Page 25 of Bitter When He Begs

With his shoulder-length jet-back hair tied back in its usual high ponytail and his sharp, unmistakable features—high cheekbones from his Korean mother, jawline carved from his Irish father, and those intense green eyes that always seem like they’re two seconds from judging you.

He looks like he belongs on a runwayanda soccer pitch. Which makes sense, since he’s one of Blackthorne’s top midfielders. Lean and tall at 6’2”, he’s built like a panther in a hoodie.

A hoodie that, today, is stretched slightly across his broad chest, the Sigma Rho Alpha letters bold and visible. His hair’s a little messy, that tells me he’s already been running his hands through it, then tying it back up—something he only does when he’s agitated.

Our dads are best friends and we grew up together, so that makes us best friends,andthat means I already know why he’s here.

I don’t even bother sitting up. I just sigh as he shuts the door behind him, leans against it, crosses his arms, and levels me with a look that says I’ve got thirty seconds to explain myself before he starts kicking furniture.

“You look like shit,” he announces flatly, voice lazy as ever. It’s not even mean—just…Nate.

“Thanks. Really needed that boost today,” I mutter, eyes still on the ceiling.

“You also look like you lost a fight with your own dignity,” he adds, pushing off the door and making his way over to my desk chair. He drops into it like he’s settling in for a performance. “Which, coincidentally, is why I’m here.”

I groan. “Please tell me this isn’t about—”

“You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on between you and Luca Devereaux?”

I tense, but only for a second. Then I force myself to scoff, turning onto my side, away from his stare, propping my head up on my arm like I don’t care. “Nothing is going on.”

He lets out a laugh, one that’s got bullshit written all over it. “Yeah? Try again.”

I drag my hands down my face. “Christ, Nate—”

“No, because everyone’s noticed,” he continues, crossing his arms again. “And, by everyone, I meaneveryone. The guys, the pledges, even fucking Lee—”

I flinch at Lee’s name. Nate notices immediately and narrows his green eyes at me. “Yeah. Thought so.”

I push myself up on my elbows, glaring at him. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Am I?” Nate raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Blackthorne’s golden boy has his fucking teeth in you, and I want to know why.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s a bully and a dick, that’s what’s going on.”

Nate hums like he’s considering that, but I already know I’m not off the hook. “Funny, because last I checked, everyone here is a dick, but none of them look at you the way he does.”

My stomach twists, but I keep my expression bored. “And how does he look at me?”

He tilts his head to the side. “Like he wants something from you.”

My pulse stutters, but I keep my voice flat. “That’s because he does.”

Nate leans back, raising an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, does Luca fucking Devereaux want from you?”

I hesitate.

I could tell Nate everything—about the first night, about what I overheard, about the way Luca has owned me since then, pulling me back in every time I think I’ve broken free.

I could tell him about the texts, about the way Luca dragged me into his room, made me straddle him, mocked me as I came in my sweats like some desperate little toy for him to play with.

I could tell him about how I hate him, about how I hate myself more for letting it continue. I could tell him about the way I see Luca now, about the way the memory of that overheard conversation lingers like a warning in the back of my mind.

You had a fucking pharmacy in your system.

I could tell him I think Luca has a problem. I could tell him I think I might be one of them. Another problem. Another thing Luca needs and can’t let go of.

But I don’t. Because even if I hate what’s happening, even if I should be telling someone, even if Luca is dangerous,controlling, and possessive in a way that makes my skin burn and my head ache—