Eric’s large frame and rugged handsomeness takes the air from my lungs. His hair is pulled back in a man-bun, my fav look on him.

No. I do not have a favorite look for him, but it does show off his ridiculous cheekbones and aristocratic, slightly bent nose.

He’s wearing jeans, gold Converse, and a HU shirt. The lion on the front seems to glare at me—much like he is now.

I lean against the doorjamb. Be cool, be cool. “Howdy, partner.”

He doesn’t smile. “That guy at the laundromat is scary. Stay away from him. I mean it.”

I huff. The nerve of him to tell me what to do.

“That’s what I told you. I repeat, you could have been hurt. Let me handle Connor.”

His arms cross. “How did you get involved with him? Are you on drugs?”

I tuck my hands in my pockets and dip my head so he can’t see how much his words hurt. I know I strip, no one has to remind me, but in prep school, I was the goody-two shoes who never wavered. I had to keep my grades up to keep my scholarship—not that I was ever invited to parties. I wrote poetry. I drew. I daydreamed about him. “Do I look like an addict?”

His golden eyes roam over me. Assessing. “Maybe.”

My throat tingles with words I want to say but know I shouldn’t.

The less he knows, the better.

His nose flares. “I’m trying to help you and you’re giving me the cold shoulder. What’s wrong with you?”

I swallow thickly as I gaze at him. “Eric. Please. Being around me will only smear your good name—”

“Stop,” he calls out, then rubs his face, his anger seeming to deflate like a popped tire. “Don’t put yourself down like that. You’re a person, Julia. One that people care about.”

And I want to protect those people.

I chew on my bottom lip. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

He lets out a long sigh, gives me a searching look, goes to leave, then stops. He reaches into his pocket and holds something up. “This is yours, I assume.”

I stare at the ring, my lips parting. “How did you . . .?”

But he’s already out the door.