Against the Rules (Even The Score #4)

15. willow

CHAPTER 15

WILLOW

HELLO TO YOUR BODYGUARD

The whole reason I showed up to Marrs early was for summer classes. If I worked ahead on homework, I could hit as many shows as I wanted, push past the whole thing with King, and put my energy into what really mattered.

The campus was way bigger than my college back in San Antonio and I ended up in the wrong building twice . By the time I found my class, almost all of the chairs were taken. Only one left.

Next to King.

A single word escaped him, barely audible in the distance between us. " Fuck. "

For fuck’s sake.

Fighting the biggest blush in the world, I shouldered past the other desks, and took the remaining seat. I whipped out my textbook before I could bolt out of the room.

"You’re the one that’s transferring," I told him.

He didn’t say anything.

"Because I already read the book and did the first month’s discussion boards. I’m not the one that’s walking away. You are."

He stared straight ahead, jaw tight.

I shot another look at him. "Nod once if you’re transferring."

He nodded.

The door burst open again, but it wasn’t the professor. It was a guy with a black eye and a cut down his jaw, with dense curls and a big smirk on his face. That smirk was bound to leave though. There were literally no other seats in the class.

Or, I thought there weren’t, until he walked up to the skinny boy next to me and held out a twenty.

"Thanks, Alan." He grinned and took his chair.

Weird enough, I could see King stiffen. Audibly stiffen. His chair creaked against the floor as he reacted to whoever this new guy was.

The guy’s smirk widened. "Morning, Ms. Lawson."

Oh, Jesus .

As much as it physically pained me to admit, King was right. Everyone knew who I was. It was the same all over campus. When I took the bus in the morning, people recognized me. When I tried to grab a smoothie at Gianna’s, the barista assured me it was no charge and wrote Lawson on my cup. Four people opened doors for me, saying they couldn’t wait for another Birchwood Bowl win.

I pursed my lips. "It’s Ms. Pruitt."

"No, it’s definitely Ms. Lawson."

"Lawson is my mom’s husband. As far as it says on my ID, it’s Ms. Pruitt."

"Oh, got it." He chuckled. "I’m Elijah Contractor but everybody calls me Ruthless." He glanced behind me. "Hello to your bodyguard."

I ignored King. "He’s not my bodyguard."

" The King," Elijah taunted. "You know what’s insane? I’ve seen him a hundred times and the guy’s never said a single word to me. Come on, the King . Take off the muzzle."

King was silent.

I frowned. "Why do they call you Ruthless?"

"I’m an enforcer for the Gladiators."

"The Gladiators?"

"Our esteemed hockey team."

I had no idea Marrs even had a hockey team. "Shouldn’t you be called the Romans too…?"

"It’s a long story."

"Huh." I studied his injuries. "I should’ve guessed you were a hockey player."

"What gave it away, Pruitt?"

"The black eye."

Elijah burst into laughter, and I decided I liked him. He was the first person who stuck to Pruitt, even if I could tell he was a troublemaker.

"You want to put distance between you and the Lawson name? What about a hockey party? You’re all everybody’s talking about, and we’d love to host the coach’s daughter. There’s a shit ton of new transfers who can?—"

King’s chair creaked. " Elijah. "

The single word was a warning.

There must’ve been some kind of turf war I didn’t know about between the football and the hockey team.

Funny enough, I understood the warning, but Elijah ignored it.

"Holy shit." He guffawed. "I finally got a word! He speaks!"

There was this weird tension between the two of them. Or a weird tension emitting from King that Elijah blocked over and over again, obviously enjoying the fact that he was upsetting King. Which was…odd.

King picked up my pen, dropped it to the floor, and bumped it with his sneaker.

My mouth fell open. "What did you do that for?"

He didn’t budge, clearly waiting for me to pick it up. I couldn’t believe it, but I did need my pen back. It was one of the nice, sliding ones I swiped from my dad’s briefcase before I left San Antonio. Swearing under my breath, I bent down to grab it.

"Morning, class!" the professor called from the door. "Sorry I’m late!"

I hurried back, pen in hand, but found Elijah, silent. His focus stayed on King but even if Elijah had that amused glint in his eye, he was silent too.

I was only gone for a few seconds, but it felt like I skipped an entire episode of a TV show.

"What?" I finally asked.

King turned to the board as the PowerPoint started, ending the conversation. If he wouldn’t say anything, I’d get the answers out of Elijah. But when I switched to the hockey player, he shrugged.

"I see why your boyfriend needs a muzzle, Pruitt."

King didn’t say anything?

I blinked. "What did he do?"

Elijah chuckled and flipped the pages of his textbook.

"What did you—?" I whipped back to Elijah. "He’s not my boyfriend."

A minute ago he would’ve made a joke, but he just shrugged again.

"Not even close," I finished, refusing to look at King.