Page 65 of Top Shelf

That’s why theyseeme.

Not as a name with connections.

Not as a ticket to something they want.

But as someone who already knows what it’s like to bleed.

Eventually, the sun sinks low in the sky, and the overhead lights flicker on. One by one, the guys give up on work and instead start discussing what they’re going to have for dinner. It’s not long before I call it quits, too, and we pack up.

Before I can hoist my bag onto my shoulder, Lucian swoops in and snatches it from my grip.

“Jesus,” he curses, making a show of hauling it onto his shoulder like he would an oversized boulder. “What the hell do you keep in here? Bricks? It weighs a damn ton!”

I arch a brow, amused. “If it’s too heavy for you, I’m happy to take it back.”

He shoots me a look, deadpan. “Don’t insult me.”

Ronan snorts while Silas just smirks, shaking his head as he tucks his notebook into the side pocket of his backpack, where it is still easily accessible for when he needs it.

Lucian is still grumbling about the weight of my bag as we approach the library doors. Ronan reaches them first, grabbing the long brass handle to pull it open. Standing just to the side, he gives a faux chivalrous bow. “After you, Winslow.”

I roll my eyes and step through?—

—and crash straight into a broad chest.

A hand shoots out to steady me.

“Careful there,” a voice chuckles, half-amused. I don’t immediately recognize it, but I do recall the face I’m staring up into. It’s the guy who approached me along with his buddiesduring my first day on campus, thinking he could butter me up for some Serpents tickets.

He must recognize me, too, because his smirk reforms itself into a scowl. “Look who it is. Hope I didn’t bruise the princess.”

My own mood shrivels.

“Good to see youstilldon’t know my name.”

“Good to see you’re still a bitch,” he hisses venomously before shoving past me. He deliberately knocks his arm against my shoulder, sending me off balance.

I barely catch myself against the doorframe, teeth gritted, shoulders tense.

“You know it,” I call after him, only he hasn’t disappeared into the library like I’d expected. Instead, he is standing face-to-face with a wall of human muscle. Lucian, Ronan, and Silas stand side-by-side, wearing matching expressions of fury as they glare the football player down. As my eyes bounce between the four of them, I can sense the air thicken around us, growing charged, like the crackle of a storm just before the first strike.

Time seems to slow down and speed up all at once.

Lucian steps forward with a look in his eye that promises hurt. When the guy goes to duck around him, Silas slides into his path. His expression is the polar opposite of Lucian’s. Ice-cold fury to his fire.

Ronan’s hand shoots out and grabs the neckline of his jacket. Half strangling the guy, he yanks him backward like he weighs nothing, keeping him caged between the three of them.

The guy swallows when Ronan releases him, eyes flicking between the three towering hockey players as understanding dawns. “Hey, man—” he begins.

“No.” Just one word from Ronan, and it lands like a crack across the concrete step. He’s not all pent-up fury like Lucian or stone-still like Silas. He’s calm. The kind that makes your skincrawl with that inherent sense that something truly dangerous is coming your way.

With his hands tucked in the front pockets of his slacks, Ronan tilts his head and studies the guy like he’s a bug being squashed beneath his shoe. “You want to try that again?”

His voice is low. Pleasant. Deadly.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean?—”

“Oh, I think you did.” Ronan’s tone never changes. His gaze flicks to me, then back. “So now you’re going to apologize.”