spares me.

And he heads back to his area, his people, oncemypeople.

---