But I hate losing. I’ve always hated it. And I especially hate it when the person I’m losing to is someone I can’t stand and it’s over something I genuinely need. Because I need Layla. Her and those ridiculous glasses, for at least a semester.
[Say it,] Zyrax urges. [Or I’ll say it by eating their ankles off.]
That’s a bit much. But he’s rarely wrong.
I exhale slowly and turn to Layla. My hand slides under her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine, and this is genuinely the worst time to notice that her lips are full but here we are.
“Should we just show them?” I ask, forcing a smirk. She blinks, confused for a second, then something shifts in her expression and she gets it. I lean in slightly, dropping my voice just enough that it’s audible anyway. “You’re going to have to take your cl
