Page 40 of Play Dirty
He places his hands on his knees, narrowing his hazel eyes. “You don’t know?”
I shrug. “What do you want me to say, T? I went to clean her up, because I know June would have wanted that, or maybe it’s an excuse that I’m using because I wanted to. I don’t know… I just wanted her clean.”
Thiago flinches like I just punched him in the gut. Every word landed like a hit. Understanding washes over his features before he opens his mouth to speak again. “What are we going to do when she comes back asking why you were there?”
“Lie. You went to the club for something, we thought she needed help.” The answer comes easier than expected. He nods, agreeing, then he pulls out his phone. “We have to find out who’s running this blog shit.”
“Yeah, I don’t like being followed,” I reply, walking past him. I need to head to class even though the last thing I want to do is sit across from Shiloh, let alone work with her.
“Who do you think it is?” Thiago asks, rushing beside me. “I can have some of the tech nerds look into the IP.”
“I have no clue.”
Thiago lets out a low whistle as he stares at a group of girls walking past us. I hate it when he acts like this, a dog in heat. Desperate, seeking the validation that he’s straight and isn’t attracted to the very guy who hates his guts. “This is where we part ways, catch you later.” He says before turning left, while I continuestraight.
Taking my seat in art class, Ms. Medina is setting up for today's session. Thankfully, we don’t have to work on our actual project, but this one sucks just the same. “I’ll wait for the rest of the class, but given the untimely and unfortunate death of our dear June, I think this is a great form of release.”
Great. Just what we need. More ‘grief’ counseling. It’s all over campus, all over social media, and now in the classroom. No escaping. Suddenly, Brad—the asshole I unfortunately have to call my teammate whistles as Shiloh walks in the door.
Holding her head up as usual, lips glossed and eyeliner sharp, highlighting the frost-blue of her eyes. Her siren gaze is deep and sensual without even trying. “Does the whole team get a free pass, Shi?”
My hand immediately balls into a fist, and I go to reply, but Shiloh is quick with it. “Sorry, the offer isn’t for the players that sit on the bench.” Her fingers pinch together, insinuating the size of a dick. “Or those with small—”
“Enough.” Ms. Medina chirps in, placing a hand on her hip as she glares at us. “Take your seat, Mr. Edwards. That kind of behavior is not tolerated in this class.”
I catch Shiloh’s smirk as Brad rolls his eyes, then refocus on the clay in front of me, pretending I don’t want to kill something. Shiloh's expensive perfume greets me with something sugary and floral.
“Are you ready to apologize?” I ask, curling my lips into a sideways smile. Shiloh looks at me like a deer in headlights, or maybe she’s planning ways to ruin me.
I bet it is the latter.
But instead, she tosses her platinum locks behind her shoulder, “Johnsons don’t apologize.” Her tone drops, and her hand presses against the desk. “And you were in my dorm without my consent, so start talking.”
“Here?”
She smiles. “Where else? We are obviously being followed, so talk.”
“What makes you think I broke into your dorm for you? Maybe I’m just grieving my dead girlfrien—” My words were cut off by the sharp sting across my face, the sound loud and causing my ear to ring.
My nose flares as she leans closer, using both her hands to prop herself on the desk. “Don’t you dare use June’s death to excuse whatever the fuck you’re doing. I know you're a liar, Nicolas. Look at me.”
Of course— I don’t.
I do the opposite, actually, just grab my shit and head the fuck out of the classroom before something even more explosive happens. The sting of her hand has the side of my face tingling, and my dick is even harder.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Suddenly, my throat constricts, the need to ruin her runs through me like molten lava. My finger loops around my collar, trying to loosenit. Just so I can breathe, but every inhale is composed of flowers and sugar.
Still, the scent of the ice queen lingers on my skin– her touch hot when I press my own hand against it. Leaning into a phantom touch, I break into a run. Trying to distract myself the only way I know how.
Through physical exertion.
My dorm is a long way from this wing. With all the fucking steps, small hills, and students I will be dodging, it's the same as doing a Spartan race. My legs pump harder, jumping over three cement steps at a time as I work my way down the west wing.
By the time I reach my dorm, I’m soaked in sweat and fury. The need hasn’t faded — it’s only sharpened. Rushing inside, I don’t waste a second before freeing my throbbing cock. My cock bobs free the moment I pull it from its restraints. I lean back on the door and for the first time in what feels like forever— I touch myself. I fuck my hand viciously, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth and placing my white dress shirt beneath my chin. I watch as I move up and down.I watch as the foreskin moves back with each movement of my hand. Who would have thought that rage could turn to need?
Hunger.
