“It’s not your fault,” Darian replied, his voice just as hushed. “I’m not…angry with you, Stacy. I want you to know that. If anything, I should never have mentioned Dean but I thought maybe you’d like to see that you’re not the only kid who ever screwed around in high school.”
Kid
The word cut through Stacy like a knife, kid—was that what Darian thought of him? After all the playful flirting, the glances, the innuendos? “I’m twenty years old,” he growled, suddenly defensive. “I’m not a child.”
Darian murmured, “I know.” Stacy looked up sharply and saw those chocolate eyes fixed on him again, an unreadable expression behind their gaze. “I was your age when my brother died.”
Stacy scowled at the desk in front of him. “You make me sound so damn young.”