Page 66 of Cruel Games

“Not much.” I unsuccessfully suppressed a smirk.

In fairytales, Cinderella only danced with one prince, and she ran away before the ball had finished. Not only had my two guys given me what I wanted, but I’d left them hot and hard.

“They seem to think…” Kendrick picked up a bread roll and tore it in half. A muscle in his jaw flexed, as though he was trying to work out the most delicate way of telling me I was a prick tease. “Maxwell seems to believe you are interested in him but are playing hard to get.”

“There’s a huge difference between finding someone physically attractive and liking them. Your brother and your best friend are dicks.”

A waitress arrived and ladled steaming servings of minestrone into our bowls.

I inhaled its herby aroma and sighed. This was nothing like the canned version we shoved in the microwave. Unlike the mush with bits of pasta I was used to, this soup was more like a thick broth filled with recognizable chunks of vegetables, meat, and pasta shells.

“They’re actually very loyal when you get to know them,” said Kendrick.

“Right.” I took a spoonful and savored the explosion of tastes and didn’t bother to remind him of their attempt to turn me into the star of a Templar Academy sex tape.

We ate our soup in silence, and I tried to focus on the fresh ingredients instead of the wankers glaring at me from the other side of the dining room. Kendrick’s annoyed sighs weren’t helping, and I wondered if this was his version of a tantrum or if this was him building up to a rant.

Eventually, he spoke. “Lilah, am I wasting my time with you?”

“What do you mean?” I raised my head to meet his annoyed, gray eyes.

“I want to know if you’re stringing me along.” He picked up his spoon and stirred his barely-touched minestrone. “At first, I thought you mistrusted me because of Maxwell and Orlando, but hearing what you did with them last night is confusing.”

I pressed my lips together, let out a frustrated breath, and shot the other two a glower for telling tales. Then I turned back to Kendrick and asked, “Did I ever once say we were dating?”

“No.”

“And did I give you a probationary period to gain my trust before we dated?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“I told you I wasn’t interested, remember?”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“Then you’re annoyed because I haven’t played along with the relationship you’ve made up in your head?”

Kendrick frowned. “You make me sound deluded. Regardless of what you’ve said, it’s clear that you’ve been testing my trustworthiness.”

I sipped from my water glass and sighed. Kendrick wasn’t as deluded as I had suggested. Beneath that proper exterior was a decent personality, and a body identical to Maxwell’s, which I found attractive beyond belief. There was so much about Kendrick to like.

Back at the other table, Orlando and Maxwell had stopped eating to stare openly at us. My lips pinched with annoyance. What was this? A lip-reading contest? I turned back to Kendrick, leaned forward, eyes wide and observing and expectant.

I broke off a piece of bread and buttered it. If only he came without the devious twin brother and asshole best friend. I would have dated him in a snap.

“Lilah,” he said, adding a bit of bite to the word. “You and I have a great rapport. And I’ve seen you cast me several admiring glances.”

“Maybe I have been watching out for signs of dickheaddery,” I said.

He chuckled. “Is that even a word?”

“Yeah. I just made it up.”

The sweetest of smiles formed on his full, kissable lips. “And am I a dickhead?”

“Not by behavior.”

His face dropped. “But by association.”