“I see how your lips twist when you lie. How your shoulders stiffen when you pretend you’re not scared. I know the exact second your bravado runs out and your panic kicks in, and I know—” His voice drops to a velvet murmur, “—that you tell yourself a lot of things that aren’t true.”
“Like what?” I ask, and my voice is barely there.
Landon goes to respond, but Vincent clears his throat loudly behind us, snapping the moment like a rubber band. “Alright, Shakespeare,” he drawls, folding his arms with the dramatic flair of a man long-suffering. “Save the tortured poetry for someone who’s not three seconds away from kicking you in the dick.”
Landon doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t so much as glance in Vincent’s direction. His eyes stay locked on mine, steady and electric. “She’d have to stop staring first.”
And damn him—he’s right. My eyes are still on his, caught in that stupid, ocean-blue undertow that’s pulling me deeper with every breath. It takes effort—actual, physical effort—to drag my gaze away. To break the spell.
I look down, because if I keep looking at him, I’ll forget. Forget why this is a bad idea. Forget every scar that says men like him are danger dressed in charm. Forget that wanting him is reckless. Stupid. Bound to end with me bleeding on the floor and calling it love.
My breath catches, and I jump back like Landon’s touch has seared itself into my skin. I turn quickly, latching onto the first distraction I see—Vincent, arms crossed, smugness oozing from every sarcastic pore.
“I don’t mean to interrupt the little eye-fuckathon,” Vincent drawls, “but some of us have better things to do than third-wheel a frat party romance.”
“Awe,” I sneer, still breathless. “You must’ve burned out in high school.”
Vincent lifts a brow. “Keep talking, Jaz. ‘Cause I’m about ten seconds away from convincing admissions to drop your ass from Professor Kilgore’s class.”
Landon perks up. “Kilgore?”
I scowl. “You wouldn’t.”
I freeze. “You got me into Kilgore’s class?” My voice hits a pitch I didn’t even know I was capable of, and suddenly I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet. “You got me intoProfessor Conner freakingKilgore’sclass?!”
Vincent shrugs like it’s nothing. “Well I’m going to need you in my corner to get Willow back so…”
“Kilgore isthetop forensic scientist in the entire state of Texas—maybe even the country!” I practically squeal. “He solved that triple-murder case in Houston just by analyzing pollen, and he is like my idol.”
Rumor has it the FBI has wanted him for years, but he loves his horse Jelly more than the city, and despite being an official detective, he works more as a resource for special crimes.
Vincent gives Landon a deadpan look. “And she saysyou’rethe dramatic one.”
I smack his arm. “Shut up, you absolute angel. I could kiss you.”
“Absolutely not,” Landon growls. “To the class and to kissing Vincent.”
“Okay—first things first—I can kiss anyone I want,” I snap. “And two, Iamtaking Kilgore’s class. It is my dream to be a Forensic Psychologist, and a recommendation from him would be everything to me.”
Landon walks a little closer, his voice dropping a few octaves. “Peach, I don’t think--”
“Save it.”
“Fine.” Landon nods sharply, looking over to Vincent. “Send me her schedule. I gotta make a run.”
Vincent nods. “I’ll walk you out.”
Landon and Vincent are already on their way out the door when Landon turns on me, eyes narrowing. “Stay here.”
“Ruff,” I deadpan, but Landon smiles again so fucking smugly I don’t know if I want to slap him, or see that smirk with me dripping down his chin.
“Good girl, Peach.”
5
LANDON
“I’m sorry,”I squat down to the level of the convulsing man.
