Page 15 of Filthy Little Pretties

It’s strange. Her voice is comfortingly familiar but different at the same time. I run my hand up her back, squeezing her closer before she breaks away. Donovan lifts her hands to my face, and I bend forward, so she can reach me.

“So, are you going to keep trying to fuck me, or can we get straight to the part where I say ‘not a chance’ and then we decide to be best friends again?”

My laugh rumbles through my chest as I stare at her beautiful damn face. “I fucking missed you, twerp. When did you get back? Why? How? I want to hear it all.”

She gives me a dramatic look of terror before pushing my face away and laughing. “Easy, tiger. Maybe hold all questions until the end of the day? I’m already slightly overwhelmed by you, and I think we’re going to be late.”

“Not going to be. Are.”

A sparkle grabs my attention, and before I can stop myself—not that I would—I reach out between the opened buttons on her crisp white shirt, right above her breasts, and touch the penny Liam gave her when we were kids.

“You still have it.”

My finger brushes against her tanned skin, watching it pebble as I trace the edges of the oval coin. I lock eyes with her, disregarding the previous request. “Tell me this, are you back for good?”

“For long enough, Grey.”

My hand drops away as my brow furrows. I open my mouth to ask another question, but she deflects like a master, attempting to throw an arm over my much higher shoulder. “Now, you’re making me out to be a liar. Stop slacking on the job, McCallister.”

“Come on,” I direct, ducking backward under her arm as her head swings to follow me, but I stand behind her, my hands engulfing her narrow hips, and push forward. “Liam’s gonna shit himself.”

“Liam’s here!” she squeals again, gripping my wrists, trying to shake me. “And here I was thinking this was going to be a disaster, but things seem to be looking up for me.”

Oh, I have one thing looking up for sure.

Donovan

THE HALLS ARE QUIET ASwe enter the school. Grey wasn’t lying; classes have already begun. Damn. I hate being late, but seeing Grey again has made it all worth it. I feel like I’m high on a mixture of nostalgia and pheromones. I don’t know if I’m smiling because it’s him or because of what he’s grown into.

Because, damn.

I follow next to him, smiling like a loon, bumping my shoulder into his ribs as we walk. “I swear this feels like a dream. I never expected to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, first off, I thought I was going to Madison, so I wasn’t expecting to see any guys.”

He smirks as I glance sideways at him. “I guess it’s lucky you had a change of plans. But I always knew I’d see you again.”

“Shut up. No you didn’t.”

Grey smirks as he lifts my wrist and inspects my bracelets, his head shaking in amusement. “Still the same.” I wonder if he still has his—no, that’s dumb. “Of course I knew I’d see you. You made me promise to. And a man is only as good as his word.”

The memory of our pact comes to mind, and I throw out a laugh, following him through the tiled halls lined with lockers and fancy banners saying, “Welcome back.”

“A man of his word,” I muse, as if it’s a foreign concept, because it is. “You might be the last decent guy left on the planet.”

His head turns toward me, those dark brown eyes fixed on me, scrutinizing my joke, but I wink to spin my truth into humor until his hand on my waist halts me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sees right through me, but I know he doesn’t. He can’t. The Donovan I am today is a far cry from the prepubescent kid he knew.

Grey opens his mouth to speak, brows drawing together, when giggling draws my attention to a couple of girls walking down the hall and breaks the moment. They’re looking at him and back to me as if something illicit is happening, and I can’t help but wonder if Grey has a reputation with women as bad as mine with men.

“Someone has fans.”

“More like volunteers. Decent isn’t a word used to describe me.”

Well, there’s my answer. I roll my eyes dramatically as he releases me and gives me a scoot forward, making me laugh again. I turn and look back at him, but he walks past me, clearly expecting me to follow. He’s reaching inside his blazer, pulling out a white piece of paper that resembles a schedule, when I catch back up to him.

“I see. So, you’re a slut now,” I jokingly accuse, nosing in closer, pressing my arm to his to see it’s my schedule.