Page 75 of The Heart Breaker

My skin heats all over again, and I catch my gaze dropping to his lips. I snap myself out of it and turn toward my dresser, reaching for my nail polish. I grab a couple of bottles and hold them up. “Which one?” I ask. “I need to redo my nails.”

He blinks, clearly not expecting that, then looks from me to the bottles in my hand—one pale pink, the other a dark wine red. “You want my opinion?”

I shrug. “You’re here. Might as well be useful.”

He huffs out a laugh, pinning me with a smirk. “Either one would look good wrapped around my cock.”

I shoot him a glare.

He lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, then leans back against the headboard and kicks off his shoes. “Fine. I like the pink one.”

“Good choice,” I mutter, settling back on the bed as I start painting my nails while the anime plays quietly in the background.

Somehow, that turns into a whole conversation about all the ones we’ve watched, and by the time I’m blowing on the last coat,I’m telling him he has to watch “Demon Slayer.” He nods and tells me he’ll add it to the list.

It’s weirdly nice. There’s none of the usual charged sexual tension or verbal sparring. Just him, sprawled across my bed while we talk like actual civilized human beings.

When I’m done, I hold my hands up toward him. “What do you think?”

He glances at them, then at me, smiling slightly, which makes my insides fizzle. “Looks good.”

I shoot him a smile. “I can do yours if you want.”

He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Yeah. Not happening.”

“You just said they look good.”

“They do.” His gaze drops to my hands again before lifting. “On you.”

I roll my eyes. “What, you’re scared of a little color? Don’t tell me you’re one of those fragile masculinity assholes.”

His eyes narrow. “Nice try, Prescott. You’re not painting my fucking nails.”

22

COLE

“Are your nails… pink?”

My jaw clenches as I yank on my gloves. “Fuck off, Rhodes.”

Austin grins and falls into step beside me. “No, man, I love them.” His eyes are already bright with the exact kind of bullshit that makes me want to send him headfirst into the boards. “Who did them?”

I shoulder-check him on my way past and he lets out an oof and stumbles half a step, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to shut him up.

“Was it a dare?” he asks, skating backward so he can keep staring at me. “Did you lose a bet?”

I stop and shoot him a glare.

He lifts both hands, still grinning as he skates backward.

I glance down at my gloves and flex my fingers inside them.

I’m still not totally sure how the hell it happened. One minute we were sitting on her bed watching anime, and the next, she’d grabbed my hand, dropped it into her lap, and started painting each nail while her brows pulled together in concentration.

I don’t know why I let her. Why I didn’t just pull my hand back, or tell her to knock it off, or why I sat there blowing on my nails afterward as if this was a completely normal thing for me to be doing.

I just did.