Page 97 of Bitter When He Begs

He catches me looking and smirks. “What?”

“Nothing,” I say around the toothbrush. “Just—you look stupid hot in that.”

“It’s literally your shirt.”

“Exactly, it’smyshirt,” I mutter. “And you’re wearing it like you don’t know what it does to me.”

“Maybe I do.” His smile turns into something close to wicked, but then he grabs his backpack and gestures toward the door. “Come on. I need to go get my stuff and pretend like I have my shit together before I run into Nate and get murdered.”

I finish up, and we drive to his frat so he can change. He makes me wait outside because Nate still wants to murder me, too. I lean against my truck, scrolling through my phone until the front door swings open again and Sage walks out.

And I die.

Not visibly, obviously.

But internally?

Yeah.

Dead.

He’s still wearing my shirt, but it’s knotted on one side and showing off a sliver of skin, leather cuffs slapped on both wrists, paired with those fitted ripped black jeans and boots that make his legs look obscene.

Mine, written all over him in fabric and attitude.

My throat goes fucking dry, and I drag my tongue over my bottom lip. I can’t help it—I grab him by the belt loops and kiss him again.

“You’re a menace, Sage Blackwell,” I murmur into his mouth.

He shrugs, acting all nonchalant, but I see the smug little glint in his eyes. I bite back a groan, my entire body fucking thrumming with how good he looks.

“We’re going to be late for breakfast,” he replies, pushing at my chest even though he’s grinning the whole time.

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as I open the truck door for him. “Get in before I decide to make that ass my breakfast.”

He gets in my truck and squeaks when I slap his ass before closing the door. Fuck me, I love his little put-on glare.

We hit up a little café near campus, grabbing breakfast sandwiches and coffee, and Sage immediately judges me when I order two breakfast sandwiches, two hash browns, and a large iced coffee with two extra shots.

Afterward, we find a quiet spot close to campus where we can eat before class, just tucked far enough out of the way that people won’t stare. He pulls his legs up on the bench, balancing his food on his knee while I devour mine like I haven’t eaten in three days.

He still makes fun of me, but there’s something easy in the way he sits with me now. No twitching hands. No bouncing leg. His shoulders aren’t locked, and his eyes don’t flick around like he’s waiting for someone to come out of nowhere and say something shitty. He’s just… here. With me.

And maybe that shouldn’t mean so much, but it fucking does.

I glance over at him while he’s finishing the last bite of his sandwich, and my voice drops a little. “You doing okay today?”

He looks at me, chewing, then nods. “Yeah. Better than yesterday.”

I reach out and steal the last bit of crust from his wrapper before he can smack my hand away. “You sure?”

He nods again, this time slower. “I think I just needed a second to breathe. And food. And someone to wake up next to.”

I try to play it cool, but that last part hits me in the chest.

He looks down at the table, fingers playing with the edge of the coffee sleeve. “Also, your abs.”

I choke on my coffee, and he laughs into his cup like that was his plan all along.

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