Page 37 of Lethal in Pink

“I came back here to return your flower,” I say.

“You don’t know it’s mine.”

“I know it’s yours.”

“Do you?”

“Who else would leave a pink rose on my chair?”

He leans back, completely at ease in his back-row kingdom, and folds his arms behind his head. “Maybe it was a secret admirer.”

“Ughhhh! You are impossible.” I groan.

“I’m impossible,” he agrees, with a smile that makes heat pool in my lower stomach, “But you’re the one standing here.”

He’s right.

I’m trained better than this. I am a fucking assassin with a perfect kill record and a carefully constructed life, and somehow I’m letting this man with his stupid accent and his stupid smile and his stupid rose dismantle my composure like it’s made of wet tissue paper.

I stand there, staring at him, and for one terrible second I can’t think of a single thing to say. My brain—the same brain that can recite case law from memory, that can calculate trajectory and wind speed in under three seconds, that can lie to federal agents with a smile—has completely short-circuited.

“You know what,” I grind out, “Keep the flower and whatever little game you’re playing. I have class.”

I turn on my heel and walk back down the aisle, toward the door.

His voice stops me.

“See you Thursday, hotshot.” he calls out.

I flip him off without turning around. The gesture is crude, juvenile, and deeply beneath me, but I commit to it with the full force of my irritation, my middle finger extended skyward as I push through the double doors into the hallway.

In my opinion, I just won this debate.

Chapter thirteen

Jae

The late afternoon light through my apartment window is a golden haze, like the city is being viewed through an Instagram filter.

I’m pacing.

Again.

The coffee table is a disaster zone of snack wrappers and a half-empty water bottle that’s been sitting there since yesterday, and I should really clean it up.

Instead, I’m replaying the same thirty seconds of last Thursday’s study session in my head.

Amiyah laughing.

Not the polite little laugh people give when they’re being nice.

Like an actual real one.

It came out sharp and quipped.

Like it escaped before she could stop it.

Then she looked down at her notes afterward and pretended nothing happened.