Page 35 of The Tenth Circle

“Notallof me.” I wink.

Blowing out a breath, she turns around and marches off.

“I thought you’d be happy to have me in all your classes.”

“Yeah, well, imagine my surprise when I wasn’t.”

“You need something, Lavell?” Archer chimes in like the gallant hero he always is.

“Just a quick conversation with our girl here, Beaumont.” I jog a few steps to snatch Hendrix’s forearm, and Archer throws his head back when I drag her off.

“What the hell?” she squeaks, tugging out of my hold. “What do you want?”

I shrug. “Just saying hi.”

“You are fucking exhausting.”

“Could put you to bed if you want.”

“You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I mean…you’d be pretty happy too.”

I’ve never once denied my attraction to this girl…there’s no need to. Hendrix is fucking hot and she knows it. It’s why her first defense is always to make me jealous.

Well…try to.

Green ain’t my color.

She folds her arms and pops a hip kissed by skintight black leggings.

“I have places to go, Saint,” she says, squinting from the bright lights around the stadium. “Are you done with the bullshit?”

I have zero control over my eyes as they graze the length of her body. Unbuttoned plaid shirt. Black sports bra squeezing several handfuls of cleavage.

Hendrix’s second defense—knowing I’m a sucker for great tits, so she tortures me as much as she can with hers.

I close the space between us, shielding her from the stadium lights, which allows me a better look at her eyes.

Green may not be my color, but fuck is it hers.

Those bright irises soften, the tough girl facade breaking just enough for me to catch a nervous swallow.

The look on Hendrix’s face says she’s contemplating stepping out of the invasion, but when my hand lifts to sweep her collarbone, the tiny prickles on her skin tells me I won.

“You see that, Jimi?” My touch travels to where the vein in her neck pulses. “Your body’s begging me to take care of it.”

The wild sparks return in Hendrix’s eyes as I pull away, and my cock greets them with a friendly twitch behind my jeans.

I shift on my feet, lips drawn tight.

Keep. Your shit. Together. Asshole.

Her gaze dips to the traitor, then quirks a brow.

“Oh, is it now?”

Son of a bitch.