Chapter 7 Rayne
Rayne
I squeeze through the crowd in the Kettle, trying not to bump anyone with my hard plastic tray full of food.
“This place is fucking poppin’,” Oliver says, managing to make it through the crowd after me, heading toward the tables.
I can barely hear him over the sound of students’ conversations and laughter. The whole dining hall smells delicious, like roasting chicken and apple-cinnamon from the pies they have for dessert.
“It’s always busy because it’s the smaller dining hall, but tonight is another level,” Weston says from behind him.
I scan the area for any free table.
Finally, I spot a 4-seater booth where another group is getting up to leave.
“Got one,” I tell Wes and Ollie, nodding over toward it.
I sit on the plush leather booth seat, sliding in, and Wes comes in beside me. Ollie takes the spot across from us, and for the first time today, I feel like I can relax.
The Kettle sometimes feels like my own personal hideout.
Which is stupid, because it’s packed, but I’ve felt at home here since the first night I arrived on campus last year and fell in love with the feeling of this place.
It looks more like an old tavern than a college dining hall, with wooden beams anchored along the walls and ceiling, medieval art hung on the walls, and hanging lamps that look like old gas lanterns above the tables.
There’s a big opening in the center of the hall with a big, U-shaped buffet where students grab their food, and surrounding it on all sides are rows of tables and booths.
“Oliver, you’re witnessing Rayne Colson Heaven, right now,” Wes says beside me, grinning. “That look in his eyes right now is his Kettle Face. It’s like an orgasm, but for food and vibes.”
Weston’s always pretty good at reading my mind.
“Not my fault the Kettle is the best place on campus,” I say, popping a perfectly ripe strawberry in my mouth. “This is what I needed. Thanks for joining us, Ollie.”
“I think I finally know where everything is on campus without using a map,” Oliver says. “You guys have been good tour guides.”
“I’ve been coming to Crimson College for my whole life,” Wes explains as he dips fries in ketchup. “My dad went here, so he brought me and my brother here many times, trying to turn us into Crimson boys long before we ever were students here.”
“That’s sweet. Are you and Hunter close with your dad?”
Weston shoves a few fries in his mouth at once.
Inside, I’m grimacing.
I know Weston’s father has been strict for his whole life, always pushing him and Hunter to have perfect grades, perfect performance in athletics, and basically trying to form them into little Barrett Knox mini-me dolls.
Weston is good at it.
He gets the grades and performs everything to his father’s standards.
But it causes him a mountain of pressure.
“Our dad is more of a tough-love type than a hugs-and-smiles type,” Wes tells Ollie.
I’m unable to keep a bitter tone from my voice. “I think Hunter inherited more of that than you did. Ever since the dart incident, Hunter’s been pissing me off.”
Weston pauses before taking another bite, turning to look right at me. “My brother is bothering you?”
I wave a hand through the air. “It’s not a big deal. Don’t sweat it, Wes.”
I turn over the memory of the locker room this afternoon like I’m holding a dark secret in my heart.
Your brother went completely fucking feral on me before my shower earlier, actually.
Not that I didn’t kind of provoke it.
By shoving my hand down his pants.
I put my fork in another strawberry, refusing to make eye contact with Wes for a moment.
“Let me know if I have to handle it,” Wes finally tells me, turning away.
I hum. “Hunter’s trying to help me, which is nice, I guess, in his own way. Even if his version of help is literal stalking. He said he wants to make sure I’m not attacked.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually believing my brother’s bullshit, Rayne,” Wes says.
I glance across the table at Ollie, who clearly feels a little awkward with the sudden shift in conversation. The complex dynamics of Wes and Hunter’s lifelong rivalry isn’t exactly easy to explain to a newcomer.
I barely understand it myself, most of the time.
“Hunter doesn’t matter,” I say even though it’s not the truth. “But what does matter is that I saw Ollie talking to a blonde girl on the quad earlier. You already find some action, freshman?”
Oliver puffs out a laugh, already a little relieved. “She was in my first class of the day. Asked me about the old hockey shirt I was wearing. Nice girl, but she has a boyfriend already.”
I dig into my chicken stir-fry, which may as well be straight from heaven.
I need a fucking break like this.
To finally decompress.
To just exist, like I used to. Happily.
Wes asks Oliver all about his high school hockey team, and for the first time all week, I’m not dwelling on the attacks or on Hunter Knox.
It’s a blissful ten minutes until I look up from my bowl of strawberries to see a second plastic tray being put down next to Oliver’s.
I look up and see Hunter’s face.
His eyes, looking right into mine.
Ignore him.
Just fucking ignore him.
He’s not actually sitting down here, is he? Hunter would never choose to sit with his brother, let alone me—
“Hey, Hunter! Sit!” Oliver offers, smiling wide and scooting over on his side of the booth to make room for him. “This place is packed. Isn’t it great?”
“I like the tavern lighting,” Hunter says as he sits down. “Kind of gives it a romantic vibe, doesn’t it, Royal?”
I reach for my glass of soda and my hand knocks up against the salt shaker.
It clatters down onto the table, and salt granules spill out over the lacquered wood surface. At the same time, I inhale a tiny piece of strawberry all wrong, and suddenly I’m in a coughing fit so bad it makes my eyes water.
Hunter just relaxes on the booth seat next to Ollie, watching me like he’s some sadistic voyeur.
“You good, man?” Wes says, pounding my back a couple of times.
I grab the soda, finally regaining my composure as I take a sip. “I’m good.”
“How’s the start of your semester been so far?” Oliver asks Hunter, and I feel like I’m watching a sweet little mouse trying to be friendly to a snake.
