Page 25 of The Revenge Plan (Forbidden Descendants 1)

My mouth opened and jaw worked, but no words came.

Next to me, Izzy blurted out a giggle before she announced, “Wick’s not gay. What in the world gave you that idea?”

“I…” Haven looked momentarily nonplussed before she blushed. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I swear Topher said you were—”

“Topher?” I cut her off with a snort as I shook my head. Yeah, good ol’ Topher. “I’m sure he did,” I muttered bitterly, only to meet Haven’s gaze. “But...no, sorry. Not gay.”

Except I wasn’t that sorry about it at all, because I sincerely hoped my newly revealed straight status might actually derail her from this crazy train of an idea she was riding.

But all she did was tilt her head to the side, studying me. “You probably never called me a horse-faced troll then, either, did you?” she murmured thoughtfully.

I sniffed. “He tell you that one, too?” When she nodded, I shook my head slowly, unable to comprehend what I was hearing. “And you actually believed him?”

“Well.” She shrugged. “I didn’t have any reason not to.”

“But you own a mirror, right?” I bit out dryly. She had to know she was gorgeous enough to steal a guy’s breath straight from his lungs. “How could you honestly not know you’re fucking beaut—”

Cutting myself off abruptly, I clamped my mouth shut to keep from complimenting my archenemy’s girlfriend—er, sorry…ex-girlfriend—and I turned my attention to her parents, where her dad arched his eyebrows as if daring me to finish my sentence, and her mom looked as if she might burst out laughing any moment.

Teeth clenched tight, I returned my attention to Haven, whose mouth had dropped open as she gaped at me.

“The point is,” I growled, trying to get back on track and ignore how everyone was waiting for me to finish telling Haven Gamble how exquisite I thought she looked. “I’m not gay. Or blind.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. “And I don’t care; just don’t have sex in the front room while I’m home, and we should be good. Oh!” She snapped her fingers, then pointed at me. “And try not to eat the food I specifically label as mine. My last roommate had a bad habit of doing that too. The bitch,” she growled under her breath. “Never could keep her grubby hands off my things.”

I shook my head. Dammit. I’d been counting on my straight-status to spook her.

“Yeah, I don’t think you have to worry about Wick there,” Izzy announced slowly. “He’s pretty private. Keeps to himself. And he has three sisters, no brothers, so I can personally assure you he’s very decent about respecting girl things. He’s definitely no stranger to bras or tampons lying around, even though you guys won’t even share a bathroom or bedroom, so tha

t wouldn’t be an issue, anyway. And he’s always been deferential to labeled food.” Rolling her eyes dramatically, she finished with, “Charlie’s the big food thief in our family. She’s such a pain.”

Haven blinked at her slowly, obviously never having experienced an Izzy before. Then she said, “Okay, thanks. That sounds good.” She turned back to me. “So how much is rent?”

“But...” I started, only to glance away because with her gaze focused on me and her eyes being so big, and beautiful, and pleading, it was hard to concentrate when she was looking at me like that, which brought up reason number eight thousand, six hundred and ninety-three why she absolutely could not be my roommate.

I couldn’t live with someone I was so attracted to; I’d never be able to relax…or concentrate…or breathe right. This was my home; the one place where I could get away from the rest of the world and just...not worry about anything. If I was constantly on guard here, what the hell would my life become? The mere prospect sent a panicked flush straight through my chest.

But how in God’s name did I communicate that to the girl, especially with her parents standing right there, staring at me? I wished I could just pull out the introvert’s guidebook and point out commandment number one: thou shall not invade the afflicted’s private space.

Then her mom went and bluntly said, “We can tell you’re reluctant about this, Wick. What exactly is your main issue against the idea?”

I sent her an incredulous glance for putting me on the spot even further and couldn’t help but wonder why they were so for the idea.

There were hundreds of reasons I could’ve listed off, number one being the fact that her moving in with me when her ex was my archenemy would pretty much place a target right on my chest. But being an epic failure at talking and explaining myself, I waved out a hand blindly and blurted, “I don’t want her here because, you know...boobs.”

There. I said it. They’d forced me to say what was on my damn mind. I hoped they were happy now.

Except Haven lowered her brow and squinted in confusion. “Because...boobs?” she repeated slowly, clearly not understanding.

I ground my teeth. Great. Not only were they going to force me to be honest, but now they wanted me to explain myself too? I swear, the entire family was aggravating as hell.

“Yes!” I spat moodily. “Boobs. Breasts. Tits. Whatever you want to call them.” I motioned vaguely toward her chest. “You have them. I’m going to want to see them. Every time I walk into a room, I’m going to be all tense and shit, thinking about them, wondering...is this the time I’m finally going to catch her by surprise without a shirt on and accidentally glimpse nipple? And that’s wrong, so very, horribly wrong. But I don’t want to be wrong by constantly looking for boobs, so I’m going to be freaked out about it, worried and always on edge, trying to be all respectful and not look at things I really want to see. And it’ll drive me perpetually crazy. How the hell can you expect a guy to live like that? This is my home; I want to be able to relax here.”

Blowing out a disgusted breath—mostly disgusted at myself because, hell, why had I admitted all that aloud—I ran a harassed hand through my hair and scowled at her for reducing me to this.

From her wheelchair, Haven’s mom burst out laughing. “I like him,” she announced, grinning at me and nodding her approval. “He’s funny.”

Well, I’m glad someone was getting a kick out of this because I certainly was not.

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