Chapter 2

2

LUKE

“W hat the hell is that guy’s problem?” I ask Alexei as soon as we get back to our dorm room.

He turns to me, wide-eyed. “Honestly, Luke, I have no idea. That is not the Brad I know. That cheap shot he made on the field—did you see how the other guys were acting? Everyone was thrown. Brad is a stand-up guy…usually.”

“Tell me you know that’s not true anymore. Or are you gonna put this on me because you’ve known him longer?”

I’m more than a little defensive since he’s described Brad as his friend. And as cool as Alexei’s been to hang with the past couple of weeks, I can’t help judging him, just like I’m judging Seth for his association with that fucker.

Alexei throws his hands up in surrender. “Brad was in the wrong. I said that. You saw I had your back. I’m also a scholarship boy, and he’s never said anything like that to me. This all blows my mind.”

Well, shit. I’m taking this out on the wrong guy. I’m normally much more in control, but something about Brad Henning hits at a sore spot in me, beyond simply being pissed at an asshole. Like something about him is a threat to my very soul.

After losing both my parents by the time I turned fourteen—Dad to a brain aneurysm, then Mom to a car accident four years later—I pulled away from the friends I had and didn’t try to make new ones. And when I didn’t have friends anymore, or maybe simply because bullies could sense my vulnerability from everything I’d been through, I became a target, something my uncle Dan, who’d taken me in, had to put a stop to through school admins. Still, by sophomore year, I’d learned how to stand up to assholes like Brad even if it meant throwing a punch or getting my ass handed to me. So if this guy thinks he’s gonna use me as his doormat, he’s got another thing coming.

“I’ll chat with him,” Alexei says. “See if we can bridge whatever the fuck misunderstanding this is.”

I toss my bag on my bed. “This isn’t a misunderstanding . He went after me unprovoked. He didn’t apologize. Just kept digging. And then Seth…”

I stop myself. If I mention what happened when Seth told me I didn’t mind, Alexei’s gonna think I’ve lost it.

“I’m sorry, Luke. You’ve been cooped up in here reading and watching TV, and I thought it might be nice to get out.”

He’s right. I knew I needed to push myself to get out. As one therapist told me a few years after my parents’ deaths, “You keep people at a distance. Do you think it’s out of fear of losing them like you did your parents?” As if my uncle needed to pay a hundred and seventy bucks for someone to pick up on that one. Although, as annoying as the advice sounded at the time, it’s part of what got me hanging with Alexei and forcing myself to be more social.

It also reminds me that Alexei is not the one I should be dumping all this on. Unlike Brad, he’s trying to be friendly. And it wasn’t a total waste. In fact, after my incident with Brad, several guys and girls from the teams came up to me and made an extra effort to make me feel welcome. Brad doesn’t represent the whole damn school.

“That said,” Alexei adds, “if you don’t want to go to a pickup meet again, I’ll totally understand.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going now.”

He tilts his head, surely confused by my position.

“I’ve been around enough guys like Brad to know that if I give in, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’m gonna show that fucker I’m not the kind of guy he can intimidate.”

He smirks. “I knew I liked you.” Then his brow tenses. “Hey, maybe that’s what’s up with Brad. Maybe he likes you…?”

“I seriously hope you aren’t suggesting he was pulling my pigtails. That’s problematic behavior, not a sign of—”

“We both saw what his dick was doing in the showers. Might not be a healthy way of reacting or an excuse, but he’s gay, and…Pretty Boy?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing about,” I tease. “I’m a hot motherfucker.”

That’s not really true. Not that I’m unattractive, but I’m probably average in the looks department.

We both burst into a laugh, and it’s nice that despite how fucked up that shit was, I’m able to laugh about it.

But there’s one thing I can’t laugh about. Three words Seth said that echo inside my goddamn head.

You. Don’t. Mind.

*

The rest of the afternoon and into the night, I’m googling shit like hypnosis, neurolinguistic programming, and the power of persuasion, with mixed results.

Some people swear by crap like hypnosis and NLP, while skeptics tend to believe in some ability to influence, but nowhere near as dramatic as what some of this shit claims.

Hell, if I hadn’t had that experience, I’d be just as skeptical.

But that wasn’t influence. I can’t think of anything that could have taken me down from that rage other than being shot with a tranquilizer, and even that would have taken time to kick in.

Right after it happened, the details were hazy, like something I would’ve remembered from childhood. It had been enough to make me second-guess myself, but now all the details are back, rich and vivid. So graphic that I don’t doubt what happened. And only with hypnosis have people claimed they could be totally transformed with just a keyword or phrase, ridiculous as that might seem.

But surely if Seth was running around campus hypnotizing everyone, people would notice. Although, I haven’t been here long enough to know what everyone talks about.

The following morning, I’m in the communal kitchen for our floor. A few guys are in the dining area, watching Judge Judy on the big-screen TV. I’m standing at the stove, fixing an omelet, when Brad walks in.

“Morning, Pretty Boy,” he says, glancing me over, his gaze lingering on my body a little too long, making me wonder if maybe Alexei was right about Brad’s behavior. What if it was just an inappropriate way of approaching his attraction?

