Page 40 of Under the Lights (The Big Boys of BRU #2)

Thirty Two

Dom

The coffee shop on campus was abuzz with energy. Everybody was trying to get their caffeine fix before the afternoon classes started. I knew Sierra loved this place, so I’d baited her into accompanying me after her last class ended.

Having her by my side so casually, like we already were what I knew we could — would — be, was the highlight of my fucking day.

I could already see it. Her toothbrush next to mine, her legs tangled with mine in the morning, her name on everything. My name on her. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a matter of when.

And God help anyone who got in the way of that.

I wasn’t shy about PDA, and I loved being the type of guy to show off what he had. And what I had was one of the most beautiful girls on campus.

Of fucking course I was going to show her off every chance I got … provided she let me. Hell, I wanted to put her in a jersey with my name on it and dare anyone to even look .

We’d already ordered, waiting to the side for our drinks to be called out. Sierra was giving me the side-eye, judging my “iced oat milk triple shot situation,” as she called it.

“Say it’s for you,” she said, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I dare you.”

I just smirked. “Darlin’, I carry my oat milk bullshit and your lavender latte like they’re trophy. Ain’t bothering me none. I’m confident with who I am.”

Sierra rolled her eyes, although I caught that smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Hey, I’m going to use the restroom real quick. I’ll be back in a minute.” She touched my arm as I watched her walk away, my brain short-circuiting, a dopey grin stealing onto my lips.

“Well, isn’t that adorable?” A faintly familiar voice drawled behind me.

I turned around slowly, immediately regretting it. For a second, I had to remind myself we were in public because I was two seconds from turning that smug little face into concrete paste.

Sierra’s ex, the crown prince of frat boys, sneered at me in his fucking collared shirt, a sweater slung around his shoulders.

It was still over 75 degrees out there — who the hell needed a sweater in this kind of weather? What a fucking douchebag.

The happy smile on my face quickly changed into a dark, dangerous one.

“Did some research on you after our last little run-in. You’re that rookie from Georgia, right?” he jeered, sizing me up as though he stood a fucking chance. “The freshman with the tattoos. Cute.”

I kept my gaze firmly fixed upon him, my smile never wavering, and I knew it unnerved him. People expected different behavior in a situation like this.

They got uncomfortable when you didn’t subject yourself to the vibe of the situation and didn’t reciprocate their attitude. His face told me how unsettled he was by this, clear as day.

He averted his gaze slightly, pretended to scan the room, before he took another stab at facing me again. “Didn’t think she was your type. Or maybe you’re into projects.”

“Nah. Just into her.” I deadpanned.

Douchebag snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that. Sierra’s all ice. Always has a stick up her ass — like she’s better than everyone else. You’ll see.”

Then he actually had the balls to lean in a little, like he was sharing a secret. “She’s all attitude and crossed legs until you lose interest. Then suddenly she wants to play nice. Real high maintenance.”

My vision was tinted at the edges. This dude had no idea how close he was to becoming a cautionary tale. He thought this was banter. He didn’t realize he was provoking something feral and territorial.

“That so?” My smile turned tight, my jaw ticking.

“Hey, I’m just saying. You think she’s really into the inked-up little rookie act? The blue-collar fantasy? She’s not exactly the type to let go. Or have fun.”

“I think what she isn’t into is having to fake it. She has plenty of fun with me.” I smirked, my voice razor-sharp.

He blinked in surprise. “Right.”

I lowered my voice, a lethal edge to it now. “Maybe the problem wasn’t her being uptight. Maybe it was you being forgettable.”

Waiting a beat, I let the words sink in before delivering the death blow.

“She doesn’t want some frat boy with a cheap smile and softer hands than hers. She doesn’t want a puppy.” And now it was my turn to lean in, to share one of my secrets with him. “She wants a big dog. One who knows how to handle her without needing instructions.”

He was gaping at me, and I threw in a wink for good measure. The alternative was knocking his veneers out of his jaw, and I wasn’t about to get myself benched.

“Got our drinks,” a clipped voice I knew all too well said from my side, and I turned my head to meet her blazing, furious gaze. “Let’s go.”

Fuck . While dealing with Douchebag David, I had completely missed our drinks being called out and Sierra returning.

How much had she heard?