Rayla twisted her hair into a loose braid as she studied her reflection, acutely aware of the weight of Asher's gaze burning into her back. The werewolf had been sprawled across her bed for the past twenty minutes, tracking her every movement with the intensity of a predator watching prey—if that predator happened to be pouting like a scolded puppy.
"Who was she again?" Asher grumbled, rolling onto his side. The mattress springs creaked in protest.
Rayla bit back a smile as she reached for her lip gloss. "Nancy. From Campus. Third time you've asked."
"I'm not suspicious," he muttered into her pillow, his voice muffled. "Just... reconfirming."
The petulant edge in his tone made her turn. Golden afternoon light streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across his rumpled shirt an
