He had this weird habit of leaning face first into the doors I opened. He stood there looking like he was trying to seduce my door into opening.

It also appeared that he found his mischievous grin again because it was plain as day on his mouth.

“Oh, wow,” he looked me up and down. “Love this look for you.” He twirled one of the strings for my hood in his finger.

“Great. I’ll just change into something even uglier.”

The door was stopped by his hand. He barged in this time, closing and locking it behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me your mom was Maria?”

“Why didn’t you just ask who I was?”

“Question for a question?” The smirk on his lips tells me that he’s turned on his charm.

Fuck.

“Not in the mood. I will give you one piece of information: my mother raised me right. She made sure I didn’t act like you or any of the other nepo babies out there because she wanted me to have a brain and be able to think critically.”

He closed the distance between us while I looked for other, uglier clothes that wouldn’t turn him on. The guy was a freak and made me want him as turned off as possible at all times. Because, let’s face it, he was in my room with a closed door and very close to me.

Those things combined were not good. Especially with Brent Vaughn.

My heart betrayed me when I looked up to see him standing in the closet doorway looking down at me. His eyes were full of hunger, and it was not for pizza and garlic knots. That look had surely made all the girls he encountered swoon, but I decided it was too cliche for my tastes.

Sure, he buzzed his hair, had tattoos that lined his body up to the sides of his head, dressed far too well for his own good, and smelled like sex with a rockstar...

That didn’t mean I had to fall for it.

“What are you digging around for, babe?” His voice dropped back to that natural sultry tone he had. The warning and urgency disappeared when he started thinking about me changing my clothes. About being out of them. I saw that look. He wanted me out of my clothes.

“Something even less sexy than these since you seem to get off on my regular ugly clothes.” I refocused my rummaging to find something more stained, stinky, or holey. Anything. “And I’m not your babe.”

He ducked away from the pair of pants I threw at him, laughing up a storm. “So, she prefers Blondie to babe.”

“Neither actually.” I wondered about going through my laundry basket to find what I was looking for. “Can I pass?”