St. Clare tilts his head, the only change to his expression the way his tongue flicks out for barely a peek as he wets his bottom lip. It’s gone too fast, but the tiny pink glimpse keeps playing in my mind. The way it makes my throat dry feels like a warning.

“Just stating facts.”

“Ah. Yes. Th-thank you. You have a, umm, very pretty …. ah, mouth?”

His lips twitch involuntarily, finally giving me a quick break through the intensity. “My mouth?”

“Sure.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

My eyes shoot wide. “Just stating facts. I’m straight. Very straight. Very, very straight.”

“Straight.” He picks up his cup and takes a slow sip.

The fact he’s still standing there and not at all running and hiding like we goddamn agreed has the pulse in my throat throbbing.

“Pity,” St. Clare says. “My pretty mouth can do a lot of very pretty things.”

The blood drains from my head. I might be shit at speaking bad guy, but I can speak innuendo, and the suggestion of having that mouth wrapped around my … around … that … has the blood relocating to a very specific part of my anatomy instead.

I swallow roughly. “That’s … that’s good to, umm, know.” I plant both hands firmly on the counter to stop from adjusting myself into a more comfortable position.

St. Clare’s gaze finally breaks from mine and drops to them instead. Then, he reaches across the distance between us and grabs my little strawberry charm, giving it a tug. The bird, smiley face, and flower charms all shake with the movement.

“You know, Perry,” he says, leaning in, and when he looks back up at me, his gaze is cold. “I could have sworn I’ve seen this somewhere before.”

“Impossible. My mom made it for me.”

“So it’s one of a kind.”

“Yep.”

“And no other person in the world has it?”

I have no idea where he’s going with this. I stiffly shake my head.

“And you haven’t lent it to anyone?”

“Why would I do that?”

St. Clare’s smile is smug. “You wanna know where I’ve seen it?”

Suddenly, I’m not so sure I do. Actually, I’m very, very sure that I don’t want to know where he’s seen it because wherever that was has pissed St. Clare off, and it’s giving me a bad feeling.

A bad, sickly, sinking feeling that maybe Arlie was right.

“It’s actually, uh, time for my break. Must be going. Good talk. See you later.” Before he can answer me, I yank my hand away, the bracelet snapping back against my wrist as I leave the counter empty and scramble toward the back.