Xavier scanned the tiered seats of the arena, trying to get a feel for Class 1-A. Each student radiated confidence—not the manufactured kind he'd perfected over years of cons, but the genuine assurance that came from knowing exactly what you were capable of.
Then he saw him.
Dimitri Korzhakov sat in the center of a small entourage, his platinum blonde hair immaculately styled, his azure eyes catching the light with that unnatural glow Xavier had noticed in the clothing store.
"Shit," he muttered.
"What's wrong?" Calypso asked.
"That's the asshole from the store." Xavier nodded toward Dimitri. "The one who tried to buy your dress."
Calypso's eyes narrowed. "Oh. Him."
Xavier sighed and closed his eyes. "Please don't let Valdez call me out today. Not in front of that dickhead and all these beautiful women. Amen." He pressed his palms together.
"Are you... praying?" Calypso asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't understand," Xavier said, opening his eyes. "It's a human thing."
