Jasmine
By eight fifty-four, I was sliding into my usual seat beside Ari with damp hair, a large coffee, and the annoying awareness that I could still feel Davin’s mouth against mine.
Ari turned, looked at me, and narrowed her eyes.
“No.”
I stopped halfway through pulling out my notebook. “What?”
“Whatever this is,” she said.
My brows creased in uncertainty. “What is what?”
She leaned closer. “This face.”
“My face?”
“Yes, Jasmine. The one attached to your head.”
I stared at her, puzzled. “Okay. That’s very observant of you, I guess.”
Ari studied me for a moment. “Why do you have that look?”
“What look?”
“The look women get right before they start making bad decisions.”
I nearly choked on my coffee, and her eyes narrowed even further.
“I guess I’ve been sleeping well lately,”
