Jennifer Lynn Barnes

“What are we doing here?”

“Sighing melodramatically,”

“This is who I want to be,” Jameson said, his voice hoarse, “for you.”

“Facial expressions, posture, gestures, the works,” he said. “You nibble on the inside of your lip when you’re nervous. And you get this little wrinkle at the corner of your right eye when you’re trying not to stare.”

“You wear a different style of clothing every time I see you,” I said. “You stand differently. You talk differently. You never say anything about yourself.”

“You’re annoyed with me,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “But also intrigued.”

Michael helped himself to my spoon—and a bite of cereal. “Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re annoyed?”

“Really?” Agent Locke said, eyeing the look on my face. “I was just kidding, but you’ve got I-was-up-late-with-a-boy-last-night face. Maybe we should have some girl talk.”

“Let’s just say that I have the rare ability to be dissatisfied wherever I am,” Michael said, “although I’m starting to think this place has its perks.” This time, instead of messing with my ponytail, he pushed a stray piece of hair out of my face.

“I dare you,” Lia said, relishing each and every word, “to kiss Dean.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Michael said. “I get even.”