Triple Threat (Deception Duet 1)

“What? You’re disappointed that I’m not actively trying to get into your pants? I’ll admit, Laundry, you’re a tough nut to crack.”

“I’m not disappointed,” I spit out. Okay, so maybe slightly in a deep, hidden secret fantasy kind of way. “I just…” A sigh rushes from my lips. “I don’t have many friends. It’d be a wasted effort on your end.”

“With that pitiful attitude, it’s no wonder why,” he deadpans.

I elbow him in his chest, needing desperately for him to move the hell away from me. The giant beast of a man just laughs and slings his arm across the back of my chair. A guy on my other side darts his gaze to me, then to Ford, and then quickly peels it away.

“Are you glowering at that guy?” I turn to look at Ford. “You are!”

His narrowed eyes leave the guy and fall back on my face. I can’t help but watch as his lips curl into a seductive smile that twists my stomach. “Just marking my territory.”

“Your territory?” I shake my head in disgust. “You’re gross.”

“I’m too needy of a…friend…to share.” He grins at me—wide and brilliant like the sun. “You’re all mine.”

I shudder at the way his words work their way through my veins. I shouldn’t like those last three words so much, but I do.

“What will make you leave me alone?” I utter in defeat.

“I already told you. Coffee. After class.”

For a split second, I imagine the two of us cozied up on a sofa at the nearest coffee shop, sipping coffee and trading barbs. It actually does sound kind of fun. Too bad I’m not allowed any of that. Even if I let my guard down for a minute, Dad certainly wouldn’t allow it.

“I can’t,” I admit. “My driver will be here right after class, and I’ll need to get back home to my little sister.”

“You can’t, but you’d like to?”

Truth isn’t going to hurt anything.

“It wouldn’t be a date.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Not that it matters. But, if I could, it would just be coffee with a friend. Nothing more.”

His syrupy eyes draw me in and hypnotize me. “So you do admit you’re mine.”

My jaw unhinges. “What? No.”

“My friend,” he clarifies. “And it’s too late to take it back.”

Thankfully, the professor walks in, ending our conversation. Something tells me, though, that he won’t let up after class. Maybe I just need to accept that I’ve made a school friend. A stupidly hot, super annoying school friend, but a friend nonetheless. Della will be interested in hearing about this guy. I chew on my lip to keep from letting a smile escape.

It sneaks out anyway.

* * *

“You know,” Ford says, smirking as he sidles up beside me in the hallway after our second class of the day, “I could give you a ride.”

“You’re a perv.”

He laughs, the sound warming parts of me I’d never known existed. “Technically, you’re the perv. I meant an actual ride. In my car. Not on my cock.”

The mention of Ford’s cock has a flood of heat coursing through me. I elbow him hard in his side and storm ahead of him. Based on his stupid laughter, I’d say he’s enjoying tormenting me.

You enjoy it too…

I don’t let myself dwell on that thought for too long.

A heavy, muscled arm wraps around my shoulders as Ford catches up. He’s so touchy-feely. I hate that I barely know the guy and my body responds as though he’s familiar to me.

I roll my eyes but don’t shake him off. For a second, I can pretend I’m a normal college-aged woman with a good-looking guy who’s interested in her. There aren’t controlling, abusive fathers or little sisters who need looking after. There isn’t pressure or stress or drama.

Several people glance at us as we walk by. I’m not sure what’s drawing their attention. My money’s on the sexy beast of a man who seems to be staking a claim on me. A flutter in my chest indicates just how much I like that idea.

Which is completely dumb.

I can allow myself a friend, but nothing more. Not when there’s so much at stake. Blatantly going against Dad’s expressed wishes at having me date someone in his power circle would be the worst possible thing I could do. Not only could he backtrack and keep me from attending college, he might somehow punish Della with his anger.

I’m feeling quite somber and dismayed that it takes me a second to realize we’ve stopped and Ford is speaking to me.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to be impressed,” he grumbles, waving his hand toward a sleek vehicle. “Seriously. We can’t be friends if you won’t even acknowledge my baby.”

He’s pouting.

Over a dumb car.

For some reason, this amuses me. It is, in fact, a gorgeous car, but the fact I haven’t gushed over its beauty and he’s pouting about it, has a bubble of laughter escaping. One attempt at smothering my giggling leads to an unladylike snort, which has me erupting with more laughter.