Don't Dare Love: Knights Series, #1

By Sonya Jesus

The Closer She Gets To Love, The More He Unravels.

 

For commitment-phobe Lia, love means trusting someone enough to let them in. She's not harboring some deep dark secret or a tortured soul; she's simply scared to give her heart away. When Connor sparks her interest, she reluctantly gives the freshman a chance, unknowingly catalyzing a change in her love life. Suddenly, guys vie for her attention, and her heart is torn between the new, the old, and the familiar. While she's busy with new experiences and conflicting feelings, Hawk is unraveling.

 

Lia doesn't know how deep Hawk's obsession goes. He's always there, listening in, tracking her every move, and studying her. If not for his intervention, the guys from Lia's past would have damaged her innocence and broken her heart. They possessed the ability to change his perfect girl into someone unrecognizable and unsuitable. In all his careful planning, Hawk's become too comfortable and underestimates Connor's ability to sneak his way into Lia's heart.

 

Cameras and footage are no longer enough. Hawk infiltrates her inner circle and manipulates the people around her, using them to carry out his plan. The sudden onslaught of male attention slows him down, or rather, escalates his obsession into something a bit deadlier. If Lia dares to love someone other than Hawk, then he may not survive her love.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sonya Jesus
• Release date: Mar 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393023180

Book preview

Prologue

Hawk

---

Amelia needed a King, not a Knight in Shining Armor.

That’s why...

I’ve chosen her.

I’ve watched her.

I’ve studied her.

I’ve learned everything there is to know about her.

She is my Queen, and when the time is right, she will reign my heart.

1

Soccer Gods

Lia

---

The Weather Girls sing into my ears and tell me to leave my umbrella at home and get myself soaking wet. I giggle, stretching my towel out on the grass, away from the scorching sun and in the shade of the Castle, before rummaging through my backpack for my brand-new notebook, pen, and medieval textbook. I throw them on top of the towel before taking a seat to admire my setup. Satisfied that my charade is set, I focus on appearing as though I’m doing something productive instead of getting caught in the storm.  

The excited girls and I focus on the center of the field where the challenging team has gathered into a huddle. There’s nothing like the first soccer scrimmage of the year to gather a crowd, and it certainly is an impressive one. Most of the students here haven’t even deemed going to class a necessity. Yet, this Westbrook tradition has been on their schedule since last semester. The greens are swarming with people itching for a showdown and buzzing with anticipation for the soccer team to rumble out of the Rook Center. As much as I want to pretend it isn’t, the excitement is addictive, and I’m currently finding it hard to squelch the nervous jitters fluttering around in my stomach.

Nothing new though, I’ve always been a nervous wreck around the soccer team. It’s a natural reaction to them as a collective unit. I have no problem handling them individually, but as a team? They aren’t one; they’re more like ‘soccer gods,’ carefully picked by the universe to be one unit. Every single one of them has the sinfully keen ability to gather most of the female population and evoke emotions that make us, for the lack of a better word, stupid. The Soccer Gods turn perfectly intelligent, normally calm and capable women into drooling, uncontrollable, catty idiots without uttering a single word. When they manifest in their flawless, corporeal body, they allow their magnificently defined, and carefully sculpted muscles to do the talking for them. They captivate and enthrall with a mere glimpse, forcing an involuntary, primal, and non-ignorable need. You inevitably succumb to their magnetism—a side effect of being mortal, I suppose.

Or a side effect of being me? Seeing as my suitemates Mel, Harper, Natalie, Avery, and Haley aren’t here. I nearly stayed in the suite since I didn’t have company, but I’m not one of those girls. I don’t require any escorts when I go to the bathroom, nor do I need another girl’s opinion to know my ass looks big in an outfit. I also don’t mind eating alone and I, most certainly, don’t need another girl to drool over the Soccer Gods with. I’ve been doing a pretty good job of salivating all by my lonesome, and I intend to keep it that way. What can I say? I like independence when it comes to my weaknesses.

