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brIELLE

O ff to the side of the room, dripping blue-dyed water on Headmaster Snyder’s oriental rug, I did my best to hide the wet-T-shirt look I sported—thanks to Preston’s prank. I clutched a blanket around myself from Kathy, Snyder’s angel of an administrative assistant. Still, I dripped.

Preston sat in a chair across from the headmaster. I’d ordered him to come with me, getting one of the teacher’s aides to cover my class. Not once did the little punk shoot me a sly look or a smirk. And why is that? Because of the headmaster? Or does he genuinely regret turning me into a Smurf?

After witnessing Ares with Preston, I wanted to be more understanding of his situation, but his latest stunt was too much for me to ignore.

Actually, the superglue should have been the last straw, but being a rookie, I’d let it slide—a mistake I wouldn’t make again because I wasn’t getting through to him.

I’d stood silently as the headmaster had lectured Preston.

All his crimes—er, pranks—were out in the open.

It didn’t look good for him. Part of me worried that I was doing the wrong thing, that everything the kid had done was a cry for help.

A shiver tore through me, and my concern quickly evaporated.

He’d ruined two outfits and had caused such classroom chaos that I barely held authority over the students.

When the door to the headmaster’s office opened and Ares walked in, a jolt of that familiar desire at his mere presence rushed through me, creating a confusing mix of emotions.

That type of heat wasn’t welcome in my current, lovely situation.

And isn’t it great he gets to see me looking like this?

I tugged the blanket tighter around myself rather than give in to the urge to drop it and flash him like a jersey chaser on the prowl.

The slight movement caused Ares to turn.

I grimaced at his wide eyes and raised brows. Yep, I looked lovely.

A slight shake of my head telegraphed what I needed from him— not to call me Brielle.

That could be a problem with the headmaster, and I wanted the focus to remain on Preston, not take a sharp turn and point at me as part of the problem.

Even with the small exchange, I was impossibly aware of Ares.

Why can’t I get him out of my system? We weren’t dating, we weren’t anything—other than incredibly attracted to each other and, since I was trying to be honest with myself, friends.

That was something, for the time being. But the benefits part would end. It has to, right?

But do I want it to? The jury was out on that one.

“Mr. Bellingham.” Headmaster Snyder waved in my direction, and my attention snapped back to why I was in the room. “I appreciate you coming on such short notice, but as you can see, we have a problem. Mr. Waters has been quite a disruption in class, and his behavior simply cannot continue.”

Ares rested his hand on Preston’s shoulder.

I read it for what it was—a sign of support, unity.

The silent motion bred familiarity, something I’d done for Ser against our crazy parents more times than I could count.

My shoulders slumped. There had to be a way to get through to Preston.

I only hoped that whatever punishment the headmaster gave would be the start of it.

As the headmaster droned on about what Preston had been doing in class, I got lost in how broad Ares’s shoulders were.

I’d already heard the headmaster’s spiel, so my listening didn’t matter.

Or that was what I convinced myself as I shivered about two feet behind Ares.

I curled my hands in the blanket to keep from trailing them over his back and feeling the muscles bulge and jump beneath my fingertips—smooth skin over steel.

I’d never felt so safe, beautiful, or desired as I did in his arms. He was an obsession I wasn’t sure I could quit.

All good things came to an end, though. I’d learned that firsthand.

“Then we agree.” Headmaster Snyder threaded his fingers together on his large, ornate mahogany desk, and I snapped to attention, recognizing it as his tell before issuing a decree.

“Mr. Waters will serve a two-week, out-of-school suspension. During that time, he will come in when Miss Sinclair needs him to help with class preparation or cleanup. He will not participate in football until the suspension is over.”

“What?” Preston jerked in his chair, his gaze shooting up to Ares. “Wait, no. I just got on the team.”

“P, your actions have consequences. How would your mom have felt if she knew you dumped dyed water on Miss Sinclair? Or the glue? Or any of the other pranks you’ve pulled?”

Preston’s head dropped. “But she’s not here.”

My eyes watered, and I had to blink back tears, quickly turning my head to the side before they saw.

“Headmaster Snyder, my mom works while Preston is at school. She might not be able to take a full two weeks off. Would it be possible to do the second week as an in-school suspension?”

Silence stretched, and I met the headmaster’s cold gray eyes. I gave a slight nod, knowing I would be responsible for finding extra things for Preston to do during that time, aside from his usual workload.

After approval for the schedule change, the three of us filed out of Headmaster Snyder’s office.

Preston walked in front of us, and heat rolled off Ares as we walked down the mostly empty hall.

