Page 98 of Twisted Play
I held on to that thought with both hands as Tristan opened the door to the student union, and we walked intothe bustling food court. The scent of food hit me like a wave, and my traitorous stomach growled.
“I’ll find us a table,” I murmured, desperate for a moment to collect myself, to shore up my walls.
Cole hooked a finger into my belt loop and arrested my forward movement. The casual possession in the movement sent butterflies rioting in my stomach. “What’re you having for lunch?”
I lifted the cooler bag I used to carry my homemade lunch. “Sandwich,” I murmured, shame burning in my chest.
“She’s having peanut butter and jelly,” Violetta helpfully interjected, “and an apple.”
Cole’s jaw ticked. His hand tightened on my hip, and for a moment, I thought I saw genuine concern in his eyes. Impossible—I was stress relief, nothing more than a toy for him to work out his frustrations. “Tristan will find the fucking table. You’re with me, sparrow.”
He turned, never letting go of my shorts, forcing me to awkwardly shuffle until we walked side by side. He stopped in front of a “build your own bowl” type place I never ate at—I couldn’t afford $20 a bowl, not even on my biggest splurges.
He ordered three bowls—then looked over his shoulder where Violetta was sitting with Tristan.
“Does your friend have any allergies? Dietary restrictions?” he asked me.
“You don’t have to buy us lunch,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked,” he snapped.
“She doesn’t,” I snapped right back, more flustered than I should have been, and he added a fourth bowl to the order.
“Triple protein on the first two, no spinach on the last,” he said, “and four sparkling waters.”
My heart stopped at the total on the register. “Cole?—”
“Shut the fuck up, slut,” he snapped, moving so he caged me against the counter when I tried to step away. His torso pressed against mine, hot and solid and so fucking reassuring. He might hurt me, but nothing else would, not with his body between me and the world.
Cole shifted so he could pull his wallet out of his back pocket. He pushed his pelvis harder into me, trapping me firmly, and pulled out a black credit card to hand to the cashier.
We waited like that as the cook made four bowls. Cole played with my hair, his fingers brushing against my back, and I leaned back into him, eliciting a pleased hum. The tenderness made my heart ache—at least when he was cruel, I knew where I stood.
Another group of girls eyed us, and my jaw ticked. Cole didn’t do relationships. Neither did Tristan. And I hated the spotlight that shined on me when we were out together. I knew our relationship didn’t make sense—the only reason we were together was because they were blackmailing me—and it burned to see the doubt reflect in the eyes of others. They were right. This wouldn’t last.
When I would have taken the food-laden tray, Cole nabbed it from me along with the bag of water bottles, leaving me to trail behind him as he bobbed and weaved through the throngs of hungry students. Every eye in the dining hall followed us, judging and wondering.
Tristan unloaded the food while Cole maneuvered me until I slid onto the bench beside him and across from Tristan.
Cole tugged me against him but thankfully allowed meto eat my own meal. “Thank you,” I said softly, hating how much I meant it.
Violetta just grinned. “I like your boyfriends,” she said.
Boyfriends.Dread swirled in my stomach when I thought about Alek, who’d barked at me at practice this morning but had tossed me an orange before I could dash off to the library to study.
Cole leaned his head on my shoulder. “Is that what we are, sparrow? Your boyfriends?”
I snorted and dug my fork into the bowl, humming with pleasure as flavor exploded on my tongue. I could cook this, probably, if I could identify the secret sauce. It’d be so much better than the quick meals I threw together each morning as I rushed around, exhausted and struggling to make ends meet.
Cole didn’t say another word, just lifted his head and devoured his meal with neat bites.
Tristan cocked his head and watched me. “So how long have you known Violetta?”
“Freshman year,” I answered between bites. “We met—” Violetta and I shared a long look. The boys might know just how poor I was, but her poverty was none of their fucking business. “We met volunteering,” I finished quietly.In the campus food pantry.
“I remember Rory,” Tristan continued. “And there’s one more of you, right?”
“Sage,” Violetta said. “Her dads are in a motorcycle club, so don’t fuck with her. Actually, don’t fuck with any of us.”
