He doesn’t laugh or smile. There’s no amusement in his gaze. Just a stark, unflinching intentness as he sits there, watching me watch him. His liquor-drenched eyes rake me up and down, taking in every detail at his leisure, making my pulse skitter dangerously beneath my skin. I’m not sure if the alcohol has lowered his inhibitions or if this is simplyhim, even sober. Raw sexual magnetism and pure male entitlement.
Just looking at him, I can tell he’s the ultimate game-player. The kind of man who spins the cards so artfully, before you know it, you find yourself following his rules, chasing whatever dice he throws. Desperate to prove you aren’t just another bimbo about to get cleaned out and tossed aside.
I’ve encountered men like this before. Players. Perhaps not ones of this caliber, but certainly the JV version to his varsity. They’re in every dark pub and college classroom; just look for the most attractive man in the room, the one who seems to radiate that potent mix of self-confidence and condescension… and who wields it like a weapon against every girl in his path, conquering with a ruthless sort of efficiency.
Well, I’m not playing. Because I know full well, when it comes to men like him…
The house always wins.
“There she goes with that murderous look again,” he says lowly, almost to himself. “This should be good.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Did you know your face gives away everything you’re thinking? It’s obvious you’re working yourself up to a lecture. Spit it out, already; I don’t have all night.” He pauses. “Actually, I do. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend it listening to thatextensive listof flaws you’ve compiled in our short time together.”
God! The nerve of this man…
I try to gather my words, but it’s a struggle. I’m more flustered than I want to admit. There’s just something about this man that makes all my cylinders fire at once; contempt, confusion, curiosity — each blazing in equal measure, boiling my blood until I can barely draw breath.
“Tick, tock, little orchid,” he drawls, goading me. “My neck is starting to hurt from looking at you all the way up on that soapbox of yours…”
That’s it.
He wants a lecture?
Good.
He’s about to get one.
“You say you know my type?” I narrow my eyes at him. “I know yours, too. You’re a master manipulator. A heartless player. You put girls down to make yourself seem taller. You maneuver yourself into a position of power with little patronizing comments. You put on an air of superiority because you know it makes you seem unattainable. And there’s nothing girls like more than a man they can’t have, right?” My voice goes cold. “But the thing is, if you were actually the kind of man worth having, you wouldn’t have to work so damn hard to trick people into believing it. You wouldn’t have to pick other people apart to make yourself feel whole.” I lean in, breathing hard. “My hair may be a way to hide, my face may give away my emotions… butyou— you are just smoke and mirrors. All show, no substance. And I see right through it.”
I expect him to flinch. To recoil from the insult of my words. To glare at me, or snap back with something even more awful in response. Instead… he does something unexpected. Something that totally flips me out.
He smiles.
Actuallysmiles, as though I’ve genuinely amused him — a flash of straight white teeth that take a bite right out of my beating heart. Then, without another word, he settles back against his seat, cranes his head, and closes his eyes.
Clearly, he’s done with this conversation.
Done with me.
I don’t know why that surprises me so much.
I don’t know why it leaves me strangely disappointed.
I don’t know why I feel so hollow, now that I’ve released all those angry words into the air between us.
Swallowing hard, I face forward and try to remind myself that there are far bigger fish to fry right now. Namely, the fact that I’m still locked in the back seat of an SUV, barreling along an unknown road in the middle of the night.
Or have you forgotten that you’ve been taken against your will? That they cracked your best friend over the head with a gun and left him bleeding in a dark alley? That, as much as you’d like to deny it, you have a sinking suspicion you know exactly who ordered these men to extract you from your life in a vehicle that costs more than your yearly tuition?
Focus on that, Emilia.
And… forget about him.
Chapter Four
We drivefor a long while in total silence.