The Moth and the Flame (When Rivals Play #2) - B.B. Reid Page 0,36

certainly had the physique to give him a run for his money. He looked lethal, like a predator lying in wait, as he leaned against one of the pillars diagonal from us. It became obvious the longer I stared that he was watching us. A moment later, I knew I’d be getting no help from him when the corner of his mouth turned up in amusement, and he melted into the shadows like he was Jason Bourne or something. Douchebag.

“Neither is running away,” Wren retorted, drawing my attention back to him and shoving the stranger from my thoughts. He was seething, yet instead of fear, I felt an adrenaline rush—an urge to tip the scales and feel the full force of his anger. So many times, we’d unwittingly waltzed on the boundaries of friendship. It was only a matter of time before we danced across them. “I watch your back, and you do what I say. That was the deal.”

My nostrils flared even as another part that I was forbidden to share with him gushed. “That doesn’t sound like friendship to me. Seems more like ownership.”

For a moment, his eyes seemed to lose focus as he leaned in. “Well, then you’re mine.”

My lips parted, and any second now, I expected to tell him how absurd he sounded, but all that came out was a breathless gasp. How could it feel this natural to be claimed by him?

More importantly, had Wren felt it, too?

This feeling as if a piece we’d overlooked had finally fallen into place.

A moment later, I got my answer when I read the silent swear on Wren’s lips and measured the distance between us after he took a cautious step back. It was as if he needed the space but was hesitant to give me too much.

Maybe he was afraid I’d pounce if he ran.

“We clear?”

His tone was clipped—authoritative—the swift slam of a briefly opened window. I wondered if I’d imagined it—a trick of the mind like the blue flame creeping from the edges of his usually gray irises. Wren would say it was just a reflection of my own emotions. My gut told me otherwise.

Not so eager to be burned by those embers, I looked away. The attention we were starting to draw had my heart galloping for a different reason. Dad had always warned me to choose my battles wisely, and instinct told me this was one of those times.

Submit to rebel another day.

“Crystal.”

His eyes narrowed when I batted mine.

He was smart not to trust me.

“Can we go?” I whined when he looked ready to scold me some more. “I’m starving, and you ran off my mark.”

“Hunger didn’t seem to bother you when you ran away. Again.”

My lips pursed. “A gentleman would offer to buy a girl a sandwich.”

His chuckle sounded forced. Like it was an effort to mask how tempted he was to wring my neck. “I’m no gentleman. That’s why you hate me a little less than the rest of the world.”

“Just a little,” I admitted with my forefinger and thumb pressed close together. “My tolerance for you above others can be measured with a pinch of salt.”

The jab seemed to ricochet off his chest and slam into me with the force of a Mack truck when he winked. So simple yet so effective. My empty stomach was still doing cartwheels even after he turned and walked away.

Like an obedient puppy wanting more, I followed.

The sun was shining high and bright when we stepped outside the station. Wren immediately reached for his shirt collar before looking down with a frown. To his credit, he didn’t even bother searching the ground or his pockets before his gaze cut my way.

“I’m the wrong person to steal from, mouse.”

“And I thought you would have learned by now.” Lowering the aviators now covering my eyes, I peered at him from the top of his shades. “There’s nothing mousy about me.”

His gaze dipped, and the lazy perusal of my body made me feel both powerful and insignificant at the same time. Because underneath his dismissive gaze, I glimpsed the interest he tried so hard to hide.

“Well, I thought gutter rat was a bit harsh.”

I was ready to jump on his back and claw his eyes out when he seized my hand—his warmth and strength a cocoon I never wanted free from. I let him pull me down the street where he parked off Park Ave, and when we reached Wren’s Impala, I started to round the car. I didn’t