A large red A is on the top.
“This is your fifth one-hundred percent,” Stone says. “And out of six exams, that’s pretty damn impressive.”
“Should’ve been six one-hundred percents,” I grumble, still peeved I mixed up two terms on the last exam.
“A ninety-nine is still good,” Stone points out with a small grin.
“One hundred. Ninety-nine.” I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “I feel like there’s a point to this I don’t yet know.”
He takes a step closer to me, and I’m assaulted by his unique citrus scent. I wonder if it’s some sort of cologne or body wash. Maybe it’s his natural scent. Would it be creepy to ask?
Correction: would it be creepy to inhale deeply and then bottle up his scent and sell it on the black market?
Asking for a friend.
“You have a real knack for law.” His eyes capture and ensnare mine. I’m helpless to look anywhere else. “I took the liberty of looking at your other classes. Criminal law. Constitutional law. Philosophy of law. Have you ever considered a career as a lawyer?”
I snort before I can stop myself. “Oh please. As if I’ll ever be allowed to go to law school. Jared would have my ass.”
I know I said too much when Stone’s eyes darken, this time in anger instead of lust.
“I didn’t know your husband had quite a say over a woman as strong-willed as you,” he says carefully. Slowly. He grazes his eyes over my features, searching for something I know I have to keep buried. Hidden under lock and key in a cement safe miles below earth.
“Well, you know how husbands are,” I say lightly, averting my gaze. His voice is clipped, hard, when he speaks next.
“I can’t say I do.”
“Besides, if I could do anything with my life, it would be designing clothing.” An embarrassed flush erupts on my cheeks before I can stop it. Not that I can stop my body’s natural reaction. I shrug once more, attempting nonchalance. “But law’s cool.”
“Mallie…” I’m so shocked at hearing him say my real name that I don’t stop him from grabbing my wrists. White hot pain blazes up my veins, and I release a whimper, yanking my arms free from his hands. His dark brows furrow as his gaze cautiously roams over me. “What in the…?” Understanding twists his features, and before I can stop him, he has my hand gently between his own.
For a moment, I marvel at the contrast of skin tones before he carefully pulls up the sleeve of my jacket... revealing the numerous bruises traveling up my arm. Some are healed, fading to a dusky green, while others a dark blue and black. Icy dread cools my veins, stealing all the warmth from me.
“What the…?”
Before he can finish his sentence, I wrench my hand free of his and take off in a run.
One word reverberates in my head repeatedly as my heart ricochets up a notch.
Fuck.
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Logan: A White Trash Trilogy Novella
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Of Death And Darkness
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The Arbiter
AntiLove Bookclub Series
New Year Surprises: An ALBS Novella
Brandy Slaven lives in Tennessee with her husband and two wild children. If you can't find her creating worlds with her words, you will find her with her nose in a book at the beach or hiking at a state park.
Find her online at
www.authorbrandyslaven.com
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