Page 20 of Sweet Oblivion

“Sure did, Superstar.”

At my hot look, she dropped her gaze and tucked some of that luscious hair behind her ear.

I nearly purred. Then I saw Hugh from the corner of my eye, his arm draped over Naomi and a knowing look on his stupid face. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. My thing with Aya was nothing like Hugh’s besotted relationship with Naomi. She bossed him around, which was part of why I refused to hang out with either of them. I dropped Aya’s hand.

“What’s your schedule?”

She sighed. “Science, then English.”

My smile grew as she rattled off her schedule. “Same as mine. Oh, this is perfect.”

This time I did purr. Her startled gaze searched my face, and I thought I saw the flare of desire burning in the depths of those pretty violet eyes.

“You can take Lindsay Herrington-Smythe’s seat,” I said, my lip curling. “I can’t stand that girl.”

“I’m not stealing someone’s seat,” Aya replied, her face haughty. “That wouldn’t be kind.”

“Lindsay keeps trying to grab my junk,” I said. Total lie. Well, she had stared at my crotch often enough to make me self-conscious.

And my dislike of her was the truth. Something about her reminded me of Lord—in the worst possible way. She took genuine pleasure in hurting others’ feelings. It was one thing to be aloof, untouchable—I had perfected that art early and used it to my advantage—but Lindsay was mean.

Aya took a protective step closer. “I’ll sit next to you,” she said. She seemed to struggle to meet my gaze, her pupils dilated.

I wanted to fist pump. Yes. Aya Aldringham wanted me, too.

Her tongue darted out, bathing that plump lower lip I’d obsessed over for years. I leaned in closer, mesmerized. Her lips parted, her breath flooding past that luscious pink perfection in a tumble of heat. Desire licked hard and hot up my middle.

Someone bumped my shoulder, breaking the spell. I blinked and stepped back.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck.

Aya was my friend. My only real friend. No way I was messing with that—not even if I suddenly needed her taste like I needed air.

I cleared my throat, my smile weak. “Great.”

What had I gotten myself into?

“Where did she come from?” Lindsay asked her friend as she passed Aya and me in the hall later that afternoon. Lindsay narrowed her dark brown eyes, and her thin, bright red lips smashed flat as she stared at me holding Aya’s hand, though she never broke her stride.

“Is she English?” Aya asked, her chin lifted toward Lindsay.

“Yeah. She’s from some suburb of London. Her dad’s in IT. He came here and set up a thinktank or something. He’s kind of a big deal in Austin circles.”

“Weird. I didn’t realize Austin was so…”

“Urbane?” I asked. “Cultured?”

“International,” Aya replied, her tone dry.

“I have no idea,” Lindsay’s friend, Stef, said as they paused a little farther down the hall.

Lindsay popped her gum while trying to give us a filthy glare. I held Stef’s gaze long enough for her to flush and look away, though Lindsay remained too bold and angry to bow under my stare. I’d been practicing the expression after watching Camden Grace use it on an overstepping journalist this past weekend.

“What’s with that look?” Aya asked.

“Something I’m trying out,” I murmured, refusing to be the first to break eye contact with Lindsay.

---