Chapter 2
SHANE
The silence that surrounds me is a welcome break from the usual chaos and noise that comes with living in a frat house, but even that’s not enough to shake off the bad mood that’s starting to feel like my default setting.
I hoped getting a workout in would help, but after an hour of beating the hell out of the many boxing bags around, I’m still not feeling any better, or any less restless.
“What’s up, fuck face?”
My bad mood intensifies at the familiar voice, and I lift my eyes from the athletic wrap I’m in the process of unraveling from around my hand to the wall of mirrors in front of me.
The last person I want to see tonight, or ever if I’m being honest, is casually leaning against one of the multi-station machines like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And knowing him, he probably doesn’t.
On the surface, Jace Hawthorne is exactly what you’d expect to find at Silvercrest. He’s rich as sin, comes from one of the most powerful and influential families at the school, and has all the confidence of a guy who knows the world is his oyster and that rules don’t apply to him.
He’s also a giant asshole who’s been the bane of my existence since freshman year.
“What do you want?” I ask, glaring at his reflection in the mirror.
I purposely waited until it was late to come down here because I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone.
“Do I have to have a reason to say hi to a fellow brother?” he asks, his expression filled with wide-eyed innocence and a little bit of hurt.
I snort-laugh and toss the wrap over my shoulder so I can undo the other one. “Yeah, I’m not buying that innocent shit. What do you want?”
One thing I’ve learned about both Jace and his identical twin brother Jax is that the twins are masters at expressing emotions.
And I don’t mean it in the sense that they’re in touch with their emotions and aren’t afraid to show them or anything as enlightened as that.
It’s more that they’re masters at emoting, and this seems to be especially true with Jace.
He can look happy or sad or sorry or hurt or whatever emotion the situation calls for on command, and he can flip between expressions on a dime, like he’s choosing a program to run and not because he’s actually feeling what he’s showing.
Of course, that could just be part of his whole “be as annoying as humanly possible” thing he’s got going on and not some sort of emotional defect, but it’s weird that no one else seems to see it.
“What makes you think I want something?” he asks.
“Because why else would you be standing there and bothering me when you have the whole gym at your disposal?”
“Not the whole gym since you’re here,” he says pointedly.
“So then don’t be here.”
“But this is where I want to be.”
“Why?” I toss the second wrap over my shoulder.
“Because I want to work out,” he says like he’s talking to a five-year-old.
“So go work out.” I wave to the empty gym. “It’s not like I’m stopping you.”
“No, but you’re in my spot.”
“Your what?” I turn around to face him before I can stop myself.
“My spot.” He nods to where I’m standing. “That’s where I like to warm up, and you’re in it. I’m just waiting for you to stop dillydallying and move your ass out of the way.”
“Seriously?” I level a glare at him. “You expect me to believe that you can’t possibly warm up in any other part of the gym?”
“I could.” He shoots me a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “But it’s more fun to piss you off than it is to find another spot, so…” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug.
“Why are you here?” I ask again. “You don’t even use the gym.”
“I don’t?”
“No. I’ve never seen you in here.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t use it,” he says conversationally. “It just means I haven’t used it when you’re in here.”
“Do you really think any of this is going to make me leave?” I toss the athletic wraps next to the water bottle I stashed on a nearby bench. “Because this shit doesn’t work on me.”
“What shit?”
“Being an annoying asshat.”
“I’m literally just standing here and trying to have a polite conversation.” He shakes his head like a disappointed teacher. “Sounds like someone’s a wee bit hostile tonight.”
I cross my arms and shoot him a flat look. “You know I’m not going to move out of principle now, right? I can stand here all night if I have to.”
Something dark and wild flickers in his eyes, momentarily chasing away the easygoing look he always seems to default to, but it’s gone before I can even attempt to figure out what it was.
“I should test you on that and see how long you can hold out.” He yanks off the ratty tee he has on and holds it loosely in one hand. “Because you have no idea how stubborn I can be when someone challenges me.”
I force myself to keep my eyes on his face and not check out his ridiculous body.
The Hawthorne twins are two of the most gorgeous people I’ve ever seen, and they know it.
Not only do they look like cover models with their glossy dark hair, perfect bone structure, and icy blue/gray eyes, but they can also put most fitness influencers to shame.
