Page 8 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

“Your friends are calling you,” I finally say.

He glances over his shoulder, then returns his attention to me. “They can wait.”

I’m surprised he’s putting talking to me above wanting to spend time with his friends. “Well, my homework can’t.” I gesture to the open textbook by my laptop. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you again? That’s all I get?” He slides into the booth seat across from mine, leaning across the table like he wants to get closer to me. “I bet you don’t even remember my name.”

“I bet you don’t remember mine either,” I toss back at him, tacking on an annoying giggle after I say it.

He makes a face, like he knows I’m fake as hell. “Jensen.”

“Rhett.”

His smile is back, wider than ever. “You should come sit with us.”

“No, thank you.” My voice is prim, like a snotty rich girl’s would be. Wouldn’t they find it hilarious to know that I spent my teenage years living in a mobile-home-slash-trailer, in the decrepit old fifth-wheel my dad called our new home right before I started eighth grade.

One brow lifts. “My friends would love to meet you.”

“I doubt that.”

“It’s true.” He glances over his shoulder again, and they call out to him, a couple of choice words ringing in the air. The waitress glares, stomping over to their table to give them a lecture I suppose, and Rhett whirls around so he’s facing me once more, his expression full of amusement. “Or maybe not.”

“Go hang out with your friends,” I tell him gently, wanting to give the impression that I am the perfectly understanding girlfriend. He might not have those types of serious thoughts about me—yet—but my good behavior can enter his subconscious, right?

“Jensen. I want to see you again.” He reaches across the table and touches the top of my right hand, his warm fingers practically burning my skin. I snatch my hand away from his, my fingers trembling as I clutch my hands together in my lap.

One casual touch from him and I feel like I’m going to erupt in flames.

It’s terrifying.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I tell him, nibbling on my lower lip. Like it’s a major dilemma, being asked out by the hottest guy on campus.

“What do you mean?” He’s frowning so hard he’s got wrinkles in his forehead.

“I’m taking a heavy course load.” That’s true. “Plus, I work.” Also true. “Part-time, but it’s a lot to deal with.” Okay, that’s a lie. “And I just…I have so much on my plate.” Not so much that I wouldn’t use this guy to get close to the woman he calls Mom.

I can rightfully call her Mom too. Even more than he can.

Because here’s my big secret. The reason I want to get close to Rhett Montgomery. My mother, the fancy lady I saw in the magazines and newspaper articles my father had stashed in his desk, is named Diane Montgomery.

She married Rhett’s dad. He is my…

Stepbrother.

Talk about twisted.

“You gotta make time for fun, Jens.” No one has ever called me Jens before. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Working.” True.

“Where do you work?”

I do not want to tell him where I work.

“I clean offices at night, when no one else is around.” Lie. A big, fat lie.

He’s frowning again. “That sounds dangerous.”

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