Chapter 13 ~ Minho #2
“Your dad gave me the idea,” he says. “With Roy going back to Vancouver to be with family while he recovers, he figured we needed to spend more time together—bond and I so graciously agreed, if not to be the perfect captain I am by making sure you settle properly.”
“Fuck you and your a benched captain.”
He laughs. “Doesn’t mean I can’t help you get comfortable on the team, so congrats, we're roommates.”
“I was supposed to room with a guy named Oliver St. Pierre.” How did I not see this coming? Of course, his evil shit would find a way to slither in and strike.
“Ollie is our goalie and was more than happy to take my room at the house with the guys.” Bell's voice flattens as if it bothers him. I would rather room with any guy that isn’t him.
“If you want to trade places with him, be my guest, but be forewarned, Noah’s room is beside my old one, and he and your sister are very vocal partners.
“Don’t be gross.”
“Don’t be a fucking brat and say thank you.”
“Make me.” And I am not a brat, goes unsaid.
“I just might since you so clearly want me to fuck you.”
I scoff. “I’d rather a rat chew my dick off.”
He barks out a laugh, sitting back down on the couch. “You might as well put it in my mouth so I can please you, baby. I think you'd prefer that much better than losing your beautiful cock to a rodent.”
“I’m not your baby.” My brain is going to explode if I have to listen to him speak any longer. I need to get the fuck out of here.
“For now,” he says after a while.
“I mean never, not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”
He laughs more to himself than at my words, and that pisses me off. If I have to live with him for this semester, he is going to be the death of me.
How did he even know I would be coming to settle in today? I didn't tell Oliver I was coming since Rafe and his mouth distracted me, and then I called my dad and that—
Did Rafe tell Bellamy I would be here?
“So should I call Ollie and let him know you’ll switch with him?” He asks too smugly for my liking.
“No,” I grit out.
He smirks. “Didn't think so.” He stands up, stretching and giving me an eyeful of his muscles, the scar I can’t unsee now that I know it's there and that his dad gave it to him.
I take in his broad shoulders, and I hate the images that flash through my mind—him and her in that room at that frat house party.
I hate that most of all; I am jealous. Not at him for being my girlfriend's first, but I despise that some twisted, small part of me wished he’d been my first—that he still could be my first. I hate it now more than ever since I should be only thinking about Rafe that way now that he’s finally mine.
I shouldn't be thinking of Bellamy in any other way than getting sweet, sweet revenge and moving on—not sexy time under his sheets, laughing with him and whatever couply nonsense I have running through my mind when he looks at me like I am the centre of his universe.
Which is stupid.
Why can’t he move on?
Why does his teasing make me want to do it right back? None of it makes sense. I mean, fine, sure, he’s attractive, he can be annoyingly sweet when he wants to be—hornier than most when he wants to be like the fucking playboy he is, but he and I don’t make any sense.
Butterflies in my stomach when he’s around don’t make any sense.
“The room down the hall to your left is yours, the one across is mine.” He points to the hallway behind me. “Kitchen is shared obviously, but don't go touching my protein powder now that you are playing hockey again.”
“Good thing for you, I hate that shit.”
“Perfect, don’t start just to get back at me.” He takes a step toward me, and I manoeuvre around him, only for him to smirk and walk past me to the kitchen, but he was so close that I catch the smell of him, a hint of sweat and his favourite body spray.
My jaw tightens when I realise that's my body spray he’s using.
“This is ridiculous.” I glare at his back.
He pauses at the kitchen counter and looks over his shoulder. “What is?”
“This. Us. You somehow convincing Rafe to help you and don’t deny it; I know you did, you evil twat.
” I list it all, not caring how whiny I sound.
“Worst of all, my dad thinking this is a good idea, putting us in the same living space—again, like we're going to magically wake up one day, hold hands and sing fucking campfire songs.”
Bellamy’s mouth twitches. “I don’t sing.”
“You know what I mean, Boy Wonder.”
He turns fully, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement pulling the muscles in his shoulder, and I hate that I notice.
“What I know is that you showed up at my rink, joined my team, insulted my teammates because you think you're better than us just because Daddy is Colton Fucking Walker and Coach of the Eden U Knights, and now, when I outmanoeuvre you, you stand there complaining about living with me,” he laughs. “Baby, either you want to play this game of ours, or you don’t, which is it?”