It was freezing in the academy, thanks to being wet, and I wanted to inch closer to him, share his heat, and let him tuck me protectively into his side.

I shook my head. What is happening to me?

“Preston.” Ares halted his nephew. “You’re forgetting something.”

I stopped when they did, Preston half turning toward me, his ordinarily expressive face slack with misery I never wanted to see.

“I’m sorry, Miss Sinclair. It won’t happen again.”

I nodded, unsure of how to respond. I wanted to say so many things, but maybe… “I get why you’ve been acting out, but it’s still not okay.”

His lips quivered, and he pressed them into a tight line, demolishing my resolve to be strict. I wanted to tell him that the cost to my wardrobe was a hard hit, but I didn’t want to lay that on their shoulders.

“I know you’ll make it up to me. Let’s put it behind us and move forward.”

Preston nodded then shot Ares a look. “Can we go now?”

“Not until you talk to your coach. I’ll wait for you by the car.”

Horror widened Preston’s eyes. “What? No. Uncle Ares, come on. The headmaster will tell him.”

“Part of being on the team is being responsible for your actions.” Ares’s voice was soft, patient.

“But everyone will be there,” Preston complained.

“You should have thought of that before you did what you did. ”

“Ahh,” Preston groaned but pivoted toward the locker rooms.

“All right, let’s see what the fuck he did to your clothes this time.” Ares grasped the edges of the blanket I’d pinched together and gently drew them back. “Damn, Brielle.”

My lips twitched. “It wasn’t funny then, but it kind of is now. It’s like I entered a frat party’s wet-T-shirt contest all over again.”

His brows climbed his forehead, and he closed the blanket’s edges as a student rounded the corner farther down the hallway. “You participated in a lot of those?”

I snorted a laugh. “Once. And I was so drunk I spent the night praying to the porcelain god, with my roommate holding my hair. I’d hoped to never relive the experience, but hey, at least this time, I don’t have a hangover.”

He grunted before settling his hand on the small of my back, directing me toward the exit and where our cars waited.

“I’m sorry, Brie. I thought the last time I talked to Preston had gotten through.”

“Getting shut out of football seemed to hit home. There’s hope.” I flashed him an optimistic smile I didn’t entirely feel. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”

“Yeah, I try to be there when Mom can’t. It’s been… hard on her—all the rebelling P’s done over the past two years.”

“I can’t imagine. Will you get in trouble with your coach?” It had to be at the start of his practice, or maybe even into it already.

He ran his hand through dark-blond hair, rumpling it in that sexy way that drove me crazy. My fingers twitched, and I squeezed them tighter in the plush fleece blanket to stop them from reaching up and smoothing a few of the strands back into place.

“About that…”

I shot him a quizzical glance. “About what? ”

“Remember that favor you owe me?”

Oh, no. Does he want me to try to get Preston out of the football suspension? I couldn’t convince the strict headmaster to do anything. He barely tolerated my presence as it was. “Yeah…?”

“Can we extend the fake dating thing we did at the bar? Only, not just the one time, but publicly and for a few weeks.”

“Why? You don’t need a fake girlfriend.” We stopped beside my beat-up car. “It’s not like you can’t crook your finger and get a dozen girls to come running.”

A slow grin curved his mouth. It was sexy and seductive, and my body instantly reacted to it. I scowled, not liking how easy it was for him to get a response from me.

“I’m not looking for a real girlfriend. I don’t have time for that.” The grin fell away. “But it would make me look more… stable, centered, to Coach. So, do we have a deal?”

“Not so fast. While this might be advantageous for you, it won’t for me.” That was a bold-faced lie, except for the point I needed to make. “I can’t have my boss finding out, and what about Preston?”

“Preston is aware we know each other from school. If anything about us gets mentioned on one of the blog sites and they find out, we’ll just tell them it’s speculation and we’re friends.”

It could work. I wanted to cross my arms over my chest and play hardball, but really, fake date him?

Sign me up. So long as it came with all the benefits at night that I’d been enjoying.

Plus, it guaranteed a few weeks more of that.

At least I would have a definitive end date, and part of me realized I needed it before feelings got involved—I couldn’t let that happen.

If it did, I would be the one with a broken heart.

He opened my door, and I got into the driver’s side, my long, wet hair clinging to the leather seat. I’d never been so grateful that Preston had the presence of mind to use food coloring rather than a permanent dye—something the headmaster had found out in the first interrogation.

“What do you say?” Ares braced his arm on the car’s roof and leaned down so we were at eye level. “Let’s go out Saturday night. We can talk more about it then.”

“Yeah, sure. But we’ll have to lay ground rules.”