And my biggest weakness… is Aiden Keys.

The sweet tune of his name in my head turns my nervous jitters into heart palpitations. The pangs of fear and exhilaration mingle together to pound hard against my chest, beating me up from the inside out. I inhale slowly, trying to center myself and slow the velocity of my heart before it rips through my chest. Inhale. Exhale. Slow, I repeat to myself until I manage to breathe without choking on my heart. He’s been giving me arrhythmia for the last three years. I sweat, I panic, I get tongue-tied, and anytime we share the same location, I get the sudden sensation of claustrophobia. He scares the shit out of me, annoys the hell out of me, and yet I still long for the day where he simply notices me.  

The doors to the Rook Center slam open, startling me. The audience roars while I stare in awe as the heavens open and perfect raindrops scatter across the freshly cut field. Hallelujah! I praise the heavens for the storm thundering through Westbrook right now. It’s raining men in the form of soccer-clad Knights, and I agree with the ladies still singing into my ears. They truly are, "Rough and tough and strong and mean."

Don’t believe me? Ask the few hundred girls surrounding me. They can attest to how humid it’s getting around here. I pry my eyes off the team momentarily to confirm most of the audience has left the majority of their clothes at home. Welcome to Westbrook Beach. On this campus, you watch storms in bikinis while leisurely sprawled out on beach towels. Who needs a body of water when you have an ocean of gods?

I guess you could say the soccer field is the center of Westbrook’s campus, as are the gods who play on it. Around here, despite being a Division III school, the Soccer Gods are in charge, on and off the field. They are to Westbrook, what the Eagles are to Philadelphia—everything. If you think of Westbrook as a little world, then these guys are our A-list celebrities. Anywhere they go, a red carpet is practically rolled out. People snap photos, tweet about them, and even the haters want selfies with them. They trend on social media and tend to be on the tongues of most gossip circles in this small university.

This campus’ obsession with the Soccer Gods is beyond sickening. I wish I could ignore it, but my inner Vixen, you know, the girl sitting inside my head, unplugging my neurons from my brain then rewiring them to certain unmentionable places that should not be firing or getting excited? Yea, her. The infamous one who turns my brain to mush! She insists on catching every glimpse of them she can, all because of him. Aiden Keys.

My inner Vixen drops to her knees in praise as she spots him on the field, but I push her to the back of my mind and fixate on the game. I managed all of a minute before she takes over my optic nerves and finds her target. Damn it! I pry my eyes off him and force myself to concentrate on the phone. Aiden Keys, his name echoes in my brain as I unlock my phone with a swipe of my rain-soaked finger. I straighten my lips, trying to hide the goofy grin that appears every time I say his name in my head. I can’t help it, though. His name rolls off my tongue way too easily and lulls me into a quixotic trance.

Oh no! I’m not going there. The words Aiden, sexy, and tongue do things to my Vixen that will have me blushing in no time. Unleashing her will torment my already curious virginal mind in embarrassingly innovative ways. I quickly glance at the Rook Center, debating whether I should pick up my cheerleading uniform earlier or wait it out.

Cheering, followed by movement, breaks through my thoughts. The spectators surrounding me cheer for number 76, Aiden Keys. Ugh, these people are detrimental to my sanity! How am I supposed to avoid watching him if they keep shouting his name? I groan loudly in frustration. Thanks to the crowd, my Vixen has honed in on Aiden running through the field, ball at his toes. He’s heading toward the goal, looking like absolute perfection as the other team tries to intervene. He looks phenomenal, even in the scarlet red shorts and unflattering knee-high socks. He comes close to where I’m seated, allowing me to catch a timeless glimpse of those perfect bedroom hazel eyes, laced with amber hues and tiny drops of gold. Sigh. Even his eyes are dreamy. They contrast his dark hair and compliment his angelic voice. I hear him call out to his friends, even when yelling he sounds… Perfect? Sexy? Flawless? What’s the word I’m searching for?

