"I don't," He says softly. "I heard others calling him." His eyes scan my neck, then my lips, then my eyes. He smiles, sharp and deliberate. "Do you want me to punch him in the face too?"
Oh, try him.
I almost scoff and say it out loud. The words balance precariously on the tip of my tongue, bitter and sweet all at once. I want to say them, to let them drop into the space between us and watch Xavier fumble with whatever weak excuse he'd give in response. But I don't.
Not when he's looking at me like that.
His brown eyes hold steady on mine, firmer than they've ever been. For a moment, I see it—the faintest crack in his usual charm, like his grin is a mask starting to slip. It's still there, of course, stubbornly clinging to his face, but I can see past it. Something underneath is harder. Sharper.
It tastes less sweet now. My smile fades.
Then he touches me.