“It’s been pretty stimulating,” Hunter tells him. “The classes, I mean.”
The moment I put my glass down, I feel a nudge on my thigh.
And then a stronger pressure, right on my cock.
It’s Hunter’s foot under the table.
I jump slightly and give Hunter a hard glare across the table.
What. The fuck. Are you doing?
I try to telepathically send the message his way. I squirm in place, trying to kick away his leg without making it painfully obvious to Weston beside me.
But there’s no use.
Hunter’s taken off his shoe and is toying with me under the table, using the sole of his foot to massage my dick.
Even after acting all threatening as he left the locker room earlier, telling me to never touch him again.
But maybe it’s just what someone as psycho as him does for some sick pleasure.
For Hunter, everything is a game.
He’s talking to Ollie about classes, acting like nothing is going on, perfectly calm on the surface.
But the way he’s stroking my bulge is impossible to ignore, and my cock responds to the sensation even though I’m trying to summon every ounce of composure I can.
Going to kill you slowly, Knox.
Except for the fact that you’d probably find some way to get off on that, too.
“Have your classes been tough?” Ollie asks.
“They didn’t start out hard. But now they’re getting hard. Harder and harder by the moment, it feels like.”
Hunter’s looking at me as he says it, pushing against my now fully stiff cock.
I can feel my cheeks heating up. They’ve already gone pink, without a doubt, just adding more fuel to the fire.
He’s desperate for a reaction out of me.
He wants me to get up, storm off, and explode.
I’m not going to give him that.
Not a fucking chance.
If Hunter can’t stop himself from touching me, then that’s his problem, not mine.
I start leaning into his touch instead. I buck my hips a little, rocking myself up against him, daring him to keep going.
I’d already told him that he’s going to fucking lose if he tries to play gay chicken with me.
I could go all day.
“How about you, Weston?” Hunter asks his brother. “How have your classes been going?”
“Peachy. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go grab a slice of apple pie.”
Weston already hates being at the table with his brother, and he’s looking for an out.
“Same,” Ollie says. “That smell has been tantalizing me the whole time. Rayne, Hunter, you want us to grab you anything else?”
A gun, maybe?
Or how about a flamethrower?
A guillotine?
“I’m good for now,” I tell them.
Hunter nods. “I’m just peachy, too.”
Wes and Ollie grab their trays and head back over through the crowd.
The moment their backs are turned and they’re walking away, Hunter suddenly lurches into action.
He drops his foot away from me and stands up.
And then he’s looping around the booth, coming over to my side, sliding in and taking Weston’s spot next to me.
I try to slide away a little but the warmth of his palm lands on my thigh, stopping me, settling right below my hard cock.
He leans in and his lips land on my neck. He sucks a slow, wet kiss there, and I curse under my breath.
I shove him back a moment later.
“Get off me,” I tell him. “Your brother is right there.”
Hunter is gazing at my mouth. “And he’s not facing our way, king. You smell like strawberries.”
He moves and squeezes my dick with his hand, now, and the contact is much more direct than the sole of his foot was.
I throb in his hand, unable to control my reaction.
“Did you follow me here, like you followed me to the locker room?”
“How the fuck else am I supposed to make sure you’re not going to die? It’s not like you have any sense of self-preservation. You go to the same places every day.”
“And that’s my life. And none of your business.”
“Feels like my business when you’re this hard for me.”
I glance up and see Wes and Ollie at the end of the buffet bar.
“They got their apple pie. They’re coming back over here, so can you quit—”
Hunter pulls his hand off of me in an instant, pressing his finger to my mouth to tell me to be quiet.
He slides his finger down a moment later, just a few moments before Wes and Ollie return again.
Wes is glaring at Hunter as he returns.
“The fuck are you in my spot for?” Wes asks.
“I saw a suspicious person walking by, and I’m not about to let our king Royal here get attacked again. If a dart ends up in anyone’s neck, it’s going to be mine. I’m his shield.”
Weston never buys Hunter’s bullshit, but he knows he’s going to stay planted right there. Wes sits across from us, next to Ollie, instead.
“Wes was telling me you guys have a group text thread for Onyx stuff,” Ollie tells me. “I need to get on that thing.”
“Of course,” I tell him. “Text me your number and I’ll add you.”
I tell Oliver my phone number, and I realize my mistake immediately when I see Hunter slip out his phone and jot my number down, too.
My phone buzzes in my pocket a moment later.
As Ollie and Wes dig into their apple pie, I take my phone out to see the message.
Unknown Number: It’s cute how much my brother hates it when I’m close to you. Should we show him how hard you are for me?
Rayne: Die, Knox.
Want you to stay hard. Want your cock to ache every time you hear my name.
Starting to think you just want *me.*
Expect me not to get my revenge? You kissed me first. You touched my cock first, too.
Do your worst.
You haven’t seen my worst yet. You’ll choke on my cock. You’ll take every drop of cum I have, every day. You made yourself mine when you kissed me that night, Royal.
I can barely keep the phone steady in my hand to send a message back.
His hand is on my thigh beneath the table again.
I’m hard.
I’m also guiltier than I’ve ever felt, seeing those words on my phone screen when Weston is right there across the table.
I swallow hard, and my throat is tight.
I finally manage to tap something out.
We can’t do this here.
Say you’ll take my cock.
No.
Hunter slides his palm a little higher beneath the table, resting on my cock.
Like he owns it.
Knowing I refuse to react.
Tonight.
It’s one word.
And it makes my cock throb under my pants, and Hunter’s palm is right there to feel it.