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She pauses like she’s actually considering this, her gaze dropping down to my belt. She gnaws on her lip a second, shoulders drooping. “No,” she grumbles, kicking a pebble across the sidewalk. “Can’t do it.”

Yeah, I thought so.

“Why do you want to eat something that already looks like vomit, anyway?” I ask, lip curling. “You’re just going to puke it back up.”

She shakes her head. “It’s been days since I felt morning sickness. Guess I’m moving out of that phase.”

I’m unwilling to discuss these ‘phases’. There are these little things about her that are changing. Or maybe not so little things. Like her tits. They’re bigger. I know it. It’s like a disturbance in the Force or something. I sense their growth.

And her nipples are so fucking sensitive. High beams all day long. And when I woke up in bed with her this morning, my arm wrapped around her stomach, she felt… thicker.

I don’t like it. I mean, fine, the tits aren’t the worst—notthat she’s letting me touch them. What I don’t like is the reminder ofwhyher body is changing. Of what’s growing inside or how our lives are fucked the instant the thing comes out. My brothers are already goners. I know they’ll change their minds once it gets here. Once Father ruins our lives even more. They’ll regret being pussies, refusing to run while we had a chance.

She glances at the Mexican place again, mouth twisting hungrily, and then peeks at me. “One burrito hardly seems worth it.”

I do a double take, realizing this chick’s seriously down to whore herself out for a burrito. The fuck is Lex doing to her? I raise my chin. “Name your price.”

“Two, with all the fillings and toppings I want,” she demands, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing up her tits. “Two perweek. And you can’t come in my mouth or on my face.”

“Deal,” I say, or rather my cock says, before I even think it through. I’m that fucking desperate.

That is until we’re sitting at a small, festively decorated table at Señor Mexicana, and I see her massacre the burrito. Like, literally take it down like a wild animal. Her eyes go feral the second the waitress sets the plate in front of her, and she tears into it with one giant bite after another. I watch in equal parts disgust, fascination, and terror.

She stuffs the burrito between her teeth and tears through it like sinew.

“You know what?” I say, eyeing the glob of guacamole on her cheek. “I’m good.”

“What do you mean?” She swipes her finger into a pool of sour cream and shoves it in her mouth.

Grimacing, I tell her, “I’m not putting my cock in there. You’re like a fucking piranha. Consider the bj declined.”

She freezes mid-chew. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” I gesture at the carnage in front of her, and she rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry if myeating for tworepulses you.”

I scoff. “Convenient excuse.”

She takes a big, deliberate bite. “I’m also hating for two.”

I distract myself by scrolling through my phone. “What’s so great about West End anyway?” She makes a muffled, questioning sound that doesn’t even resemble words. “At the palace, you’re basically waited on hand and foot. Safer than houses. Groomed and plucked and adorned with jewels. Not to mention, apparently having your choice of premium Prince dick.” Baffled, I wonder, “Why do you even want to go back?”

She gives me an obvious look. “You just tried to sexually extort me for a burrito. Gee, I wonder.”

Jaw locking, I lean forward, voice low and cutting. “My whole family chose you over me. Did you know that?” Of course, she didn’t. I can see it in the dull confusion in her eyes. “I sleep in your bed, I put on a convincing performance for the frat, I protect you at all fucking costs, and I do all of this despite the fact you stabbed me in the back. You took something I gave you—intel that was meant for your own fucking sake—and used it against me.” I almost enjoy how her face falls, gaze falling to her plate. Leaning back, I conclude, “Maybe I don’t roll out the red carpet for you like everyone else, but I’ve never tried to get you killed. I’d say I treat you just fine.”

After a long moment, she reaches for her drink. “I wasn’t trying to get you killed.”

I shrug. “Couldn’t care less if you were.”

“I wasn’t,” she repeats, trying to catch my gaze. “It was never about that.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask her to. It wouldn’t matter. If life has taught me anything, it’s that people are always looking for something to take. At the end of the day, the fault lies with me. I looked into these big green eyes and saw someone worth giving something to.

My mistake.

The tension lingers in the background as she finishes her second burrito in silence.