“Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" I arch an eyebrow.
His gaze flashes to mine. "Like you're thinking about the sparring gym last night."
"Well, now that you mention it." My tongue flicks over my lower lip, remembering how his hips pinned mine to the mat after everyone had left for the night. How close we both came to giving in to the pulsing need between us.
His jaw flexes, and his grip tightens on his fork. "Seriously. I can't think when you look at me like that."
"You're the one with the ridiculous rule about not falling for each other," I remind him.
"You're still looking." He forces his attention back to his plate.
"You make it hard to look away." I miss his mouth on my skin, the feel of his body pressed against mine. I miss the look on his face when he watched me come undone. But I miss the feeling of him curled around me in sleep more.
"I'm over here keeping my hands and memories to myself because you asked me to, and you're fucking me with your eyes. That's not playing fair."
"Told you to stop staring." There's laughter in his voice, but his face is as expressionless as ever.
I tap my fork on my plate in pure frustration. You know what. Fuck this. Two can play at this game.
"If you'd just man up and admit there's something between us, I would strip down to my skin so you could see every single inch of me. And once I had you begging, I'd drop down to my knees, undo those flight leathers you're wearing, and wrap my lips around—"
Xaden chokes.
Every head in the dining hall turns his way, and Garrick pounds on his back until Xaden waves him off, taking a drink of his water.
I grin, which earns me about six looks of confusion from our table and one set of rolled eyes from Liam.
"You're going to be the death of me”