But that doesn’t seem right. From what I’ve heard, he’s messed around with a ton of guys, and if that was his reputation, people wouldn’t think he was a stand-up guy, as Alexei put it.

As he opens the fridge, I glance his way and notice the protrusion in the crotch of his sweatpants. “You’re having a very good morning, aren’t you?” I say, deliberately pushing. He needs to know I’m not gonna sit back and take his crap.

He glares at me.

“Is that all for me?” I jab.

“Why, you need a smoothie for breakfast?”

The way he raises his brow, smirking, it has me thinking that if he wasn’t such a fucking tool, we might actually get along. But since he’s determined to be my archnemesis, it’s now a game I must win.

“If I need protein, I have bars for that.”

I glance around the dining area. The other guys are chatting or engrossed in Judge Judy’s deliberations, and for the first time, Seth isn’t right at Brad’s side.

I’ve been debating about the best tactic. Confront just Brad, just Seth, or both at the same time?

Seth is much cooler than Brad, though. Seems like Brad struggles with controlling himself, which might work to my advantage if I can get him to slip up, admit that Seth fucking hypnotized me yesterday.

Christ, what the hell am I even saying?

As I flip my omelet, Brad pulls out some OJ, then rifles through the freezer, retrieving frozen fruits.

“I’m planning to come to the pickup game next week again. In case you thought you were gonna discourage me from that.”

“Be happy to kick your ass again.”

“Maybe you could show some integrity this time. Be less of an embarrassment to your team.”

He snickers, but it somehow sounds like a low, rumbling growl. My dick gets a little twitchy, which is fucked up, and I’ve been up too long to blame it on morning wood. I also notice heat in my chest, intensifying rapidly. I’d say it’s just my anger at him, but it’s stronger than anything I’ve felt in the past. Reminds me of why I got so fucking heated from the jump yesterday.

Brad fills the blender with frozen fruit, protein powder, and peanut butter, then mashes it all together. Meanwhile, I plate my omelet and grab ketchup from the fridge.

When Brad pours his mix into a glass, I set my plate on the counter near him and say, “That was an interesting trick your friend Seth pulled yesterday.”

“What can I say? He’s great at stealing.” As he says that, he shoots me a look like he knows damn well I’m not talking about one of the impressive moves Seth pulled during the game. And I don’t have to read his mind to know it’s a bluff. Has to be. I saw the way he looked at Seth after he fed me that suggestion.

“That’s not the trick I was talking about. I was referring to his induction .” I use it like a hypno pro, based on my limited Google investigation.

Brad’s brows shift closer as he winces. “Induction?”

“Real interesting how fast he calmed me down, don’t you think? Maybe a little too fast.”

This strikes a nerve. His eyes widen, and he studies my face before glancing into the dining area. Is he worried the guys might hear? That I know something I shouldn’t?

But then a mask of indifference slips into place, and he shrugs. “Seth has a talent for deescalating tense situations.”

“I know what he did to me, Brad,” I spit out, and he doesn’t break eye contact this time, but his expression is frozen in place, not revealing a damn thing.

Finally, he says, “Really? And what is that?”

“He fucking hypnotized me.” I keep my voice low because I can only imagine what the others would think if they heard me.

Brad’s lips curl upward and his eyes close as he chuckles. It quickly turns into a laugh. “Of course. That’s totally what happened. You got him.” He moves closer and whispers, “Maybe cut back on the weed you do before bed. Or really, whatever you’re treating yourself to.”

He’s much more relaxed now, which makes me think I fumbled on the hypnosis theory, but even if it’s something else, I can’t be that far off.

“Whatever the hell he did to me, I’ll figure it out, so just let him know that if he tries his mind games again, it’s not gonna be so easy.”

That sobers him up. That impressive jaw of his tightens, but I’ve said my piece, so I turn my attention to my omelet, squeezing ketchup along the side for dip. A bit squirts out, scattering across the plate and—

“Fuck,” I say as I notice a few drops across my tank. Now I’ve just given Brad Henning ammo. Here it comes.

I brace myself for the inevitable smart-ass comment, sure Pretty Boy will come up. I grab the hem of my shirt, and as I’m pulling it off to rinse it under the sink, Brad grips my wrist.

“Don’t,” he whispers, clinging to me. It’s not a tight grip, but it’s firm, and where he touches, a low, steady jolt of electricity pulses through me, exciting all my nerves. What felt like anger in my chest is now a powerful heat that sweeps through my body.

Our gazes lock, and I see a flash of panic in his wide-eyed expression. I’m fucking frozen in place, this energy coursing through me. My heart races, and my nerves are doing fucking somersaults in my chest.

With his free hand, Brad reaches into his shirt collar and pulls out his necklace, gripping it. The moment he does, he breaks our eye contact, and the sensation coursing through me cuts off.

“Good chat,” he spits out, releasing my wrist. He snatches his smoothie off the counter and dashes off, leaving my body buzzing with life.

By the time he’s in the hall, I’m able to catch my breath, which is when I notice the tent in my pants.

What. The. Hell. Was. That?

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