Page 41 of Heartless Game

Turning to me, he rolled his eyes. “That’s stupid.”

I’d lost track of the conversation. “What is?”

“Millennial Pink. You’re not even a millennial.”

I rolled my eyes right back at him, trying not to show that his insult hurt. I hated being called stupid. “Well, sucks for you, because now you look as stupid as you think I do.”

He paused. “Tovah, I don’t think you’re stupid,” he said. “Or look stupid. Far from it. I just think it’s a dumb name for the color.”

“Oh.”

It was actually the nicest thing he’d ever said to me. But then the bar was in hell.

He nodded to the duffle bag he must have brought in here at some point. “Get dressed. We’re going to be late for your class.”

I gaped at him. “We? You’re not actually coming with me.”

“Oh, I am. I’ve always wanted to learn about journalistic…ethics. Especially because I’m not going to learn them from you.”

Ouch.

Like I said, the bar was in hell.

17

Tovah

In my time at Reina, I’d been mostly invisible. Yeah, students knew who I was, mostly from my byline, but no one noticed me when I was walking across the arts and sciences quad to class or eating in the cafeteria or studying in the library or getting a chai latte in the café.

So it was a strange and deeply uncomfortable experience to be walking through campus with Isaac next to me.Everyonenoticed him, everyone said hi, congratulating him on his win for the last hockey game, or sending him flirtatious glances. It was like a giant spotlight followed him, bathing him in the most flattering light.Evenin the pink shirt he wore.

He responded to everyone easily, a charming grin on his face, dimples in place, nodding to some, saying hello to others, giving fist bumps to guys and gentle shoulder squeezes to girls. But even though no one else noticed, I could see a slight strain behind his smile, like maybe Isaac wasn’t such an extrovert and being so social and friendly drained his energy. It made me feel sympathetic toward him, because I knew what it was like to wear a mask. And I hated that. I didn’t want to feel sympathetic toward the asshole. I didn’t want to feel anything but well-deserved animosity.

The worst part? Was that for once, people were noticingme. Some of Isaac’s spotlight was trained on me, and not in a good way. Students were elbowing each other and whispering, confused and trying to figure out who the rebel with the pink hair was, and why Isaac was walking so close to her. I could feel their scrutiny, and I hated that, too.

“Tovah, slow down,” Isaac ordered, catching up to me in relaxed strides.

I’d been trying to hurry ahead of him, hoping to put some distance between us and get people to stop looking at me. It didn’t work, his legs were too long and he was too fast. And I wasn’t exactly going to run across campus and let him chase me, even if a part of me got lost in the fantasy of him grabbing me and shoving me to the grass and?—

Stop it, Tovah, I admonished myself.You absolutelycannotwant him.

“I’m going to be late for class,” I offered as an explanation over my shoulder.

His eyes narrowed. “Bullshit, we have plenty of time.”

Reaching out, he caught my hand in his, engulfing my small hand in his big one. Interlacing our fingers, he brought my hand to his lips, dropping kisses on my knuckles.

My heart stuttered in my chest. The sweetness took me by surprise, and each kiss sent tingles through my body.

“What are you doing?”

He smirked. “Selling the act.”

My heart started beating normally again. Of course. This wasn’t real. Isaac felt no tenderness toward me. He was making it look like we were intimate as rationale for why he was spending so much time with me, and vice versa. It was going to be humiliating when he finally released me from his blackmail and it looked like he’d dumped me like yesterday’s trash.

No, I reminded myself. It wasn’t going to be humiliating for me. It was going to be humiliating for him when I got to the bottom of his father’s illegal activities, exposed his whole family, and Isaac was led away in handcuffs.

Speaking of handcuffs. My wrist still stung—the same wrist attached to the hand that Isaac was holding. The same wrist Isaac was glaring at, like it had harmed him in some past life.

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