Wait a minute! If I see the color of his eyes and hear his voice, I’m much too close. I quickly pick up my textbook, extend myself out onto the towel and ignore the game in front of me. I’m not here to watch Aiden or his Mount Olympus butt buddies. I’m here to focus on my homework. I continue convincing myself that I’m only here to catch the last few summer rays while being academically productive. My illusive Vixen keeps trying to lift my head up from my book, but I hold it in place. It’s not easy, but the last thing I need is Aiden Keys thinking I am checking him out. Because yes, Aiden Keys with the perfect face, and heavenly body, is a complete and total asshole! He has all the terrible characteristics that make him a magnet for women, and I’m obviously not the only one here watching him.

I compare my fully clothed self to the practically naked girls on either side of me. Even in their tiny bikinis, their assets are showing. They flock here to watch him, hoping the Zeus of all Soccer Gods looks their way and chooses them, and not only for one night. They want to be the girl stirring Aiden Keys’ heart, rather than just his little Key. ‘The girlfriend’ title is up for grabs, and as predictability demands, every vagina bearing person on this field is vying for it. Well, except for me. I’m not a soccer slut, nor do I need him as a boyfriend to prove my worth. I give into my guilty pleasure once in a while and watch him from afar.

The crowd cheers as Aiden scores the first goal of the game, my eyes following him as he skillfully works the field. Teammates and coaches chant for him to pass the ball. With Westbrook still controlling the field, Aiden pauses and does something unexpected—he stops and looks in my direction. Shit! He caught me staring! I glance down immediately and fumble through the pages in my book, trying to squelch the heat threatening to set fire to my poor cheeks. Blushing against my porcelain skin is like wearing an effing streetlight you can see from miles away.

As enticing as having his eyes on me sounds, being the sole beneficiary of his smoldering stare petrifies me. Especially since he’s blowing off the game to do it. He’s intense, dangerous, and I’m likely to wet my pants one way or another. After a few seconds of hiding behind my huge textbook, eyes peering over the pages, I manage to decolor my face and peek back up. I swear he’s looking right at me. I freeze. Did he just smile and wink at me? What’s happening? Thank goodness, my cheeks are comfortably covered by my homework, because they just lit up again. My overtaxed heart stops pumping for a few seconds. During that time, my inner Vixen comes out from the dark corner I previously forced her into. She’s panting like a thirsty puppy and gushing over number 76. Holy Greek mythology, Aiden Keys is looking at me!

It doesn’t take long for the common-sense side of me, not guided by her sexual instincts, to come out. I refer to this side of me as my inner Angel, and before you ask, my mind pretty much works like one of those old cartoons where you see the angel as your conscience and the devil as the temptress. Instead of sitting on either side of my shoulders, they live inside my head, and sometimes take over. I’ve taken Psychology 101, and I’m aware it’s pretty much a glorified conversation between myself, the ego, my ID, and my super-ego. Either way, my inner Angel decided to slip her finger under the Vixen’s chin to close her wanton mouth, He’s not looking at you, stupid. She’s right, why would he be when he’s got the soccer sluts at his beck and call right in front of him?

I roll my eyes at my moment of idiocy and put the book down to rest my head on my hands. What’s wrong with me?  He hasn’t paid any attention to me before. Why would this year be any different? Why would I even want him to? It’s not like he’s going to be miraculously interested in me; at least, not with the soccer sluts ready and willing. I open one eye and peek at the stupid Barbie look-alikes, waving at the Soccer Gods like they’re in a beauty pageant. They even did their hair in long luxurious waves before coming out. I can’t see their faces, but I have no doubt their makeup is flawless. Stupid twats, I think to myself as a tinge of jealousy sparks inside me. My Angel catches it and with meticulous ease, puts it out with her own two fingers. I’m not jealous of them—there’s a reason why they call them the soccer sluts. Their name explains it all.

