Page 5 of Bitter When He Begs

But he is a problem. Because he’s standing there looking different, looking better. Looking like he isn’t afraid of me anymore.

We can’t have that now, can we?

Sage

Ileanagainstthebar, half-listening to the bass thumping through the floor, my drink cold against my palm as I glance at Lee. He’s got that easy grin that always makes me feel like I belong.

It’s been three months since I got here, three months since I thought I’d spend my time at Blackthorne as the typical nerd. Keeping my head down so no one asks about my last name, focusing on school, and avoiding anything remotely social. But somehow, that’s not how it played out.

I like it here, and I actually fit in. I’ve got friends—real ones. Guys who don’t just tolerate me because of some legacy bullshit or my last name, but who genuinely want me around. I don’t feel like an outsider trying to wedge himself into a world he doesn’t belong in.

Even the frat, which I was so sure I’d hate, has grown on me. The parties, the late-night chaos, the inside jokes that make me laugh harder than I want to admit—it’s good.

And Lee?

Lee isverygood.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here since you normally hate these parties before a test week,” he says, smirking as he takes a sip from his drink. He’s got that perfect combination of confidence and lazy charm. Dark hair tousled like he rolled out of bed that way, sharp cheekbones, a lean frame, and just enough cockiness to make everything he says sound like an invitation.

I shrug and push my glasses up my nose. “Didn’t think I’d be here, but, you know… it’s literally my frat house.”

Lee chuckles. “That why you’re still standing here talking to me instead of doing shots with your frat brothers?”

I grin, tilting my head. “Maybe I just like talking to you.”

His smirk deepens, and yeah, okay, Idefinitelylike talking to him. We’ve hooked up before, once during some party neither of us really remembers, and a couple more times after that when I stopped overthinking everything. It’s easy with him; no pressure, no weird expectations—just fun.

“You could do more than talk,” he murmurs, voice dipping just low enough that it sends a warm pulse through my stomach.

I glance away for half a second to keep from smiling too much. “Are you suggesting something?”

He leans in, his fingers brushing against my wrist, barely there but enough to make my skin tingle. “I could be.”

And I could say yes. I want to. It would be easy, slipping away with him, letting myself enjoy the night, letting myself have something uncomplicated and good.

But then I see someone I’ve been avoiding since he threatened me, and my stomach fucking drops.

Luca Devereaux.

He’s moving through the crowd, cutting across the party with that effortless, arrogant stride, broad shoulders pushing past people who barely even seem to register that they should movefor him. Like the whole room bends to him without him even trying.

Three months.

Three months since he shoved me against a locker with his fingers wrapped around my throat, his voice low and dark and dangerous as he made sure I understood exactly what would happen if I opened my mouth.

Three months since I was convinced he wasn’t going to let me walk away from that conversation without breaking something first.

He continued to taunt me for about a week after what happened in the locker room, just to make sure I knew my place was under his cleat. I didn’t snitch, kept my head down and avoided him when he got bored with me.

So why does it feel like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t?

“Sage?” Lee’s voice pulls me back, but it sounds farther away than it should.

I force myself to focus and clear my throat, gripping my drink tighter than necessary. “Yeah?”

He tilts his head to the side, and I hate the way he’s studying me. “You good?”

Nodding, I shoot him a smirk while pretending Luca isn’t closing in. “Yeah, just—”