Page 53 of Let the Light Shine Through

“No more waiting, Roz. Only doing.”

“That might be a problem considering that was my last kiss.”

“That one was on me,” I whisper, winking at him, then tilt my head to the side, asking Pixie, “Roz is stupid hot without his shirt on, right?”

Her eyes widen before ducking left. Now, how does she know what Roz looks like with his shirt on?

“When’s the last time you even saw me with a shirt on?” Roz asks me, and I squeeze my eyes closed, drawing in a breath. Shut up, Roz.

It’s true. Roz is always one or two articles of clothing away from being naked.

“That’s not the point.”

I stand up, Roz’s fingers gliding through my strands as I go.

“What is the point?” His ear-to-ear grin is so annoying.

The point is Pixie knows exactly who Roz is and I don’t like her touching him, talking to him, or breathing near him, but if I say that out loud…I can’t say that out loud.

“You make for nice eye candy. Okay, Roz? I was simply objectifying you,” I snap before mumbling, “I have to get back to my lessons.”

Roz’s hand latches on to my ankle and that little smile of his changes into something so sinister my insides shudder.

“Lessons, my ass.”

“I didn’t think you noticed.” I send a glare over to the person I would’ve assumed kept Roz from seeing my “lessons.”

“I noticed.”

All I can do is smirk smugly. If Roz’s jealousy is even half as strong as mine, this should be interesting. I won’t admit it openly, but will he?

“And?”

“And see what happens if he touches you again, Gia.”

“Ooh, what’ll happen?”

“You liked me wearing my own blood?”

The downpour in my underwear is answer enough, but I cross my arms over my chest, acting unimpressed.

“This time it won’t be mine.”

Daaaamn, dude. Stop showing off already.

His eyes flicking between mine turn serious as his hold on my ankle tightens. He means it. He will annihilate my teammate before I even get a chance to ask him for another “tip.” But as fun as that sounds, we do need to speed things along.

I drop my arms, telling him, “He’s not even my type.”

“You don’t have a type.”

“But if I did, it wouldn’t be him.”

“Does he know that?”

“He who?”

Our growing smiles match each other’s and, just like that, I don’t want to be around anyone else.