And as far as I can tell, they have matching full-sleeve tattoos, giving them that bad boy look that everyone seems to go crazy for.
Even just standing there in a pair of low-slung sweatpants and plain sneakers, Jace looks like he just stepped off the set of a photo shoot, not like he’s getting ready for a midnight workout.
“I mean, same,” I say. “You think you have a monopoly on being stubborn? Bitch, please. I’d win against you every time.”
He shoots me a smirk that’s both annoying and dismissive and only serves to piss me off even more. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I rub one hand through my damp hair to push it back from my forehead. “Now are you done being an annoying asshole?”
He shoots me a grin that sends a little rush of something I can’t identify through my chest. “Never.”
That weird heat melts away and is replaced by red-hot anger that’s as familiar as the funk I’ve fallen into.
I don’t even know why I’m angry right now.
It’s almost like it’s a Pavlovian response to just being in the same airspace as him—a glimpse of the back of his head or even just hearing his voice in a crowd is enough to piss me off.
And it’s not like this kind of back and forth is unusual for us or anything.
I do my best to avoid Jace like the plague, but when I can’t, this is exactly how he always acts when no one else is around.
“Do you get off on being this way?” I ask when he just keeps standing there and smirking at me like the douchenozzle he is.
“On being what way?” He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Like I said, I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation with a fellow brother. You’re the one who keeps calling me names and saying I’m annoying when all I’ve done is stand here.”
I shoot him a smirk of my own. “Just standing there, huh?”
“Yup, just standing and waiting for you to move your butt out of my spot.”
“The spot you only want so you can get a rise out of me?”
He huffs out a soft laugh that’s somehow melodic and sinister at the same time. “I don’t have to try to get a rise out of you, darlin’,” he drawls. “You do that on your own without any effort on my part.”
“Yeah, right,” I scoff. “Like you don’t make it your life’s mission to piss me off as much as you possibly can.”
He studies me for a few beats, his entire demeanor shifting from “frat boy without a care in the world” to how I imagine a serial killer picking his next victim would look.
“Sorry to disappoint, but you really don’t factor into my life as much as you think you do.” He runs one hand through the long strands of his hair and flips them from one side to the other with a casual flick of his hand.
The change in him is stark, and I’m not sure what to do with this version of Jace. I’m used to the chaotic and charismatic frat boy who can manipulate pretty much anyone he wants with some puppy-dog eyes or a well-placed smile.
Right now, his tone is as flat and emotionless as his expression. It’s as weird as it is creepy.
“I don’t go out of my way to make your life miserable or piss you off or whatever you’re thinking,” he continues. “I piss you off because it’s fun. That’s it, that’s all, and if that makes you miserable, then that’s a you problem.”
“I never said you make me miserable.”
“Fine,” he says in that same flat voice.
“I don’t go out of my way to piss you off.
I do it because it’s fun and makes my day a little brighter.
But that’s it. I don’t think about you when I’m living my life, and I don’t wonder about the next time I’ll be in your vicinity or whatever else you might be thinking. I see an opportunity, and I take it.”
“Yeah, right.” I raise myself up to my full height, which is almost the same as his, to try and cover up the weird pang of hurt that hits out of nowhere and tightens my chest. The fact that Jace is half an inch taller than me pisses me the fuck off. “You expect me to believe that?”
He shrugs like someone who’s completely checked out of the conversation. “Believe what you want. If it makes you feel better to think that you’re more than just a random I occasionally mess with for shits and giggles, then whatever. I can’t stop you.”
“A random you hunted down in the gym to piss off for no other reason than you were looking for some fun?” I arch one eyebrow at him.
“Oh, you sweet summer child.” He says with a chuckle. “You being in the gym at the same time I want to use it isn’t me hunting you down. And this”—he waves between us—“stopped being fun about ten seconds after you started talking.”
“I should shut you up for good,” I mutter.
“And how would you do that?”
“Remember what happened during hazing? And again during Christmas break?”
Something dark flashes in his eyes, breaking up the weird blank look, but it’s gone a moment later.
“Maybe we should see what happens when you don’t have half your family around to break things up and save your ass,” I say pointedly.