Page 94 of Scoring Lessons

Footsteps moved toward the bathroom, and when she pulled it open, I nearly pitched forward onto my face.

“Warn a guy next time.”

“How was I supposed to know you were pressed against the door like a creep?” She crossed her arms. “We should wait a few minutes. They’re heading to The Strip.”

“Fine.” I moved past her and dropped onto the edge of her bed.

She studied me for a second. “Why the frown?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied far too quickly.

“Wesley.”

I let out a breath and dropped my gaze to the floor. “Do you really still hate me?” I loathed how the words came out—too flat, not quite casual enough to pass for nothing.

The mattress shifted as she sat next to me. “You have a talent to easily annoy me sometimes, but I’ve never hated you,” she sighed. “Not exactly.”

“You just said you did thirty seconds ago.”

“Henry was standing right there.” She thinned her lips, her brows furrowing. “You know how he gets when something feels off. I panicked.”

“So the hating me thing was⁠—”

“Improvised. Under pressure.” She lifted a shoulder. “I thought it was pretty convincing.”

“It was extremely convincing. That’s the problem.”

She held my gaze for a moment, something shifting behind her eyes that she didn’t put into words. Then she slipped off the bed and moved toward the door, cracking it open to check the hallway. “We’re good.”

Always evading. That was Olivia Anderson’s MO.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, without turning around as we got to the elevators, “I also don’t think you’re a manwhore anymore.”

“Wow. High praise.”

“Don’t push it.”

“You know, most people would just say I like you, Wesley. You’re not half bad.”

She looked over her shoulder with that knowing grin of hers. The one that made her irises sparkle. The one that made my heart jump in my chest like it was playing on a trampoline. “Most people aren’t me.”

“Tragically.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

She didn’t respond, but the almost-smile I loved stayed as she flipped me off.

And there went my heart again—jumping like it was looking for an escape.

TWENTY-FOUR

OLIVIA

I LIKE MAKING YOU HAPPY.

Two hours later, I couldn’t believe where I was standing.