Soulless Devil (Sons of Valentino #3)(5)

Again with the yours? I shake my head. What that means is beyond me right now.

“What has you smiling like you just got your hands on your favorite cookie?” Sandra asks from across the room.

“Huh? Nothing,” I lie, ignoring her as I hit reply.



Hi Romeo,



I’m not so sure about fate, but let’s meet in the library. Second level. I usually occupy a table towards the back of the law section.



Regards,

Livvy



Just as I hit send, Sandra pops up next to me on my bed, her eyes directed over my shoulder. She gasps out loud. “Hold up! How the hell do you know Romeo Valentino?” she shrieks.

“I don’t know him. He wants to book tutoring sessions,” I tell her. Sandra scoffs, like that’s something unbelievable. “What?” I ask her. “Do you know him?”

“Not really, but I’ve heard of him.” She doesn’t look at me as she answers the question. I don’t know what she’s hiding but it’s definitely something.





Chapter Three





I’ve been counting down the hours for the last few days, just holding out. Waiting for Tuesday at two p.m. to roll around.

I watch Livvy check her watch for the tenth time in the last five minutes, from my spot at the back of the room. It’s five till two. I still have five minutes to stand and watch her. Something that is fast-becoming my favorite pastime. She’s nervous about something. The way she keeps tightening the ponytail that sits on top of her head tells me as much. Which is also something different, as her long strawberry blonde hair hangs down her back. I’ve never seen it in anything other than the messy bunch of hair she usually has piled on top of her head.

Did she do this for me? That thought clenches my gut with an awful feeling. Does she know who I am? Is that why she’s nervous? Of course, she would have Googled me. What girl meets up with a complete stranger without looking them up first? Fuck, I’m an idiot for using my own name.

She’s not going to want to tutor me if she knows. Either that, or I had pegged her all wrong and she’s just like every other girl on this campus who thinks they want to be the next mafia wife.

But that can’t be right. She’s way too fucking sweet and innocent to want that.

Kicking off the wall, I make my way towards her, sitting in the seat opposite her at the table. She looks up at me with wide eyes. Wide, bright-blue eyes that I let myself drown in momentarily. Before I offer her my trademark Valentino smile. “Hi, I’m Romeo.” I hold my hand out for her to shake.

She hesitates briefly before placing a palm in mine, and I swear I have the urge to never let go. “Livvy, thanks for meeting me here.” She smiles shyly before pulling her hand away and looking down at the table.

“No problem, although I’m the one that should be thanking you. You’ll really be helping me out here.”

“Right, so let’s start by you telling me what you’re struggling with?” she suggests.

I’m guessing the honest answer of ‘trying to keep my cock under control around you’ isn’t what she wants to hear. “English Lit is kicking my ass this semester,” I lie. I don’t even take English Lit.

“So, you’re an English Lit major?” she asks with raised brows.

I tilt my head at her. “Is that hard to believe?” I fire back.

“Not at all. I just figured you’re more suited to being on screen than behind the lines.” She blushes a lovely shade of red.

I smirk. “Are you objectifying me within minutes of meeting me, Livvy?” I ask her.

“What? Oh my god, no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean…” She shakes her head vehemently, her eyes wider than a deer caught in headlights.

“It’s okay if you are. I don’t mind.” I wink.

“Well, I’m not. I was making a sound observation. That’s all.”

“An observation about my looks. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the very definition of sexual objectification is treating someone as an object of desire.”

Her eyes somehow widen a bit more, though I didn’t think it possible, and it’s hard not to laugh at her obvious distress. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“You didn’t,” I tell her.

“Okay… how about we start over and you tell me what you need me to help with specifically, and I can tell you if I can assist you or not.”

“You can,” I assure her. I’m not about to let her pull out of this little arrangement.

“I think I’m a better judge of that.”

“Right. English Lit, it’s the classics, but it’s Austen I connect with the least.”

“Okay, do you have your class outline? I can take a look at it.”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something,” I stumble out. How did I not think to get a fucking outline?

“It’s fine. You can email me a copy later. What’s your latest assignment about?”

“The theme of marriage in Jane Austen’s Pride And Prejudice,” I tell her something I did look up before I came today. “Which, if you ask me, is fucking stupid. The whole ‘women must marry a rich man to be fulfilled thing.’ It’s fucked up.”