Gypsy king

The only way I was going to get there was by reaching into his lap. My brain screamed danger zone and I shied away even farther.

“What are we looking for?” he asked, picking up his yearbook and thumbing through the first couple of pages.

“Pictures of you,” I deadpa

“Really?”

“No.”

He chuckled, flipping through more pages. “Glad to see sex hasn’t dulled your spirit.”

“On the contrary, I hate you even more now.”

“Ouch.” He clutched at his heart. “Harsh.”

“No harsher than you sending me on my way last night like I was a five-dollar hooker.” I flipped through my own book, the pages turning too fast to really see what was on them. But I kept my eyes glued to the page so he wouldn’t see how much he’d hurt me.

“Bryce.” His hand came to my arm, stilling my movements. I stared at his long fingers on my wrist but refused to look at his face. “I’m a dick. The whole thing . . . it caught me off guard. And then you acted like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I shook off his hold. “It was only sex.”

“Only sex? Woman, that was out-of-this-world fucking.”

I shrugged, not trusting myself with words. I mean . . . he wasn’t wrong. And I should have hated him after last night.

It irritated me to no end that I didn’t.

Returning to the yearbook, I found the section for club photos. I studied the small faces in the abundance of group photos, doing my best to ignore the intoxicating scent coming from Dash’s T-shirt. Whatever laundry soap he used, it added a fresh smell to his naturally rich aroma. The combination was tempting. Even after last night, this man still tempted.

Damn him.

I raised my flashlight to the page, squinting at the tiny photos until I spotted Amina’s face in the sophomore class’s group photo. Her hair had grown since the previous picture, but the smile and carefree look remained.

“That’s her?”

His breath ghosted across my cheek and my face turned up to his profile. Dash was an inch away, right within kissing distance. I leaned away, not trusting myself in his proximity.

“That’s her.” I twisted to give him my shoulder and force him away.

He went back to his own yearbook but didn’t move away. The heat from his arm radiated against me, distracting me from the photos. Focus, Bryce. I narrowed my eyes at the yearbook. Focus.

I was here to find information on Amina. Dash was a nuisance and nothing more. Except for the fact that he was responsible for the dull ache in my center.

The sound of flipping pages was the only noise in the room. Dash turned his pages in rhythm with my own, until he stilled.

“What?” I leaned over to look at the page he had open.

“Nothing.” He turned the page. “Just saw a picture of my old neighbor. He hasn’t aged well.”

“Oh.” I went back to my book, scooting even farther away.

Dash flew through the rest of his yearbook, setting it on the floor when he was done. Then he reached for the shelf behind us and pulled out a different book. This one newer and thicker.

“What are you doing?”

He gri

I found Dash quickly on the colorful page. He looked younger—and cockier, if that was even possible. I hated myself for it, but teenage Kingston Slater was total jailbait.

His jaw was more defined now, his shoulders broader. Dash’s eyes had more crinkles at the sides when he gri

“You’re leaving?”

He raised a hand, waving without a word as he walked out of the room.

What the hell? Should I leave too? I looked around, trying to find out if there was a reason for Dash’s sudden disappearance, but the library was still. Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom. Maybe he didn’t want to be sitting so close to me either.

I dismissed it all, focusing on what I’d come here to do. Besides, given his recent behavior, Dash would show up again soon.

I made it through the rest of Amina’s sophomore year and then sca

Setting the yearbook aside, I stood, creeping around one of the bookshelves to look out the window. A police car was parked right out front.

In the distance, I spotted Dash on his Harley. Watching. Waiting.

Either he’d known that the cops were on their way and that was why he’d left. Or . . .

“He wouldn’t,” I told myself.

He wouldn’t have called the cops on me, would he?

As the cops rushed to the front doors, I answered my own question. Of course he would.

I gritted my teeth. “That son of a bitch.”