Page 81 of Cruel When He Smiles

And then he reaches out. Fingertips light, tracing my jaw, my cheek, the way I touched him weeks ago. I can’t move, notbecause I can’t push him away, but because I don’t understand what’s happening.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t how this goes.

I push. He reacts. I win.

That’s how it’s supposed to work.

But now he’s touching me like he’s figured something out. Like he’s testing a theory. Like he’s learning something new about me that I don’t want him to know.

His voice is soft, almost amused. “Do you need my attention, Liam?”

My brain stalls.

He tilts his head, watching me too closely, too carefully. “Is that why you’ve been watching me?”

I feel my pulse in my throat, steady but wrong, too aware of every movement, every fucking thing about this moment that I don’t understand.

Nate lets out a breath, his thumb barely brushing my cheekbone before he steps back, before he takes that warmth away, before he fucking speaks again. “Must be exhausting, trying so hard to be untouchable when you’re just as desperate as the rest of us.”

And then he walks away, leaving me standing there still feeling the ghost of his touch on my skin. Still hearing his words ringing in my ears.

Nate

Iwalkaway,andfor the first time since this whole fucking thing started, I feel like I’ve won.

Liam doesn’t call after me. He doesn’t grab me, doesn’t push back, doesn’t move. He just stands there, still as stone, and I don’t need to turn around to know I fucking got to him. I saw the flicker of something he didn’t want me to see. The confusion in his eyes, the sharp inhale, the way his body locked up like he didn’t know how to process what just happened.

For weeks, he’s been pulling me apart piece by piece, setting me up just to knock me down, making me play by his rules, making me second-guess everything I was before him. But now I know he’s not untouchable. He’s not above this. He’s just like me.

Sage was right—Liam doesn’t get to fucking win.

I roll my shoulders as I put distance between us, letting the adrenaline bleed into something smoother, something satisfied. I didn’t just push back, I fucked him up. I made him feelsomething, and that’s what he didn’t want; that’s what he wasn’t expecting.

I smile to myself, pleased, a slow burn of satisfaction curling in my chest. Because I could have walked away like I always do, could have let him pull me into the same tired game, could have let him win.

But I turned it on him. I touched him the way he touched me. I made him question himself, made him feel watched, made him feel exposed, and the best part? The best fucking part? I could see how much he hated it, and, fuck, I loved it.

I’m not stupid, though. I know how he works, how he thinks, how his mind twists things into something worse, how he turns confusion into something uglier. And I know he’s not just going to let this go. He’s going to up the ante because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, that means I won—and Liam Callahan doesn’t fucking lose.

I let out a slow breath, licking my lips, my mind already working through what comes next, what move he’s going to make, what he’s going to do to fix this and turn the tables back in his favor.

He’s going to come harder. He’s going to make me pay for getting under his skin.

But this time, I’m fucking ready for it.

The music is loud; the bass is shaking the floor beneath my feet, and the heat of too many bodies pressed into the frat house is making the air thick, charged, and alive. I haven’t felt this in weeks—this lightness, this freedom, this fucking release.

Sage is next to me, drink in hand, watching me with that familiar, assessing look like he’s still waiting for me to crack or fall apart. But I don’t. Not tonight.

Tonight, I’m present.

I laugh when one of the guys from my team slings an arm around my shoulders. I talk shit with some girl in my class who barely remembers my name. The alcohol settles warm in my stomach as I move through the crowd, letting the energy of the party wash over me, letting it sink into my skin, letting myself breathe for once.

I deserve this. I deserve one night where I don’t have to think about Liam. But of course, the universe doesn’t fucking work like that, because the second I feel that prickle of awareness at the back of my neck, I know he’s here.

I keep my expression smooth, my body loose, refusing to give him the reaction he wants, refusing to acknowledge him. This is part of the game now.