Page 28 of Playing Dirty
I snorted softly.
His expression shifted instantly at the sound like he hadn’t expected it.
Then he smiled a little.
Real smile this time.
Smaller.
Less polished.
Fuck.
That one was worse.
“You know,” he said, leaning beside me against the counter, “you’re a lot funnier than your face suggests.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You always look like you’re about to report a crime.”
“I probably am.”
“See? Funny.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling slightly into my drink.
Mason noticed immediately because of course he did.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That.”
He pointed vaguely at my mouth.
“You do have facial expressions.”
“I hate this conversation.”
“Liar.”
The apartment lights flickered suddenly as people yelled from the living room.
Someone had apparently climbed onto furniture again.
Blackthorne education at work.
Mason shook his head once under his breath.
“You party this hard every weekend?” I asked.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“How much we’re trying not to think.”
