“What exactly do you have in common with a bunch of girls who worry more about fashion and the next episode of some contrived reality TV drama?”
“A lot. Just like Bran and I do,” I added and gave Sykes a beatific smile, knowing he hated hearing about my boyfriend.
He narrowed his eyes. “Trying to make me jealous, Red?”
“Is it working?” This time, I succeeded in pushing his arm away.
He made a face. “I still don’t get what Bran Llyr has that I don’t.”
“He sprouts wings.” I wiggled my brow. “Massive, gorgeous wings.”
“Big whoop. He’s still anal, arrogant, a cheesy dresser...”
Sykes continued to list more things he considered wrong with my boyfriend, which were all ridiculous. Bran was amazing. We were alrunes, soul-mates, the yin and the yang.
“And he has no sense of humor whatsoever,” Sykes finished with a smirk.
I laughed. “Because he doesn’t laugh at your lame jokes?”
“Lame jokes? I’m charming, witty. Ask any one of my girlfriends. He thinks I’m a threat. He knows you like me.” He tugged on a curly lock of my hair.
I pushed his hand away. “Quit messing with me.”
“You like me, Red,” he said in a sing-song tone.
Okay, so it was true that Sykes was charming and funny. He was your typical high school hottie—carefree, handsome, long blond hair, scruffily dressed in ripped jeans and tees to downplay his good looks, so girls wouldn’t be all over him. His words, not mine. But he wasn’t the only guy around that was gorgeous. Most Guardians were...