18

Rita

I do my best to keep pace with him, but Scar pushes all my buttons.

We jog through downtown, heading toward the river. "All right, questions time," he says as the sun rises over the skyline.

He woke me up early. Three sharp knocks on my door. It scared the crap out of me—yanked me right from sleep—and I nearly rolled out of the unfamiliar bed.

Still getting used to my new situation.

When I finally crawled into the hallway, heart racing, in nothing but a pair of shorts and a practically see-through tank top, I stared at Scar, pretty sure the place was on fire.

No reasonable, rational human being would pound on someone's door that early otherwise.

But he only stared at me with that intense glare of his. Like I was the one that woke him up or something. Eyes roaming down to my chest.

Only to find out that he woke me for a predawn jog. "I expect you dressed and ready in ten," he said before storming off again.

The fucking prick.

Yet here I am, jogging away.

"Go ahead," I say, so clea