Page 151 of I Was Always Yours (RCA: Royal Crown Academy)

I frown as my eyes go from Rogue, to Rhys, to Phoenix, taking in their matching playful expressions. It feels like they’re in the know about something to do with Nera.

“What are you guys talking about?” I whisper to Phoenix.

“Nothing,” he answers, kissing the top of my head. “Except maybe your friend might like them a little older.”

I narrow my eyes on Nera as he speaks. She meets my gaze but looks away quickly, refusing to prolong the eye contact.

Oh, I know that tell. She’s got a secret, and a good one at that.

***

The boys give us an hour to get ready during which I hear them bicker in the living room, and then they take us to a fancy restaurant in Geneva.

I’m very tipsy as we walk out of the bar at the end of the night, and I feel a lightness inside me that I want to hold onto forever. I stumble and Phoenix catches me as I laugh. The others walk ahead of us to the car as I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on my tiptoes to kiss him.

“Hello, handsome.”

“How are you this drunk when you only had two margaritas?” He asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Jalapenos.”

“What about them?”

“They were jalapeno margaritas.” I point out as I relax against him, my eyes slowly closing as I rest my head against his chest. “The jalapenos,” I say, miming my hand cutting over the side of my throat. “They took me out.”

He laughs. “That’s what you think got you drunk? The jalapenos?”

“I dunno, you’d have to ask them.” I answer with a shrug.

It’s hard to speak when his chest is this warm and soft and inviting. It’s like he’s made of clouds and marshmallows.

“Ugh, you’re so comfortable. How can you be so muscly looking but then be so perfect for cuddling? What’s that about?” I ask, a small frown pulling at my brows.

One hand leaves my waist and comes to gently rub away my frown line. I tilt my head back as he does so and look at him.

“No frowning,” he says, brushing it away. “And it’s probably the small pooch of belly fat I’m getting from your cooking.” He groans appreciatively at the thought.

I jump up into his arms and he catches me with one hand and wraps my legs around his waist with the other.

“Ooh, I’m not against a little pooch. I like them a little meatier.” I tease him, bringing my lips down on his.

His hand squeezes my ass as he walks me to the car. He pulls away, his mouth hovering just over mine as he asks,

“Who’s “them”?”

“You know,” I say, trying to connect with his lips again but he evades me, “Guys in general.”

“Name them, it’s easier if I have a list.” He growls.

I laugh and close my mouth over his with a smile, the alcohol loosening my tongue when I pull back and say, “I like you, you know.”

I stiffen and so does he. Regret lances through me that I told him like this, when I’m drunk and walking out of a bar.

His eyes take in the expression on my face and he looks away. He laughs somewhat robotically and kisses my lips lightly. “Don’t worry, I know it’s the tequila talking.”

The others call our names, breaking up the moment. Ending the conversation before I can tell him that the alcohol isn’t the reason I just confessed. But maybe he doesn’t want to hear it. It’s not like he’s ever shown me any hints of what he’s feeling, if he sees this continuing for much longer or not.

It’s easy not to think about it except when moments like this happen and I’m all of a sudden brought back to reality, wondering when he’ll decide he wants to end this.

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