4. Clayton
Clayton
Idon’t know what I was thinking when I let Maxwell get me onto that bike.
He drives like a maniac, like he has lives to spare. It feels like a rollercoaster, and if there is one thing to note about me, I get sick on rollercoasters.
Maxwell pulled off the road, parking on the side at the local beach. Before he can say anything, I’m off his bike, shoving the helmet off my head, and hurling onto the sidewalk.
All I can hear is the laughter that comes from him.
My throat becomes raw as I let up my dinner and everything else I’ve snacked on throughout the day. I’m shaking from the loss of my insides, but also a little from being in his vicinity.
I can’t stand this kid.
Professor Adams making us partners and now realizing we are in the same dorm– how I haven’t noticed before is beyond me, but that’s beside the point. It seems like a sick joke from this fucked up universe.
Maxwell Levine is only here because of Daddy. He has no drive to do good, unless it’s to make everyone else give him the attention that he apparently lacks everywhere else in life.
I see him on campus, walking around with his friends always thinking they are better than everyone else.
Girls drool over him. His shaggy dark hair, tall and lanky figure, that sharp jaw that could cut, and those deep dark eyes that if they look at you just right, you might want to give him whatever he asks for.
He doesn’t have to work hard for anything, unlike some people, unlike me. My tuition wasn’t handed to me. I don’t show up with my fancy sports bike and walk around like I own this place. There were always kids like that in high school, and guess what? I hated them, too.
“You all better now?” He asks, his voice calm and devoid of the humor he had when he laughed at my downfall.
“Fine,” I say quickly. “You drive like an asshat.”
“I drive to feel free.”
“You’ll be free of life if you keep it up,” I retort.
“Keep that up, pretty boy, and I might think you care about my life." Maxwell smirks devilishly.
“Stop calling me that.”
The beach still has plenty of people. The sun hasn’t fully set below the horizon. People walking up and down the strip, in and out of shops, buying fried dough, ice cream, and everything else that is bad for you but makes you feel good.
“Leave your bag with the bike,” Maxwell says, walking away from me.
Part of me wants to just take his bike and ride away, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to work the damn thing.
I’d end up making a fool of myself more than anything.
I’m smart, sure, but in books and not on the streets.
That’s where we differ. Maxwell knows his way around in life, talking with people to make simple conversation and make people feel seen. I’ve never known how to do that.
I have a plan to get where I need to go in life. I’m focused on it, and I don’t have room in my life to let things get in my way. Maxwell has gotten in my way. When he dragged me from the dorm, I was going to study.
Relenting, I drop my bag to the ground, hiding it as well as I can by the bike before jogging to catch up with him.
He walks with a bit of… swagger, if you will. His pants hang low on his waist, and his hair sways in the wind.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, itching to go back to campus so I can put my face into a textbook.
“Soaking in the fresh air, I guess.” Maxwell stops walking, turning to look at me, but I wasn’t ready for him to stop. I slam right into him, just as we did in the hallway.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“Let’s get ice cream,” he says.
“I can’t have ice cream.”
“Why? You lactose intolerant or something?”
“I am, actually.”
“Fine. Let’s get fried dough instead,” he offers.
“I can’t have gluten either.”
“Jesus, what do you eat daily? Grass?” He raises an eyebrow at me, mocking my dietary restrictions.
“Screw you,” I spit. There is nothing tolerable about this man. Being in his general vicinity right now has me seething.
People keep walking by and around us, muttering under their breath about us being in the way.
Impeding foot traffic, but Maxwell doesn’t seem to care.
He proves me wrong when he pulls me onto a side street between buildings and shoves me into a brick wall.
My back meets the hard surface, and a loud oof leaves my lips.
His hand snakes right up to my throat, and he holds me there. Anger simmers in his eyes, his fingers gripping as my pulse hammers beneath them. He is so close to me that I can feel the heat of his breath fanning across my face.
“What is your issue with me? I haven’t done a single thing to you, Clayton.” His voice is deep, laced with that rage running through his blood.
My body gets the wrong message, and the heat floods not only to my cock, but my face too. Embarrassment runs through me at the prospect of being turned on by him. It’s sick. Disgusting. I hate him a little more because of it, but myself, too.
He looks down, catching the evidence on full display, but doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even smirk. He waits for an answer to his question.
“I’m not some stupid kid. I’m not whoever the fuck you think I am, but please, tell me who you think the fuck I am.”
“You’re someone who has it handed to you.
You don’t have to work for anything because no matter the trouble you get into, you find your daddy to get out of it.
You walk around campus like you own the place, not caring about the work.
News flash, Maxwell, some people have to work to get to where they are. ”
He scoffs at me, shoving me harder into the wall and cutting off the little breath I have.
“I don’t just show up to campus for free because of Daddy.
I pay my way through. I don’t act like I own the place.
It isn’t my fault that people are fans of me and what I do.
And it’s funny to me how you assume I don’t do the work.
You want to see my portal and look at my grades?
I think you’d be disappointed to know you’re wrong.
” His words come out harsh, pushed out between clenched teeth.
He doesn’t let me answer when he pulls his phone from his pants pocket, tapping on his screen until he shows it to me.
All of his grades are A’s.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Fucking oh. Find out who I am before you go flapping your gums next time, huh, Clayton?”
I lean my head back against the wall when his fingers loosen. My cock is still straining against my jeans, and I hate that my body can’t understand what’s going on. My body doesn’t care what my mind has to say.
“And maybe if you weren’t hard for me right now, I’d believe that you hate me.”
There it is. The mocking.
“I do hate you.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
Maxwell presses his lower half against mine before backing up. My teeth clench together at the motion, the slight friction that he rubs against me.
“Take me back.”
He doesn’t respond to me, just walks away in the direction of his bike. I pause for a moment, feeling a bit of shock and disbelief.
Maxwell isn’t anything that I thought he was, and I think I hate him more for it.