She didn't buy it.
Not for a second.
Her eyes narrowed into slits, and she gave me that slow once-over, head to toe, like she could peel back my skin and read every thought I was trying to hide.
My wolf stirred.
He'd been pacing ever since we stepped on board, catching her scent in the corridors, that familiar sweetness that used to be ours.
Now he was pressing against my ribcage, wanting out, wanting her.
I shoved him back down.
"You have way too much time on your hands," she said, and then she smacked my chest.
Easy. Just that little punch she used to do when I was being an i***t.
It landed right over my heart, and I felt it- not the pain, just the contact.
Her hand on me, even for a second.
She used to leave bruises.
Once she'd slapped me hard enough to sting for an hou
