Page 9 of Never Your Girl

The traitor practically trips over himself to give up his seat. Bridger slides in, his thigh brushing mine as he settles. “I’m going to be all up in your business until I can prove you’re behind the messages.”

“Wow.” I shake my head. “You really are delusional. How sad. You might want to seek treatment before you descend into total madness.” I blink and force my eyes wide. “Or is it too late for that?”

“Unfortunately not.” He shifts closer, his scent making my head spin. “I think you’ve been holding a grudge for two long years.”

With a snort, I swivel to face him. “For what? One lousy lay?” I arch a brow as color floods his cheeks. “Do you really think sex with you ruined me for all others? I’m all like—boo hoo, I don’t get to have Sanderson’s dick on the regular.” I roll my eyes. “Give me a freaking break.”

A muscle tics in his jaw. “Funny, I didn’t hear any complaints from you in the moment.”

“Well, a tutorial of the female anatomy just seemed rude at the time.”

“Then you gave one hell of a performance.” His voice drops lower until it’s rough around the edges.

“Consider it an act of mercy.” My tone is casual, but my pulse is pounding in my ears. “I just wanted to speed things up. It was late, and I was tired.”

He leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “I think we both know I could prove you wrong.”

“Too bad you won’t be given the opportunity to try.” My gaze flicks to the bruise on his cheek. “Let me guess, bar brawl over an eager bunny?”

Dark emotion flashes in his eyes before it’s quickly masked. “Nailed it.”

Something in his tone makes my stomach curdle, but before I can analyze it, Dr. Abbott launches into his lecture about our final project. Once this semester ends, I’ll never have to deal with Bridger Sanderson again.

Thank fuck.

“You’ll be paired with a classmate,” Abbott announces, his gaze sweeping the room.

My muscles lock. He’s going alphabetically. I frantically search my memory for anyone between Sanderson and Tate but come up empty.

“Bridger Sanderson and?—”

Please don’t say me.

Please don’t?—

“Holland Tate.”

My pen clatters to the desk. Bridger turns, his gaze burning into my profile.

“I couldn’t have planned this more perfectly myself,” he whispers, satisfaction dripping from his tone.

I force my features into something resembling calm, choking down the urge to scream. We can’t be within three feet of each other without verbal warfare breaking out. How the hell are we supposed to work together?

The second Abbott dismisses class, I’m out of my seat and heading for his desk. I feel the weight of Bridger’s stare burning a hole through my back as he takes his sweet time packing up.

“Miss Tate?” Abbott looks up. “Questions about the project?”

I clear my throat, aiming for reasonable rather than desperate. “Just one. Is there any way I can work alone? I’m willing to do everything my?—”

“I’m afraid not.” His smile is tight. “In the real world, you won’t get to choose your colleagues. Consider it a lesson in learning how to play nice with others.”

The condescension in his tone makes me grit my teeth. “Got it. Thanks for the insight.”

I turn to leave, only to find Bridger leaning against the wall outside the room, waiting like a predator.

He falls into step beside me. “Looks like you and I are stuck together for the next couple weeks, Tate.”

“Apparently.” I don’t bother hiding my irritation.

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