For a while, Ashton had been doing a bit more of the babysitting and heavy lifting with Zeke, but it seems like Luca has finally taken over more of a role with his son.
About frickin’ time.
I head to the coffee shop to grab an iced mocha and briefly glance around while I wait for the barista to make my drink.
My gaze lands on the one and only, Bristol Greyson.
My heart begins to quicken its pace with every glance at her.
Hell no.
I avoid looking at her, shift my feet, turn to face the other direction, maybe she won’t notice me.
Footsteps come up from behind, and I inhale sharply. It’s her scent.
I can smell her a mile away—well, not really—but oh my gosh, she smells amazing, like peaches and honey.
Her scent is intoxicating, but in the best heavenly way possible. If someone bottled it, I’d douse my pillow and bedsheets with it. The dreams I have of her would be so much more vivid.
I inhale, trying not to seem desperate or obvious when I force a smile. “Greyson.”
“I prefer Bristol,” she says.
“Good to know, Greyson.” I don’t give her the satisfaction.
That’s the one thing we have going for us—banter that never ceases to end. Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s flirtatious or just reckless. Is there even a difference when it comes to Bristol Greyson? Any flirting would be reckless.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Whatever, Moretti.”
My eyes flicker at the mention of my last name. She’s trying to harass me again. Well, it won’t work. I’m used to my friends calling me Moretti because it’s the name on my jersey.
“Liam,” the barista calls.
“Well, that’s my cue.” I grab my drink, and Bristol is right on my heels. The girl was never like Velcro before, but now I can’t seem to tear her off me.
What is this world coming to?
“You’re not going to ask me what I’m doing on your campus?” Bristol asks.
I shake my head. “Nope.”
Am I dying to know why she’s here? Yes, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction. Have I been using her as my fantasy for the last several months? Abso-fucking-lutely.
Again, the bottle of Bristol Greyson perfume would be brilliant.
Someone should market it.
I size her up, drinking every inch of her in.
Damn, she looks good in that short little black leather skirt and top that barely covers her midriff.
She’s all in black and dark red, a lethal combination.
Those fuck-me leather platforms aren’t helping, either.
I shift uncomfortably as my cock twitches in my jeans.
Down, boy, don’t get feelings for the devil.