Noah

I knew I’d screwed up the second the words left my mouth.

“Careful going through the door. Don’t want your thick thighs getting stuck.”

It was meant to be a joke. Just another jab in the endless back-and-forth I had with Jessa Lombardi. Something to get her riled up, to see her eyes spark with that fire I secretly loved provoking.

But the way she froze, the flush crawling up her cheeks, the way her grip on her books went white-knuckle—yeah, I’d crossed a line.

And instead ...