Page 45 of Claiming Pretty

I wanted him here, for our first night in the dorms. It should have been another moment for us—a chance to keep reconnecting, rebuildingus.

Instead, it was just Ty and me.

And that made me nervous.

Stupid. It wasn’t as if Ty and I hadn’t spent the entire summer together, trapped in Blackthorn Hall, bound by dark secrets and pain.

He was my best friend, had been since childhood. A part of me still clung to that—clung to him.

Maybe that was the problem. Because deep down, I knew exactly why I didn’t want to be alone with Ty.

The part of me that clung to him wasn’t innocent.

It wasn’t the part that remembered childhood laughter or the warmth of his presence when I felt small and scared.

It was the part of me that remembered what happened between us in Blackthorn, the intimacy we’d shared, theway he’d let me see him. All of him. The way he peeled back his icy armor and let me touch the cracks underneath.

And the way he’d touched me, the way he’d licked my pussy, and the way he thrust his cock inside me and fucked me.

I still felt that pull, the ache in my chest when his walls dropped, the heat when his hand brushed mine. It terrified me, how much my body still reacted to him, even now. Even after everything.

That was why I didn’t want to be alone with him.

Because a part of mewantedto be.

I pushed open my bedroom door, which wouldn’t shut properly anymore, and found Ty sitting on the armchair he’d positioned to face my door. He’d been waiting for me and he wasn’t even hiding that fact.

My breath caught as his gaze locked on mine, amusement flickering across his face.

“Hello, hummingbird.”

Even though he was across the room, his voice felt like a whisper against my ear, soft and intimate, sending shivers skittering down my spine.

I flushed, heat pooling under my skin in a way I didn’t want to think about.

“Don’t call me that,” I said quickly, too quickly.

He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving. “Why not?”

Why not? A good question—one I didn’t have an answer for. It wasn’t the nickname itself. It was the way it felt when he said it, like a thread pulling taut between us, something I wasn’t ready to confront.

It felt too… personal. Too close.

Ty shouldn’t be giving me nicknames. And I still didn’t even know what it meant.

A part of me wanted to turn around and retreat back into my room, to yank the sheets over my head and pretend this wasn’t happening.

But I knew better. If I showed him even a crack in my resolve, he’d burrow right in.

I squared my shoulders, determined to act like nothing had happened between us, like we were just friends. Because we were. Wewere.

I’d chosen Ciaran.

“Just… don’t,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.

Ty didn’t flinch. He remained in his armchair, one ankle casually crossed over his knee, wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. His muscled, tattooed arms crossed over his chest in a posture that was somehow both relaxed and predatory.

My eyes flicked to the tattoos and scars woven into his skin, like pieces of a dark story that only I knew how to read.

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