Oh yeah, nothing like the soccer sluts to pop me out of my potentially sinful bubble. Well, that and the fact that Aiden Keys is not interested in me. Not interested, I think to myself. My Angel screams as she waves her hands in the air frantically. Those were his exact words to you. She has to remind me, doesn’t she? Ugh. Sometimes my inner Angel is a bitch. I groan silently and correct her. As a matter-of-fact, those are the only two words Aiden Keys has ever said to me since August of freshman year. My inner Angel screams some sense back into me by triggering the memory.

I recently returned from the most amazing summer in Europe, visiting my sister, who had come into some good fortune. Not only that, but she kept the company of good men and had an infinite relationship with Jimmy Choo. Needless to say, in two short weeks, I burrowed out of my extremely shy shell. Oh, the confidence a good pair of shoes can give you, but that’s a story for another time. Two months later, I decided I wasn’t holding back in college. I received some good advice from a friend of my sister over the summer. She told me to own who I was, and I’d have the best time of my life.

Good solid advice. The problem? I had no clue who I really was. So, I started Westbrook on a journey to figure myself out. My number one guideline was to try new things. So, I did, and on the first day, I met Mason. By the second day of school, I had three dates, by the fourth; I was on the upperclassmen’s radar. Would you believe that by the fifth day, I was a cheerleader!

Feeling cocky, invincible, and limitless, I gave myself the ultimate challenge, the one guy I was crushing on like a fifth grader; Aiden Keys. He wasn’t as godlike yet, and to be honest, I didn’t know he was on the soccer team until after I was already smitten. He had been taking my breath away and making my heart race since the first time I saw him. Then again, I owed my inner Vixen some thanks for that. When I was around him, the only thing fully functioning was an organ I did not intend to use. At least not yet. It went without saying, when she took over, I was a blithering idiot due to lack of oxygen reaching my brain.

My oxygen-deprived brain thought it was a good idea to get a spoon so that I could cross paths with Aiden. He stood in line with a bunch of the other guys from the team; my friends had stalked them on the campus website the night before. He looked at me, our eyes connected for a split second and I chickened out. Of course, I said nothing. Well, unless you consider blushing as a form of communication. Speaking to him was not a good idea because, for some reason, he intimidated me. I should have walked away. I mean, it must have been a few minutes of mindless staring, but all of his perfection was looking at me. In turn, that caused his friends to look at me, and my heart was beating so fast, and the stars seemed to align, and all the ‘it was meant to be’ jazz. So I flashed him a smile. Apparently, he didn’t like it, because he barked out two words, Not interested. Then turned his back to me and sent me running along with my tail between my legs.

Do I have to say my ego took a hit or is it pretty self-explanatory? After my public humiliation, I thought I was done for, but my datebook quickly filled up. I rapidly racked up a list of gentleman pursuers who, unfortunately, were only after one thing. Go figure! In a school fully equipped with a castle, stables, and Westbrook Knights, chivalry was dead. I would have realized it earlier if not for the Castle Curse.

Let me explain. Having a castle on campus calls to the girl who fantasized about being a princess as a child. When you enroll here, the curse puts a veil over your eyes, and instead of seeing assholes… you see endless potential knights in shining armor, waiting to protect your honor and defend your virtue. Many a princess has fallen to the curse. Instead of walking down the Walk of Pride, they were doing the Walk of Shame. Take it from me, Westbrook doesn’t have horses for the stables, but it has plenty of asses to pull the weight.

Two weeks in, I learned my first college lesson: there is only one thing guys want more than beer and playing video games. And that’s using women to up their status. It’s almost as if there is a private competition between them, where quantity undoubtedly surpasses quality. Being the big man on campus meant having big numbers to boast about.  Another thing I learned? College guys are pretty much a bunch of horny high school boys who got older but didn’t grow up. A term affectionately referred to as the ‘Peter Pan Syndrome.’ What do you get when the Castle Curse collides with the Peter Pan Syndrome? A stroll through Dante’s circles of hell: lust, anger, violence, fraud, and treachery. I mean, take your pick on your preferred sin, I’m sure you’ll find familiar faces waiting for you along the way.

