Chapter 8 #2
But here I am, barreling my way across campus to one of my economics classes when I almost run smack dab into the last person I thought I’d see. And probably the last person who wants to see me.
“Jesus Christ,” Oakley grumbles, a glare aimed my way as he steps out of my way and continues down the path the opposite way. “Watch where you walk much?”
At first, I don’t think he notices it’s me. Hell, I know I would’ve completely missed him if I didn’t recognize his voice. But I’d know the sound of pure contempt anywhere.
“Good morning to you too, Oakley,” I call after him in a sugar-sweet voice.
I expect him to turn around and say something—even a grumpy, smart-ass comment—but instead, he keeps walking away from me.
There’s a brief second where I think I might’ve imagined it to be him, and it was some other random student. But the navy-blue duffle bag over his shoulder—an exact replica of my own—clearly emblazoned with a huge, white #33 is a dead giveaway.
So I do the only logical thing.
I follow him.
Why is it logical in my messed up, sleep-deprived brain? I don’t have the slightest clue. Which is a real fucking problem when I grab his shoulder, spin him around to face me, and get a vicious what? snarled in my face.
I pause for a second, and for once in my life, I’m at a loss for words. Because I’ve seen Oakley mad. Hell, I’ve made Oakley so fucking angry, he might as well have been steaming out his ears.
I made the guy punch me, for fuck’s sake, and he claims to be a pacifist.
But I’ve never seen him as ragey as he is while glaring at me right now. The kind of glare capable of making lesser men drop dead on the spot if only to escape it.
“I…just wanted to make sure you got home okay last night.” I wince as soon as the words come out.
Jesus Christ, really, Quinton? That’s all you could come up with?
If the way the crease between Oakley’s brow deepens is any indication, now all I’ve managed to do is piss him off and make myself look like a fucking idiot.
And even more late for class, on top of it all.
“Seriously?” he seethes, stepping toward me. “That’s what was so important you had to chase after me in the quad? You wanted to make sure I got home okay last night?”
Once again, I have nothing to say.
He continues to glare at me for a second before turning his head, as if to look around to see if anyone caught us speaking to each other. That’s when I catch the edge of a hickey just barely peeking out over the collar of his shirt. In the exact same spot where I bit him last night.
Instantly, all thoughts of getting to class on time are out the damn window. In its place is the sound of his pants as I took his cock down my throat and groans of pleasure as I brought him to release.
Even though those things supposedly didn’t happen. Something he’s quick to point out.
“What happened to you agreeing with this never fucking happened?”
And now I’m the one who’s getting all raged up.
“There’s a difference between acting like something never happened and avoiding someone like the fucking plague. Which is exactly what you were doing by acting like I don’t exist.”
He steps back, crossing his arm over his chest and tilting his head to the side. “Would we be having this conversation any other day of the week? If last night had truly never happened, would we even be speaking to each other outside the confines of the arena?”
“No, probably not, but—”
“Exactly. So just drop the shit and get on with your day.”
Another wave of irritation ripples through me, and I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m just saying us ignoring each other isn’t exactly good for team morale.”
“Oh, and us hashing out the details of our hook-up is?”
That makes me smirk. “I never mentioned anything about the details. But if you wanna go into them, be my guest.”
He glares even harder at me, if it’s even possible. “Cut the fucking shit, Quinton.”
I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m not doing anything but attempting to have a civil conversation with you.”
His nostrils flare and his eyes lift to the sky, as if to say a silent prayer to the heavens for strength not to murder me right here for the whole student body to see. Even a pacifist has their limits. As we both know.
When his gaze collides with mine again, it’s hard and unyielding.
“Fine. You wanna talk about it? Get the stroke your ego so desperately needs? Make sure I can never forget it happened? Great. It fucking happened.”
For the sake of this conversation, I choose to leave the whole stroking thing untouched.
“That’s not—”
“But let’s get one thing crystal clear, de Haas. No matter how good it was, it will never. Happen. Again.” He bridges the gap between us, clearly using his proximity as an intimidation tactic.
Too bad all it does is remind me more of last night.
His body pressed to mine as I pinned him to the sink. Which lead to his strong, powerful thighs beneath my palms as I took his cock deeper down my th—
“Quinton,” he snaps, pulling me from my thoughts. The frustration on his face tells me I missed something he said while I was off daydreaming about his dick.
“What?”
The way his jaw ticks lets me know he’s just about at his wit’s end with me. “I asked if you understand what I’m saying.”
Oh. “Absolutely.”
“Good,” he mutters, and I think I watch a hint of relief cross over his features for the briefest moment.
Stepping back, he puts a bit of much-needed distance between us and glances around the quad.
“Now why don’t you channel your energy into something more useful?
Like being on top of your game tonight.”
I raise my arm and give him a mock salute. “Can do, Cappy.”
A shake of his head is all I get in response before he brushes past me to continue wherever he’s going. I’m about to do the same and turn back toward my class, but my brain won’t allow my feet to move, instead latching onto a tiny little detail he let slip.
One very tiny, important detail.
“So you thought it was good, huh?”
He doesn’t turn around; just flips the bird over his shoulder and keeps walking away.