Mia
“All right, so where do we start?” I ask, holding up the paper. My voice is already dripping with annoyance because, honestly, this guy just existing near me is f*****g exhausting.
“We can start by getting to know each other,” Damon says, flashing that stupid, cocky grin that probably works on every other girl but me.
I ignore him and keep walking.
“Mia Jackson, right? What a lovely name you got there.” His voice is so smug I can practically feel it.
I stop dead in my tracks and whip around to glare at him. “How the hell do you know my last name?”
“I did my research,” he says with a wink, like he’s in some movie where stalking is cute.
“Stalker,” I mutter under my breath, turning back to the clue. I read it aloud: “I’m something sweet, striped red and white. Find me where stars
