Page 82 of Wicked Prince

"I… I'm flattered. Really," I begin. "It's just—"

"You're still hung up on him," he says, as if it's as obvious as I've always feared. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and I freeze like a deer in headlights. "I understand. And I'd like to be friends regardless, but I'm the kind of person who believes in being up front from the beginning. And I'm a very patient man."

Yet again, I find myself at a loss for words.

Before I can find them, he steps back and says, "So, where's our next class?"

"Um. The sciences building, actually."

"Lead the way," he says casually, like he didn't just drop a bomb on me.

The conversation on the way to class is innocent enough, but I'm still reeling, and I know paying attention for the rest of the day is a lost cause.

At least it's taken my mind off dinner.

ChapterThirty-One

LORENZO

"What the hell, man?" Jeff cries as soon as he walks through the front door of the house the members of the Bainbridge Chapter of Delta Epsilon call home.

There's no one else in the living room, so I know he's bitching at me. I look up from the book in my hand, frowning. It's rare that I actually bother with the assigned reading before it's due, but I need the distraction or I'm going to lose my mind, and there aren’t any games planned today.

"What?" I ask. Jeff is nothing if not dramatic, so for all I know, he's bitching that I drank the last beer in the fridge or something.

"Adam?" he asks pointedly. When that fails to jog my memory, he scowls. "That douchebag who owes me money. You were supposed to be my wingman."

"Oh, right," I mutter. "I forgot."

"Dude!" Jeff cries, throwing up his hands. "What haven't you forgotten lately? Your head's all over the place."

I roll my eyes. Yeah. Dramatic. He's not entirely wrong, though. I have been off my game lately, and it's no great mystery why.

At least, not to me.

"I'm sure you managed. Adam isn't exactly the Godfather," I say, setting my book down on the coffee table.

"That's beside the point," he argues. "You're supposed to be the intimidation factor."

I raise an eyebrow. "And what does that leave you to do, exactly?"

He opens his mouth to defend himself, then shuts it, so I assume he knows I'm right. "Whatever, man. You still bailed on me."

I sigh. "All right, I'm sorry. Is it what you want to hear?"

"It's a start," he grumbles, walking into the living room. "Seriously, what's up with you lately? Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me. I'm your best friend."

"Are you?" I ask wryly.

He scowls. "Unless that blood pact we made in middle school means nothing to you, yeah."

I roll my eyes. Sometimes I think Jeff hasn't grown up since then. But he's right. If I can tell anyone what's going on, it's him. I've just never been one of those people who likes to talk about their problems. I don't bitch and moan about shit, I solve it—or at least, that's what I would be doing if there were a solution to the Amelia situation.

"You've been weird ever since you went public about dating Kayleigh," he says, launching into detective mode when I take too long to answer for his liking. "She stop putting out or something?"

"You're an idiot," I mutter.

If anything, it's the opposite. Kayleigh has been a stage-five clinger lately, and it's a major turnoff. I tell myself that's the only reason. Not because nothing feels right after Amelia or anything sappy like that.

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