Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(127)

She picks up her pace, bouncing all around as she tries to keep weight off of her left foot, but it don’t matter now. I’m right behind her already.

“Why’d you let me think she was you?”

She scoffs. “It’s not my fault you assumed I was the taller, hotter, easier of the two of us.”

I grip her by the arm, halting her movement and she tips her head back, eyes still hidden behind her big-ass shades.

I glare, opening my mouth to tell her, I don’t know the fuck what, when she crosses her arms again, catching me off guard.

“I know who you are.”

I shoot up straight. “Yeah, and who am I?”

“Royce Brayshaw, of the Brayshaw family.” She doesn’t miss a beat.

I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth. “And who are you, so we’re clear?”

She reaches a hand out and I frown at it.

“Oh sorry, right. You’re silver-spooned.” She tips her head. “This is called a pleasantry, many people use them.”

“Your name, smart-ass.”

“Shake my hand, Royce Brayshaw.”

I hold in a growl, slapping my palm against hers, and she gives it a good, solid, shake.

“It’s good to finally meet one of you, in the flesh.” She passes her tote back to her other shoulder with a slight shrug. “Anyway, you already know who I am.” She pauses. “Well, now anyway.”

“Your name, from your lips, not that… whoever the fuck that was.” My jaw tics as I wait for her to speak.

She doesn’t.

I step closer. “Don’t play games with me, girl.”

“Right... ‘cause Brayshaw.”

My head tugs back, and even though I can’t see ‘em, I imagine this little shit rolls her damn eyes at me.

She looks to her watch and my anger rises.

“Whatever,” she huffs. “I’m Brielle Bishop, and I’m late.”

She turns around and walks away.

Leaves.

Yeah… I don’t fuckin’ think so.

I chase her ass.