However, the most valuable lesson I learned as a freshman was to tell them to fuck off.  Once I learned this, it was like being liberated from imaginary shackles. Who cared if they didn’t like being blown off? I didn’t like being talked to like I only served for one thing. I was more than a fleeting moment in their imaginary tournament. Most of the time it felt like a stupid, emotionless game. So, I played it my own way. I flirted harmlessly with the guys who were into me. I went on dates. Not once did I reveal my secret: I’m a virgin. After three years, only my girlfriends and my best friend, Christopher, know.

My Robins.

Both my inner Angel and Vixen sigh simultaneously at Robins. Perhaps the only thing they can agree on is my Christopher Robins. The one who calls me Pooh Bear and quotes Winnie the Pooh with me after hours of watching marathons of the cuddly wuddly old bear. He’s not an exception to the general rule for the guys here. As a matter-of-fact, he’s the perfect example of the worst guy to date. He cheats on his girlfriend repeatedly, ignores her excessively, drinks bingefully, and instigates fights. However, he’s also insanely gorgeous, incredibly passionate, innately sweet, and fucking amazing. I wouldn’t date the guy, but I would never turn my back on him. He’s the Selena to my T. Swift, the Horatio to my Hamlet, the Sancho to my Don Quixote, the Genie to my Aladdin, and the Robins to my Pooh Bear.

It doesn’t take long for me to hear Robins’ friendly voice from somewhere in my vicinity. I poke my head up from my book and spot his sweet face strolling along the Walk of Pride, the main stone path that starts at the base of the Library and Breaker Building and leads up to Lover’s Well, on the other side of campus. It’s the one path that connects most of the dormitories.  

I’m surprised to see him here, because he told me he was going home for the weekend to get away from his girlfriend. I don’t question his actions. I’ll never understand their strange relationship, or why he avoids talking about Meg. I simply try not to interfere more than I already do. My presence is enough to stir discussion and bring tension anytime I’m in Meg’s vicinity. Since she’s my cheer captain, this happens often, putting her in a position of authority, a role she really enjoys.

I watch Robins as he admires Westbrook Beach. When he spots me, he flashes me that same sweet smile he’s been giving me since forever. I wave at him, and he nods to his friend, pointing in my direction. Felix understands when it comes to Robins and me: no matter what the other is doing, we have to say hello. Robins picks up his pace, jogging slowly up the small hill and coming in my direction.

Lacey, one of the soccer sluts, stands up when she sees Robins approaching. A little tinge of anger causes my Vixen and Angel to call a momentary truce. Neither is okay with the soccer groupies roaming outside of their usual stomping grounds. I hate that they make an exception for my Robins. He is like a Soccer God, but easier to be around, making him even more appealing.

Just before Lacey stops in front of him, he glances at me with an apologetic smile gradually covering his face. I play it cool by shrugging my shoulders, despite the slight irritation buzzing under my skin. He winks at me, and now instead of watching Aiden Keys, I watch how smooth Robins acts around the ladies. He’s at ease with them, and they are drawn to him. You would think the fact that he had a girlfriend, especially Meg, would discourage them, but nope. It’s the exact opposite. His unavailability makes him even more enticing. I say unavailability loosely. Robins is available when he wants to be, and that’s why his relationship with Meg is always on bumpy ground; but if you ask Meg, her relationship problems are because of one person—me.

It’s stupid, because of all the girls on this campus; I’m the only one that isn’t dying to latch on to her boyfriend’s manhood. What’s the problem in their relationship? It’s that damn smile. Well, maybe it’s not the only problem. I think her biggest problem is Robins’ very cute butt and muscular legs. If we weren’t such good friends, and I was into blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, and he wasn’t such a man slut, then I might have allowed my little schoolgirl crush to flower into something deeper freshman year. I’m glad I nipped that in the bud.

