Alphas Like Us (Like Us, #3)

by Krista Ritchie

And I think about what Farrow once told me. It’s the little things. It really is.

Quinn peers at the tabloid and points at a page. “Damn. Jane’s on the worst dressed list again.” Thatcher pulls the magazine out of Donnelly’ grip and tosses it in the nearby trash. “No one should be reading that here.” He retrains his attention onto the photo shoot. Donnelly mouths to me, grumpy.

Oscar says, “Either Kitsuwon is in denial about his feelings for that girl or he’s playing all of us.” “Denial,” most of us say because Akara is adamant that they’re just friends. Not in the excessive way to cover a lie. In a peeved, fuck-off way.

Jane appears the furthest thing from annoyed when I’m quiet, and that stuns me. She just looks me over with that mounting curiosity, and she scuffs sand with her bare foot.

Her breezy voice and distinctive way of speaking is like honey dripping down my throat.

She’s perceptive. Especially when her whole attention is on you. It’s like you’re the center of the fucking universe.