Page 12 of The Defender

It would take some finessing, but we could keep our flatmate situation a secret from him. It wasn’t like I was going to stay there forever.

I explained all this (minus the Coach part). Brooklyn didn’t look convinced.

“Look, it’s your home. You can let me in or not,” I said. “But it’s interesting howadamantyou are about it. It’s almost like you’re scared.”

Brooklyn straightened immediately.Bingo. I knew that would get to her.

Goading her always felt like winning some secret game we played, and I’d just scored a major point.

Scarlett groaned and covered her face with her hands. She probably regretted putting forth Brooklyn’s place as an option, but it was too late. The train had already left the station.

“Scared of what?” Brooklyn demanded.

“Of not being able to control yourself around me.”

She sputtered out a sound that was half laugh, half scoff. “Do you hear yourself? That’s the sound of your delusion and ego colliding. Trust me, I’d be able to control myself just fine.”

“Prove it.” I leaned forward until I was close enough to count the faint freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were a deep sapphire in the late morning light, and I could smell her perfume again—something fresh and citrusy, like a lemon grove on a warm summer day. “Let me move in with you.”

Her eyes sparked. Her nostrils flared.

And I knew I had her before she even opened her mouth.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m charging you double for rent.”

“Deal.” I settled back against my seat, my chest aglow with satisfaction and a tingle of something else.

Scarlett dropped her head to the table. Asher rubbed her back, a shit-eating grin on his face. Next to him, Carina sipped her drink, her expression neutral save for the smirk lurking in the corners of her mouth.

As for me? I was already making plans for my stay at Brooklyn’s place.

This was going to be fun.

CHAPTER 5

BROOKLYN

I’d been manipulated, and I had no one to blame but myself.

One second, I was eating my eggs at brunch. The next, Vincent was at my door with a duffel slung over his shoulder and a cocky smile on his face. “Hey, roomie.”

“Don’t call me that. You are a temporary tenant. That’s all.”

“Okay, buttercup.”

I didn’t know why he’d picked that nickname for me, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking, but it irritated my soul.

His grin widened at my grumble of annoyance. Cockiness aside, it was a nice smile. A lethal one, even—white teeth, a shadow of a dimple, and devilishness mixed with just enough warmth to make you feel like you were the only person in the world.

I refused to fall for it. Vincent DuBois might be able to charm everyone else he met, but I’d known he was trouble from the moment we met. There was something about him that made my entire body tense when he was nearby. He was like the moon to my tide; his mere presence altered my gravitational field.

“You’ve been here before with Scarlett, so I’ll skip the tour.” I shut the door behind him after he walked in. His shirtsleeve brushed my arm on his way past, and a small tingle slipped down my spine.

See? My self-preservation instincts were already screaming. He was bad news, but it was too late for me to back out. If I went back on my word, he’d win, which would be unacceptable.

Brooklyn Armstrong did not lose, especially not to arrogant, annoyingly attractive players like Vincent DuBois.

“That’s fine,” he said easily. “Just tell me where you want me.”