Page 121 of Bitter When He Begs

I don’t.

“I’m proud of you,” I say, my voice clear and steady.

He flinches like I hit him. “Sage—”

“I mean it,” I cut in, not letting him wave it away. “You fought your way out of something most people don’t come back from. You didn’t give up. You didn’t let it eat you alive. You’re still here.Stilltrying.Stillfighting. I’m fucking proud of you, Luca.”

He blinks up at me, looking almost shaken, like no one has ever said that to him before. Then, slowly, a faint flush creeps up his neck, and I swear to God, I fall for him even more in that moment.

Luca Devereaux is blushing.

Holy shit.

“You can’t say shit like that when you’re sitting on top of me in nothing but boxers. That’s criminal,” he mutters, turning his head like he can hide it.

I grin. “Why? You blushing, King?”

“Fuck off,” he scoffs, and I laugh, leaning down, pressing a kiss to his still-warm cheek, feeling the way his breath catches beneath me.

He exhales roughly, eyes flicking to mine, then he snorts, a bitter little sound, and looks away. “You’re not embarrassed having a boyfriend who used to be a pill-popper?”

My heart aches and something tells me this is the real reason he was hesitating to tell me. I lean down, pressing my forehead against his.

“No,” I say simply, sliding my hands to his face, forcing him to look at me again. “I’d be embarrassed if my boyfriend was the type of guy who ran from his shit and blamed everyone else. But you? You took the hard way. You faced it. And you’re still standing.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and his breath shudders against my lips.

Luca Devereaux lets me see him, and I’m not looking away.

The morning air is cool against my cheeks as I stand in the parking lot watching Luca toss his duffel into the back of the bus. He’s wearing his team hoodie, the Blackthorne U logo stretched across his broad back, his hair still damp from his morning shower.

I cross my arms over my chest, sinking into the warmth of his Lorna Shore hoodie—the one I pulled on this morning without thinking, the fabric worn soft from years of use, the scent of him everywhere.

Luca turns and his smirk softens. His shoulders drop, and then that grin hits.

The grin that has no business being legal this early in the morning, cocky and unfiltered, and pleased in a way that makes heat climb from my neck to the tips of my ears, because I know that look. That’s theI-see-you-wearing-my-shit-and-I-like-itlook.

“You really like stealing my shit, huh?”

I smirk. “You’re my boyfriend, it’s literally mine now.”

He shakes his head, stepping closer, his blue eyes flickering with something warm and lazy. “You do know what that means, right?”

I arch a brow. “What?”

His fingers brush over the hem of the hoodie, his gaze dropping for a split second before lifting back to mine, smug. “You’re walking around telling everyone you belong to me.”

I snort, rolling my eyes. “Funny. I was actually thinking it means you belong to me.”

Luca grins, tilting his head. “Oh, yeah?”

I hum, reaching out to tug the drawstrings of his hoodie, my grip tightening slightly, making him lean in, forcing him closer. “You’re about to be surrounded by a thousand thirsty fans and probably half a dozen overly affectionate cheer squads, so I figured I’d make sure there’s no confusion.”

His grin widens, his hands finding my hips, fingers digging in. “And I’m guessing this,” he murmurs, touching the hickey on his neck, “was you marking your fucking territory?”

I barely hold back my smirk. “Maybe, seeing as I had to fight off the cheer squad before,” I say, pretending to inspect my nails. “You got a problem with that?”

Luca groans, tilting his head back, looking way too pleased with himself. “Fuck, baby, you really wanna make sure everyone knows I’m yours, huh?”