Page 33 of Saving Saul

I exhale slowly before turning.

Antoine Dupree is precisely how I remember him—too cocky, too pushy, and entirely too pleased with himself. He’s bulked up since high school, his broad frame packed with too much muscle for his own good. His beard is thick and neatly groomed, and I hate that he looks better than I expected.

His grin is pure shit-eating arrogance. “Damn, girl, you look like a Little Debbie snack.”

Jesus.

He stretches his arms wide like he expects me to run into them. I don't move.

Undeterred, he sweeps me into a way too tight hug, and I can barely stop myself from gagging at the overwhelming scent of his cologne—something aggressively masculine, like he bathed in wood chips and regret.

“Come here, girl, gimme some real sugar,” he drawls.

I try to squirm away, but he squeezes tighter, and when his hand lingers just a little too low on my back, I jerk away, eyes flashing.

Selene? Nowhere to be found—probably making out with her Bridgerton lookalike.

Antoine smirks, utterly unbothered by my glare. “What? Ain’t nothing wrong with a little affection between old friends.”

I wipe at my cheek like I can scrub off his Sulfur 8 breath and give him a look that could kill. “Don’t touch me like that ever again.”

He dares to laugh.

“Oh, come on, Tessa. Don’t act brand new.”

I cross my arms. “I will act brand new if it keeps your handsy ass in check.”

He chuckles, eyes raking over me in a way that makes my stomach turn. “You always did play hard to get.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not playing anything. I don’t want you touching me. Ever.”

He leans in, voice low and full of disgusting confidence. “Bet I could change your mind.”

A deep voice cuts in, smooth and sharp as a blade.

"You couldn’t change her mind if your life depended on it."

The words are calm, too calm—like the silence before a storm, the kind that makes you realize too late that you should’ve run.

I whip around, my pulse leaping into my throat. Saul stands there, towering, every muscle coiled like a predator sizing up his prey. His eyes—usually warm and knowing—are pure steel now, locked on to the man in front of me with a promise of violence.

My night just went to hell in a handbasket.

SHE’S MINE

SAUL

Tessa Baptiste isin the same room as me, and all I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and get the hell out of here.

My Tessa…

The pictures online don’t do her any justice. Her beauty can’t be captured with a lens. When I touched her hand, I almost broke and proposed again.Shit!

Who am I kidding? She hates me. But that’s temporary.

When Tessa stepped onto the stage, everything in me locked on to her like she was the only thing that existed. The music dulled to a distant hum, the crowd faded into a blur, and the heat of Crescent Hall had nothing on the fire roaring throughout my body.

Damn, I missed her.

---