Page 73 of Caught Stealing

Holden’s phone vibrates in his palm a second later, and I watch his eyes move over the screen before they swing back to me.

There’s a subtle arch to his brow as he gives me ayou’re seriouslook, and I nod.

A slight frown forms on his lips, drawing the corners down in a way that definitely shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.

Jesus Christ.

I mentally slap myself, locking away those thoughts in a box with the security of Fort fucking Knox before shifting my focus back to the lecture. The last thing I need is to start thinking about his lips or mouth and all the wonderfully wicked things he can do with them.

Another ten minutes pass with no new notifications on my phone, and I’m relieved that Holden hasn’t texted me back again—

My phone buzzes, and I silently curse as I flip it over to check the screen.

H: This silence is driving me insane.

P: We’re in a lecture. The only person talking should be Professor Fredricks.

H: Playing coy isn’t cute anymore, Nix. You know exactly what I’m saying.

P: I’ve already told you we’ve done enough talking.

H: We haven’t even scratched the surface.

My blood heats as I read his text because, apparently, the head in my pants has decided his sentence is a double entendre for all the dirty things we could still do to each other.

I’m so fucking fucked.

P: Like I said. Not happening. I’ve said all I have to say.

H: Well, that must be nice, but I haven’t.

I’m in the middle of telling himit sucks to suckwhen another text pops up.

H: I haven’t stopped thinking about you.

Goddamnit.

A knot forms in my throat as I reread the message more times than I should, before typing out a response.

P: I see through your bullshit. Your lines aren’t going to work on me.

H: They aren’t lines when it’s the truth.

My lips roll inward, forming a tight line as I process his text.

There’s a huge part of me that doesn’t believe a word he’s saying—at least the part about him not using lines on me. This is Holden, after all. And for as tenacious as he is, he’s equally smooth.

It’s a deadly combination, and I can’t keep allowing myself to be drawn in by him.

My phone buzzes in my hand as two more texts rapidly pop up.

H: Talk to me, Nix.

H: Please.

As if to drive the point home—to make me feel his plea instead of just reading it—he presses his knee against mine.

I feel the electric jolt of heat through both our jeans, creating an ache in my chest like I’ve never felt before.

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