My phone rings and I take my eyes off Robins and Lacey to search the towel for my phone. I find it underneath my textbook and glance at the caller ID. No number? I hate telemarketer calls, so I click ignore. Almost immediately, it rings again, and this time I answer it. Hello? My left hand covers my ear, trying to block out some of the background noise. I didn’t notice how loud it had gotten until I was trying to listen to something. Hello? I say again when I don’t hear an answer from the other end. The call ends. I wonder if Robins is somehow calling me for a rescue.

Lacey is rubbing his arm and giving him all the classic ‘I want you’ signals while he appears tortured. I stifle a laugh, and my hands fly up to cover my mouth. He shoots me a don’t-you-dare-laugh expression, and I raise my book up to hide the huge smile on my face—a huge smile that vanishes the moment he gives Lacey his phone. No way? Lacey? Both my Vixen and Angel agree with me: that’s just gross. Lacey alternates her way between the guys in the soccer suite, so why was she going after Robins?

The teams aren’t playing right this second, and both Dylan and Marcus have their eyes locked on the pair of them with a scowl on each of their faces. Aiden and Christian are talking to Coach Reid and Coach Presley as they cross the field toward the other two. Aiden and Dylan seem to be arguing over something, and I assume something happened on the field, or maybe Lacey is flirting with Robins on purpose? As I watch them, I realize something’s off. Where are Theodore and Sebastian? I can’t find them, and I don’t remember seeing them before. Westbrook isn’t playing with their usual team; they're missing some of the players and coaching staff. I guess scrimmages don’t require everyone.

I look over to Robins just in time to see Lacey’s lips press against his cheek. You have got to be kidding me. I sit up straighter, squinting my eyes in his direction, wishing he could be a little more discreet. The Rook is just across the field. Meg could walk out here any minute and somehow find a way to take it out on me. I’m disappointed when he lingers with Lacey, instead of sending her on her way back to the rest of the soccer sluts.

Purposely ignoring whatever the hell he is doing with Lacey Pierce, I peek over at the soccer field. Most of the players have retreated into the Rook for a break, leaving Coach Reid behind with the referee. I feel someone next to me, and by the citrus and leather smell of his cologne, I know it's Robins. I don’t bother to say hello since he wasn’t in a rush to see me.  You and Meg have the strangest relationship I have ever heard of.  I remind him of his girlfriend of three years as he stands at the edge of my towel. Even though she hates my guts, I feel for her. It can’t be easy watching girls throw themselves at your boyfriend, knowing that he catches them every once in a while.

In a slightly agitated voice, he addresses my question with another question, She isn’t here, is she? He gives me a polite fuck off smile. I narrow my eyes, challenging him to approach the subject. His crooked grin does little to assuage the curiosity in me. I don’t understand why he keeps a girlfriend if he’s constantly going to cheat on her. Giving into my staredown, he says, What she doesn’t see won’t get me in trouble.

What it does do, though, is give her reasons to take her rage out on me. I can’t tell Robins that though.

I exaggeratingly roll my eyes at his blatant disregard for her feelings. His lips press against each other just before he forces himself to take a breath through gritted teeth. Why are you suddenly worried about my and Meg’s relationship? The harshness in his voice startles me, and I almost change the subject. Almost. Too bad it pisses me off.

Aren’t you the least bit worried that she might find out? I lash out. He shrugs, avoiding my question and squats down next to me, moving my bag aside to put his down. Why does he have his bag? It’s Saturday.

No, he answers apathetically. I don’t care. I want to ignore the insensitive remark, but it’s gnawing at me. He wanted an escape from her this weekend, and now he’s talking like this. Is another breakup on the horizon?

Robins? I reach out to touch his hand gently. The softness in his eyes replaces the indifference swiftly. I know something is wrong; this isn’t like him. Robins never uses an abrasive tone with me, even when I sometimes deserve it. He tilts his head back as if realizing something.

