Page 52 of Heroes & Hitmen
He notices, of course. He annoyingly noticeseverything.
“See something you like?” he taunts, damp hair falling in his eyes as he tilts his head.
I shoot to my feet, shoving past him with as much force as I can muster. My shoulder catches him in the ribs, but the big lug barely budges as I stomp past him, retreating into the bathroom and slamming the door. My chest heaves as I lean over the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror and willing myself to calm down.
This isn’t me. I pride myself on my ability to keep my emotions locked down and maintain a level head, but living with Ares is testing my limits like never before. There’s just something about him that pushes every one of my buttons; strips away every shred of my self-control.
There’s nothing I hate more than feeling out of control.
After a few more deep breaths, I brush my teeth and use the toilet, then check my reflection again in the mirror. My cheeks are still red, but at least I don’t look like I’m about to faint anymore. My makeup is on point. My hair looks nice, the top tied back in my signature style with a black satin ribbon. On the outside, I’m polished. Now I just need the inside to match.
When I cautiously open the door, I half expect to be met with another ambush, but the bedroom is empty. So, I go about gathering my things to head to class. I slip my textbooks and laptop into my messenger bag, snatch my phone off the charger, and steel myself for whatever fresh humiliation may await me on my way out the door.
I’m not sure what I expect when I emerge from the hall, but finding Ares standing in front of the fridge in nothing but his underwear isn’t it. His hair’s still damp, little rivulets of water tracing down his spine as he bends to reach for something inside. Probably beer– because even though it’s barely eight in the morning, the man has the palate of a frat boy on spring break.
I try to ghost past him on my way to the door, clutching the strap of my messenger bag and praying that if I move quickly enough, he’ll be too busy to notice me.No such luck.
“Hold up,” Ares calls, his voice echoing through the open space.
I slow, but don’t stop. “Some of us have places to be, you know,” I toss over my shoulder.
Ares shuts the fridge with an elbow and turns to face me, arms folded. His black boxer briefs are the only barrier between him andtotal indecency, and he’s wearing them with the cocky pride of someone who knows exactly how good he looks half-naked.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
I grind to a halt, folding my arms to mirror his stance. “Like what, a lifelong supply of therapy?”
He grins, beckoning me with a lift of his chin. “Come rub up on me, babe.”
I snort a laugh, pivoting toward the door. “Nice try.”
“Miley,” he growls, the low timbre of his voice having the obnoxious effect of snapping me back toward him like a rubber band.
Dammit.
“You’re not meeting with Alpha again today, are you?” I challenge.
“No, but you can’t go running around without my scent on you if you want people to believe we’re really mates. You and I both know your father has eyes everywhere.”
I open my mouth to protest, then snap it shut, hating that he’s right. Still, I hesitate, grinding my molars as I stare him down.
“Can you at least put some clothes on first?” I mutter, exasperated.
He tilts his head, that relentless smirk tipping his lips. “What, afraid to touch me now?”
“No,” I bite out, refusing to rise to the bait.
The tension in the air between us thickens, humming with electricity. He doesn’t budge– doesn’t evenpretendto make a move to put on clothes– and if I push, he’ll know he’s getting to me. He’ll see exactly how much this messes with my head.
So, I force myself to move toward him.
“Atta girl,” he croons, spreading his arms wide in invitation. “Better coverage this way.”
My skin prickles as I close the distance, his scent hitting me like a wall, but I don’t flinch. I won’t give him that satisfaction.
I step into his arms, spine straight, every nerve on edge. His body is impossibly warm, all solid muscle and masculine heat. It feels good.Toogood. He circles his arms around my waist, palms settling on my low back, then leans down to nuzzle his face in the crook of my neck. The stubble on his jaw rasps against my skin, a shiver rippling through me in spite of myself.
“Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
