Page 34 of Beautifully Conflicted

“I only asked one. Besides, seven miles would be more like fifty questions, not twenty, and it’s not twenty questions about twenty different things, it’sonething and all the questions are supposed to help you figure out what it is.”

“I know how the game works.”

“Are you sure, because you seem to be confusing the game with small talk.”

“I’m just trying to get you to stop talking, period. Whatever will shut you up the fastest is what I’ll do.”

Since Aiden made me aware of his suspicion that Damien genuinely doesn’t know he sucks at conversation, I’m finding it hard to be as malicious as I otherwise would. Still, I can’t quite bring myself to be nice. The stupid oaf would probably take that as an invitation to touch me again, and that absolutely can’t happen.

While my body may have enjoyed that moment of weakness, my mind knows it was reckless, and I’m not about to tolerate a repeat.

“I mean, if you really want to shut me up you could—”

“Don’t say it.” It’s only because there are other pairs of runners around that I don’t choke his air off. His incessant rambling I can stomach—barely. But anything having to do with what happened in shower is a hard no, and Iwilluse physical means to shut that down if I have to. I’d rather not though, since the last thing I need is word of another incident getting back to Coach.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

“Pretty sure I do. And if either of us want to play this season, it’s best you don’t test me.” I aim another icy stare his way, and that stupidfucker shivers. Not in a cold way either, which I prefer not to think about.

“If you say so, Lucy.”

“That includes taunting me with that stupid nickname.”

“It’s called flirting.” He has the audacity to smile at me.

“It needs work.”

“No way. I’ve got rizz.”

“Rizz?”

“It means charisma.” He beams at me like he’s some suave genius.

“I know what it means, I don’t know why you think you have it.”

“You’re talking to me, right?”

“Because you don’t shut up.”

“True, but if I didn’t have rizz, you wouldn’t be talking back.” He winks at me in that way I hate, which has me readying a retort that dies on my lips when I realize the stupid fucker is right. Not about having rizz, but about giving him reason to think he does since I keep answering him.

How is this my life?

“Shut up and run,” I grunt

“But you haven’t told me your favorite sandwich.”

“If I do, will you stop talking?”

“Probably not. I don’t like awkward silences.”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.I guess talking about food is harmless. At least it’s not ghosts or zombies or dicks.“Philly cheese steak.”

“The one with the onions?” Damien wrinkles his nose like he’s repulsed, which should makehimlook repulsive, but sadly doesn’t. It sort of looks cute, though I’d glue my lips shut before admitting it. I ball my hands into fists instead.

Damien Montgomery isnotcute. Or sexy. Or…anything.

“You got a problem with onions?” I try to distract my wayward brain by talking to him.

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