Page 138 of They Are Mine

The other? Art Theory.

Something to show I’m serious about my studies. Something to prove I’m the type of woman who has depth. Who thinks.

That part is important.

I haven’t had time to study for next week’s test, I’ve been too busy studying him.

But I’ll ace it anyway.

I even booked a table right by the one he always eats at.

It’s usually empty, but I don’t take chances with first impressions.

Elliot Sterling is a careful man, I need to be just as careful.

I’m just about to head out when Orion steps in front of me, arms crossed, smirking.

“He’s done for,” he says. His voice is low, gravel-thick. He rakes his eyes over me like he’s already imagining tearing this dress off later. “You are so fucking hot.”

Noah chuckles from behind us. “So this is Elliot edition?” He leans in the doorway, grinning, eyes drifting over every detail. “Orion isn’t wrong. It’s pretty fucking hot.” His gaze lazily trails down my legs. “Can we have this outfit even if he doesn’t come along?”

I grin, trailing my nails down Orion’s chest before I step around him. “First of all, he’s mine.” I press a soft kiss to Orion’s jaw, then turn to Noah, tugging his shirt playfully. “And second, I’d never deny either of you anything.” I wink and slip past them. “Behave. I’ll be late.”

Monday nights are quiet the restaurant. That’s why I picked tonight. I don’t want to chance getting lost in a crowd. I want his eyes on me.

And he’s already here.

Of course he is.

I spot him instantly. Seated at his usual table, absorbed in his meal, his posture effortless but composed, the kind of man who doesn’t need to hunch over his plate or rush through his food.

I know he noticed me the second I stepped inside.

Not because he looked right away.

No.

Because men like Elliot take their time.

I move toward my table, taking slow, measured steps, letting the satin of my dress skim over my thighs, the soft sway just enough to catch attention.

He doesn’t stare.

But I feel it.

The slight shift of his gaze.

The way he flicks his eyes down to his book just a second too late, like he doesn’t want to be caught.

I talk to the host in a low, sweet murmur, just loud enough for Elliot to hear if he’s listening. “I’m sure he’s just held up. I’ll start without him.”

The host nods and pulls out my chair, and I slide into it smoothly.

Elliot doesn’t look up right away.

But I know he’s aware of me.

I let my fingers trace the stem of my water glass, slow and absentminded, flipping open my art theory book as if I’m actually reading.

---