“I’m trouble.”

It wasn’t boasting, necessarily, though I’m sure he took some pride in that statement. He was well aware of the edge about him, purposely infusing his words, his way of being with that devil-may-care, James Dean vibe that had probably bed a dozen girls this year alone.

He never had to say much— he let his sultry smirk do most of the talking. But there was a hint of melancholy in his tone. Or maybe it was regret.

Typical. He liked to keep his lines blurred. So do I.

His brown eyes flashed, regarding me with his usual gaze that saw too much, the intensity of it leaving me feeling vulnerable. But as much as he saw, there was so much he didn’t know. Like the fact that he was looking at a girl who had walked through hell with a smile on her face.

His gaze softened when I barked a harsh laugh.

“No. You’re not. I’ve met trouble. And his eyes are blue.”