Page 25 of Lethal in Pink

Her eyes connect with mine and she bites her lower lip. “You’re cute, new guy.” she whispers in a sultry tone.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Brittany.” she offers.

“Jae.” I offer back.

She takes out her phone, taps her thumb on the screen and hands it to me. “Here,” she says. “In case you want to study together, or, you know. Whatever.”

I take the phone from her palm without overthinking it and pull up the contacts app and type my name and number. Moving on to Snap, I open up the app, add my username—a private one, not the one with three million followers or the one attached to my birth name, then casually hand it back to her.

My phone is laying in front of me. She notices.

Snatching it up before I can stop her she shoves it toward me. “Unlock it so I can return the favor.”

I do and hand it back to her.

She types something fast. Her thumbs moving at damn near the speed of light. Then she turns the phone around, poses, pouts her lips and snaps a selfie before handing my phone back.

The contact image is already set and she made sure to angle it to where her cleavage is taking up most of the picture. I look at the photo for exactly the amount of time it takes to be polite. Two seconds, maybe three. To be honest—her cleavage is doing a lot of work in that picture, so I feel it only slightly necessary to appreciate the effort she put forth.

She bites the tip of her nail, “So you don’t forget,” she says.

She tucks her phone away with a small, satisfied smile. One that says she’s pretty used to getting what she wants.

I know this because I have dealt with these types of girls all the time as Kai.

The professor raises his voice slightly. Something about next week’s reading. An important concept. The kind of pedagogical emphasis that translates, in the universal language of lecture halls, to this will be on the exam, and if you’re not writing it down, that’s a you problem.

I press the home screen button on my phone and pocket the device.

Brittany winks before leaning back in her seat, her attention drifting to the lecture as the professor drones on.

She seems like a nice girl.

She's beautiful. Confident. Fun.

Under any other circumstances, she'd have my full attention.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, my brain keeps circling back to pink cashmere.

To the girl who didn’t smile. The one who didn’t flirt. The one who looked at me as if I were a complete and total inconvenience to her day.

Which, according to her…I was.

Tap. Tap.

My pen taps the paper and I look down at the little boxed word in my notebook next to the dragon pig, my mouth twitching at the edges as I replay our argument from this morning in my head.

Yea.

Uncomplicated, my ass.

Chapter nine

Amiyah