I can’t help but crack a small smile at that.

To my surprise, Jace keeps his word and doesn’t say anything else as we continue running along the outskirts of campus side by side.

Unfortunately, his silence allows me to focus on other, inconvenient details, like the way he smells like pine and clean laundry. His bare hand brushes mine at one point, and I experience a startling rush of heat.

We pass the student center, and I notice the stone steps leading up to the entrance have been lined with carved pumpkins.

“Are those for Halloween?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.

Jace glances over at the steps. “No, they must be for Valentine’s Day,” he tells me seriously.

I ignore his sarcasm. “I thought only little kids celebrate Halloween.”

Jace looks at me with surprise. “Seriously? A chance to wear a ridiculous outfit and get drunk? It’s one of the craziest nights of the year here.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Don’t they celebrate Halloween in London?” Jace asks, ignoring my question.

I have no idea, but I try to sound confident in my response. “They do, but the school I went to was pretty strict.” Unless you were set to rule the country one day, I add silently. Another thought occurs to me. “Wait, how do you know I went to school in London?” My voice is accusing.

Jace’s is unfazed. “I asked someone to find out. Wasn’t hard to do.” He sounds disgruntled about that for some reason.

“That’s not an invasion of privacy or anything,” I grumble. I’m surprised he actually followed through on his earlier threat to ask around about my background. “Did this unnamed informant also dig up the incident with the headmaster’s son?”

That question catches his attention, and I laugh when his startled eyes meet mine. His expression relaxes when he realizes I’m kidding.

“So, are you a big fan of Halloween?” I ask curiously.

“When I was younger, yeah,” Jace replies. “It was mostly the dressing up part I liked. I’ve never had much of a sweet tooth.”

“What did you dress up as?”

“A race car driver. I was obsessed with them when I was six. My grandfather had a stock car he spent years trying to restore, and I used to sit out in our barn for hours pretending to drive it.”

I smile at the mental picture. “Did you ever actually get to drive it?”

“Nope. I had a grand plan of restoring it and beating Chris Morgan one day, but that never happened.”

“Who is Chris Morgan?”

“Jerk I went to high school with. His family is crazy rich, and he made certain no one ever forgot it. His parents got him a Porsche when he turned sixteen. He looked ridiculous driving it around town, but man did I want that car. No one could beat him in our street races.”

“You should buy a Porsche when you sign your first professional football contract,” I suggest, smiling. I lost track of the number of people who mentioned that Jace Dawson will be drafted to play professional football after my first week here.