Roxxane's POV
Jericho glances at me and smirks like he hears the disgust dripping from my voice, and intentionally sprays himself again one more long, suffocating drag of that horrible smell.
My stomach twists. He knows I hate it. He’s doing it on purpose now, it’s obvious.
I prop myself against the headboard, crossing my arms and watching him with narrowed eyes. My heartbeat is slow but harsh each thud is loud in my ears as if warning me to be alert.
Jericho takes his time adjusting his jacket, brushing lint off it, then checking his hair in the small mirror by his desk. All the while, I don’t take my eyes off him. Not even for one second or half of it.
Maybe he feels it, maybe he doesn’t. But I do. I feel the tension tightening between us like a stretched wire ready to snap.