I’m sorry, Pooh Bear, he says in the gentlest voice. I got into a fight with Meg, and I guess it’s still rubbing me the wrong way.

I take the meager inch he gives me and roll with it. What happened? Why did you argue? I hope for an answer. I get a cold stare instead. He’s warning me not to go there, his relationship with Meg is not something he wants to talk about. I respect his wishes and back down. Okay, it’s none of my business. I don’t say it to be mean or anything, but it comes out a little bitter. So I grab my textbook and use studying as a decoy.

He snatches the book from my hands and lowers it to see what I’m pretending to read. This shit is boring. He points to a picture of a knight’s tournament. They only teach this crap because there’s a castle here, our mascot is the knight, and we have that stupid Medieval Week in October.

It’s not stupid, I mumble defensively. I love Medieval Week. It turns Halloween into a week-long festival and brings a lot of attention to Westbrook. Many alumni and townspeople come to watch the guys get dressed up in knight costumes. The week starts off with a Knights’ Tournament that usually lasts a couple of days, then there’s the Princess Parade, the Coronation Ceremony, and it ends with a Masquerade Ball on Halloween. It sounds corny, but it’s pretty awesome. It’s like a Renaissance Festival, Medieval Times and a concert all mixed together.

Yes, it is, Robins confirms. You would think he doesn’t participate in it, but he is always at the tournament. Each knight picks a princess who will be in the Princess Parade, and the winning knight and his princess will be coronated at the ceremony. Which pretty much turns into homecoming. Guys only do it because of the girls. I know for a fact that Meg makes him do it every year, but I didn’t know he doesn’t like it since he always seems to have so much fun doing it.

Well, I begin, trying not to lead into another Meg conversation again. I think it’s all kind of romantic, something about the way the knights guard the princesses and ladies of the courts, the chivalry, and dedication all hidden behind the metal. All nice and soft on the outside with a tough exterior. He raises his inquisitive brow at me as if I have lost my mind. I can’t blame him. The Castle Curse is a freshman thing that me, and many of the girls on this campus, obviously still have remnants of. I abstain from saying what I truly want to and opt for, That’s how the perfect man would be, all rough and tough on the outside and gentle and courteous on the inside.

He croaks out something that sounds like ‘you’re crazy’ and I pout, shoving him playfully. He cracks a mischievous smile and grabs hold of my hand, pulling me in close to him and taking my breath away momentarily. I clear my throat and ignore the Vixen’s pleas to consider his eyes. He shakes his head in disbelief, snatches the textbook, and tosses it to the side. This bull is getting to your head. He reaches out and closes the book. We both sit up straight on the towel, just in time for the soccer team to make their way back onto the field.

Like always, my eyes trail to Aiden again, and I feel Robins’ gaze following mine. I sling my attention away before Robins notices who I’m staring at. Knowing him, he’ll tease me about it, endlessly. Because even though Meg and his relationship is off the table, my whole freaking life is up for discussion, and there’s no convincing him otherwise.

Lia, I have to tell you something. His grave voice urges me to search his eyes for a clue. He strains as he tries not to blink and focus on me.

A few moments of silence warn me I’m not going to like whatever he is going to say. Shit. What if Meg finally convinced him to reduce our time together? I chomp on my bottom lip in frustration. Robins doesn’t like that, so I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever he needs to tell me.

I’m not happy, he pauses, and I meet his piercing eyes with mine, about your new boy toy.

Ugh. Connor. He’s what this is all about? Robins enjoys messing with me just a little too much. Now it’s my turn to blow him off with a polite fuck off smile. I’ve no intention of discussing my latest love interest with him, especially since I haven’t even thought about Connor today. I’ve been too busy watching Aiden Keys.

Hey! Robins calls to get my attention, and I feel the furrow take residence in between my eyebrows.