Paige's fruit basket didn't taste like a mistake.
When she vanished to her room after its delivery, I taste-tested the oranges, pears, and grapes for her protection. It couldn't be from a guy, because what guy sends a fruit basket to someone like Paige? So who, then? And why hadn't she seemed very happy about it?
Later, I found her cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom surrounded by open suitcases and books. Her shorts rode up high on her thighs, exposing the curve of her ass and a hint of black lace. I swallowed on a groan and stuffed a hand in my pocket to adjust my twitching d**k behind the cover of the doorframe.
"Hey," I said, my voice raspier than normal.
She pushed her geeky but totally hot glasses up her nose and smiled apologetically. "I'm making a mess."
"I see that."
