Page 84 of The Ruthless Note

“You can have mine,” Sol says, setting it in front of her.

Stars in her eyes, Serena glances up. “Thanks.”

“Mind if I sit?”

My heart bangs against my ribs. Maybe it’s Serena’s little comment about Dutch and Sol fighting over me, but now I’m hyperaware of everything I do and say around Sol in case it’s giving the wrong impression.

“I was just about to leave,” I say, gathering my tray.

He cocks his head to the side. “Are you avoiding me, Cadence?”

“Avoiding you? Why would I do that? We’re friends.”

“Great friends,” Serena says, half of the fruit cup already gone. Her mouth full, she adds, “Cadence was just telling me about how friendly you are.”

Sol’s eyes remain dark. They fix on me. “I wanted to ask about your sister.”

“She’s great. Everything’s great.” I back away from the table.

“I thought she was sick. Dutch said she had a surgery or something.”

“Your sister had surgery?” Serena gulps. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was to take out her appendix. The surgery was successful. She’ll live another day.”

In the distance, the cafeteria door opens. Dutch, Finn, and Zane step out. Paris is with them. She’s sticking close to Dutch, one hand around his bicep.

My fingernails dig into my Redwood Prep skirt.

I force myself to breathe, averting my eyes and pointing them at Sol. “Thanks for asking though.”

“I wish I could have helped more that day.”

“It’s fine.” My eyes, traitorous as they are, flash up to Dutch’s. He’s staring at me from the distance, those two dark honey pits in his face full of warning.

If he comes over—

If he throws me over his shoulder—

If he makes good on that threat to have me begging for him—

I’ve been there before. With his hot hands on my body. With his lips on mine. With desire rushing through me like a flood.

He’s good for the threat.

And after all he’s done, I’m still not great at controlling my emotions around him.

Speeding up, I heft my other leg over the bench and back away. “I’ll see you in class, Sol. Later.”

Dutch doesn’t follow me, but his eyes do. I glance over my shoulder like an idiot and see that he’s sitting around the table. Paris is edging up against him, but he’s not looking at her.

He’s looking at me. Leaned back. Chin tilted up.

The bastard.

I’ve never seen a man so full of himself. It’s obvious the way he sits like a king holding court, the way his lips curl up like he knows he’s planted a seed in my mind to grow and take over. Even the way he runs his fingers through his blond hair and cocks his head just so is irritatingly hot.

I clutch my tray to my chest and hustle into the cafeteria.