Page 85 of Bitter When He Begs

Sage

Ialreadyregretgettingout of bed.

It starts in the hallway outside my room when two of the Sigma Rho Alpha pledges pause their game of hallway soccer to suddenly stare at me like I’ve grown a second head.

One of them nudges the other and whispers something behind his hand, not even trying that hard to be subtle about it, and I catch the words “Devereaux” and “post” before they both pretend they weren’t just dissecting my entire love life like it’s their morning entertainment.

Then it gets worse when I hit the kitchen because the guys who usually greet me with sarcastic commentary or badly made toast barely say anything. Just a lot of glances. And a few smirks that make me turn right around and leave the house without bothering with breakfast.

Nate’s not even home—his bed was already cold when I went to his bedroom and he’s not answering my texts. Which is either a very good thing or a very bad thing depending on his mood andwhether or not he’s planning to fistfight Luca in broad daylight today.

I thought I could handle this.

I thought I was fine.

But by the time I step onto the main quad, it’s like something’s changed. Like the air is different or heavier or more invasive than usual because every head turns. I mean it. Every. Single. One.

People slow down when I walk past, eyes dragging over me like they’re trying to memorize the face from the photo. Like they’re trying to match the soft smile and sun-drenched floatie picture to the guy now stalking across campus in a black hoodie with his earbuds in and his jaw clenched.

Someone actually says, “That’s him,” not even five feet away from me, and I’m tempted to spin around and ask them if they want a fucking selfie while they’re at it. But I don’t. I keep walking, heart thudding a little too hard and palms a little too clammy, like I’m being hunted through a space that used to feel safe.

This was never supposed to be about attention.

I don’t know what the hell I thought would happen when Luca posted that photo, but I didn’t expect this. I didn’t expect the wide eyes or the comments, or the glances that say everything without anything needing to be said.

I didn’t expect people to look at me like I’m part of something bigger than myself, like I’ve been pulled into orbit by someone whose gravity can’t be ignored, someone who changes every room just by walking through it. I didn’t expect to becomethatguy.

And I especially didn’t expect to hate how much it gets under my skin.

I yank my hoodie sleeves over my hands, curl my fingers tight, and try to focus on walking straight, ignoring the buzz ofwhispers around me like they aren’t actively flaying my patience one syllable at a time.

I’m about to pull out my phone and pretend I’m too busy texting to care about the fact that half the student body has apparently decided I’m dating royalty, when arms wrap around my waist from behind and a warm mouth presses against my neck like he owns the goddamn spot.

“Morning, baby.”

Everything stops, the murmurs go silent, and for half a second, I think I might actually fucking die again.

I spin around to face him and glare. “Seriously?” I hiss under my breath because I can already feel the eyes multiplying. “You’re doing this here?”

He grins, not even remotely sorry. “What, you don’t like a good morning kiss?”

“You just made me public property, Luca,” I snap, a little too loud, and he raises an eyebrow like he finds that amusing.

“You didn’t look like property yesterday when you were grinding on me like a—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” I cut him off, cheeks already burning.

He leans in again like he’s going to kiss me anyway and I duck out from under his arm, exasperated. I gesture around us wildly, frustration clawing at my throat. “You don’t see the way everyone’s staring at me? You don’t hear the whispers?”

Luca raises an eyebrow. “You’re acting like this isn’t my normal Monday morning.”

“Because it’syournormal Monday morning, notmine,” I groan, running a hand through my hair, trying to breathe, trying not to kill him in the middle of campus. “This is all your fault.”

His smirk falters just slightly, his blue eyes narrowing. “My fault?”

I throw up my hands. “Yes, your fault! Because I wouldn’t be getting stared at like this if you didn’t go and post that fucking picture last night.”

Luca blinks, but instead of looking remotely apologetic, he smirks again, stepping into my space, tilting his head like he’s about to say something I don’t want to hear. “You mean the really cute one where you’re grinning because I fucked you so good an hour before?”

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