I open my mouth, close it, then ball my hands into fists at my side. The truth sits bitterly on my tongue, and I swallow it back down because he’s right, I want to play, and I want to win.
But now, I would have to think bigger than what I had planned, which is a shame, as I was looking forward to seeing a bucket of red paint fall on him when he walked into the locker room—it would have been a glorious sight.
“You’re going to lose.” The way I say it feels like the most honest thing I have said to him, and yet I can’t help but feel as though I am the one losing.
Bellamy holds my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then he nods, not saying a word, starts cleaning the kitchen, throwing away the pizza boxes, wiping down the counters and then filling a pot with water.
Does he plan on cooking?
This is going to be a nightmare.
I pick up my bag from off the floor, then head to my bedroom, but as soon as I enter, I am taken aback by how clean it is; the bed is made, the dressers' drawers are all open and empty, and I notice that I haven’t seen a dog since entering this apartment.
But did Bells clean my bedroom before I got here?
God, that shouldn't twist the organ in my chest—it just shouldn't.
***
A few hours later, I am on the couch with a book I can’t focus on after finally finishing Our Dark Devotions, now pretending to read an epic fantasy while Bellamy moves around the kitchen. He put on music, an eighties electro-pop playlist playing in the background.
The smell of garlic and oil is drifting into the living room, making my stomach grumble. I skipped lunch so I wouldn’t bump into him while he finished cleaning Roy and Oliver’s messes.
I have to say, after doing so, the apartment, which I found out my dad now pays for, looks nothing like it did when I first arrived.
“You eat yet?” Bellamy’s voice sounds from the kitchen.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I turn a page I didn't read. “I said I am fine.” A pause follows my response, then light footsteps. I look up, and my brain short-circuits.
Bells is practically standing over me, spatula in one hand, wearing an apron that says “Kiss the cook” in faded letters and nothing else. The apron strings sit low on his hips, tied above the waistband of—wait—oh my god, he’s not wearing anything.
“Where,” I start, my voice coming out rougher than I intended it to. “Are your clothes?”
Bellamy looks down at himself, then back up at me, and the grin that spreads across his face is pure, unapologetic mischief incarnate.
“You’ve already seen my cock, step-bro.” The way he says that, as if savouring each and every word. “I figured I would let you see my ass too before we start fucking on every surface in this apartment.”
The book snaps shut in my hands, the clapping sound attracting his gaze to it. “You just won't give it a rest, not even for one day.”
He smirks, ignoring me as he says, “Say, now that we live together—again.”
“God, I am living in my worst nightmare.”
Bells rolls his eyes. “Rude, but as I was saying, now that we are living together, would it be okay if I raided your books?”
I raise a brow. “Why?”
“The last one was surprisingly good, so I am willing to read anything else you’ve got,” he grins like some excited puppy.
It's annoying.
But also cute.
Which makes my response all the sweeter. “No.” I open my book back to my page and try to read it even as I catch the devil getting closer to me from the corner of my eye.
“Why not?”
I shake my head, not bothering with the foolish question. “You have some nerve trapping me into living with you.”
“Oh come on, you joined my hockey team,” he raises his arms in frustration—it's funny if not comical. “You struck the first blow, so I put this together, and yes, Rafe, Noah, and your sister helped,” he counters.
At least I know who to put on my forever hate list—maybe not Rafe, I can’t fuck that up, but I am definitely going to have some words with my sister about where her loyalty lies.
I set the book down, adjust my glasses and cross my arms. “I did what I did to piss you off enough to get you off my back, not to have you worm your way back into my life like some desperate weasel.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Could've fooled me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Bellamy laughs, and I don't think it's ever come off as cold as it is now. “You're bored, Minho, and this,” he gestures a finger between us. “Us, excites you, gives you something other than good grades to focus on, admit it.”
I smile coldly. “Someone’s delusional.” I rise from the couch, pick up my book and prepare to make my way to my room when he rushes over to me and blocks my path.
“You want me to apologise for what I did two years ago? Fine, I’m sorry. Sorry, your dad is shit for not seeing the pain I caused you, sorry I—”
“Don’t.”