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“Should I test it for poison?” Her mouth twisted into a taunting little sneer.
I fought a mad urge to laugh—and I didn’t know if it was because of her expression, or the drunk reindeer on her sweater. My hand scrubbed over my face, smothering the impulse.
“I’d take a sip to prove it’s safe, but…”
My body arched towards her, so that my whisper curled in the space between us like smoke.
“Do you really want my lips touching your glass?”
I let it hang, smirking, and straightened up.
A sliver of her scent reached me as she shifted in her seat, spiking my pulse and dredging up flashes of days that lived rent-free in my fuckin’ head.
“God, don’t. You might catch bitch syndrome,” Pri piped up, with the worst—or best—possible timing.
The corner of my mouth twitched, cracking my mock-scolding mask, before a snort escaped me at the Christmas sweater she was wearing—one with a sassy llama carrying presents on its back, its expression matching hers perfectly.
My gaze flicked to Mia before the laughter bubbling in my chest could spill out and betray me completely.
“I wouldn’t. Not now, when you’re finally looking like a worthy opponent.”
The admission was so off-script, it set my teeth on edge.
Her eyebrow inched up, before they knotted together again.
“That’s exactly when you would.”
She raised her glass in a mock toast, then brought it to her lips, making a show of sniffing it for about a minute, nose scrunched up in that adorable way of hers.
Finally, she took a sip.
My throat worked and my skin shrunk two sizes, all my energy going into keeping my gaze away from her mouth. The heat from the fireplace brushed over the side of my neck, setting it on fire.
“Thanks,” she muttered, tone polite, but cold.
The bubble of warmth under my ribs burst.
Pri feigned disinterest, scrolling on her phone, but her ears were on a swivel, and her eyes weren’t moving on the screen.
“Can you give us a sec?” My head tilted a fraction towards her.
She arched a brow at me over the rim of her mug as she stirred absentmindedly. She opened her mouth to argue, and the back of my neck locked up. But then, she let out a little sigh and straightened up, not without shooting me a look of blatant suspicion and warning.
My throat went bone-dry.
I lowered myself into the seat she’d vacated and turned to Mia fully. My lungs drew in a deep breath, as if steeling me for battle. The heat on the back of my neck cranked up to unbearable levels, though I wasn’t much closer to the fireplace than before. A log hissed and crackled, the sound dredging up memories—winter holidays as a kid, when my dad had taught me how to make a fire; stoking the embers in my grandfather’s study under his warm, watchful gaze; summer campfires with friends from what felt like eons ago.
“What is it, Josh?”
Her cold little question dragged me out of my trance like an icy hand yanking my collar. I blew out a slow, controlled breath and loosened my tie a touch more.
“I wanted to call a truce. Exams are over.”
I put on a shrug, but my jaw hardened, and my teeth pressed flush, walling off the words simmering on the tip of my tongue, each more reckless than the last.
The tight line of her mouth told me she wasn’t buying it.
“Are you still upset with me?” I wiped my dampening palms on my thighs, holding my breath despite myself.
