Page 52 of Vicious Addictions

I let him think it’s just playful banter, but the truth is, my mind has been elsewhere all night, so much so that he ended up besting me with little to no effort.

“Please,” Jude smirks while resetting the pieces. “You notice every little detail. Nothing gets by Lady Crane.”

“Ew. Please don’t call me that.” I scrunch my nose, hating such formality to come out of such a gorgeous mouth.

“If I remember correctly, that’s how you introduced yourself when we first met.”

“Was I that snotty?” I ask, my shoulders slumping a tad.

“If by snotty, you mean a bit of a brat, then yeah, you were.” He laughs while continuing to rearrange the chess pieces on the board.

“The truth finally comes out, I see.” I giggle. “And here I thought I’ve been a total delight throughout your entire stay here.”

“You have your moments.” He winks. “One more game before we call it a night?”

As if I could deny him anything.

“Sure. What time is it anyway?”

“A quarter to one,” he replies absentmindedly after glancing at his watch, already focused on the strategy for the game.

“Really?” I ask, glancing at the old grandfather clock across the room to check the time.

“Yeah. Why?”

“That means I’m officially eighteen.” I exhale deeply, the weight of that realization settling into my bones and sending a cold shiver down my spine.

“I guess you are.” Jude smiles, but his gaze doesn’t quite meet mine.

My brows knit together at his sudden aloofness.

“So that means it’s been exactly two years since you crashed my birthday party,” I say, hoping to chip away at the wall he’s just put up.

“I thought you weren’t paying attention,” he counters, eyes still fixed on the chessboard, waiting for my first move.

“I lied.”

When he doesn’t say anything to that, I move my pawn on the board and start the game. I don’t miss how his tense shoulders relax slightly now that he can pretend to put all his focus on the game instead of having to talk about my birthday.

“Jude, can I ask you something?” I question once the awkward silence gets to be too much.

“Can I stop you?”

“Do you regret it?” I reply, bypassing his teasing remark. “Coming here, I mean.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve learned a lot here. How could I regret that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you haven’t been home since,” I retort, wondering if that’s the reason why his mood soured so suddenly. Being reminded that he hasn’t seen his family in the last two years must sting.

“Mina,” he warns, the edge in his voice clear.

“I’m sure they miss you, Jude. Just like you miss them. Are you really so proud that—”

“It’s not about pride,” he cuts me off. “I told you already. Just leave it.”

That no-nonsense tone of his makes it clear—this conversation is officially over.

“Fine. Your move,” I grumble, hating that he’s acting like this.

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