Page 19 of Riot House
“In case you haven’t bothered to check the weather report over the past twenty-four hours, the entire state’s about to face down a major storm front,” Fitz says. “These storms can get pretty hairy. Lightning strikes. Flash flooding. Luckily for us, we’re on the top of a mountain, so we aren’t in any danger of getting washed away. Wolf Hall’s basically bomb proof. It was built to withstand crazy weather. The wind can get pretty treacherous up here, though. Once the storm hits, there’ll be strict rules in place. No venturing off academy grounds. No leaving the building in general. If things start to look really sketchy, there have been occasions when Principal Harcourt deems it fit to move everyone into the basement, just in case. In the unlikely event that we need to evacuate the site, every student needs to be aware of the protocols set in place...”
Fitz rambles on about the buses that will come to take us down the mountain if a state of emergency is declared. He goes over the emergency exit points, first aid points, blah blah fucking blah. I turn off, bored to my back fucking teeth. I’ve heard it all a thousand times before. Elodie hasn’t, though. She’s transfixed, hanging on Fitz’s every word, taking mental notes in case disaster comes looking for us here at Wolf Hall. A strange, unfamiliar part of me wants to reassure her and let her know that there’s nothing to worry about. The rest of me, the part I’m intimately acquainted with, relishes the sight of her, all timorous and concerned.
I like her clothes. Her ‘smile if you’re dead inside’t-shirt’s just as cliché as the Klimt painting, but it tells me something about the way she sees herself. Her distressed jeans are so tight, they look like they’ve been painted onto her thighs. My palms ache with the idea of what her skin, muscle and bone might feel like through the worn, soft denim. The scruffy Chuck Taylors look so lived in that I can tell she’s put hundreds of miles on them. I prefer the Doc Martins she usually wears, but I enjoy the way the Chucks make her feet look small and petite. My little Elodie has the feet of a fucking geisha.
“That said, these warnings sound scary, but there really is nothing to worry about. This will be my tenth year teaching at Wolf Hall. A few fallen trees are the worst I’ve ever seen. Go about your day as normal. Do your work, make sure you follow the rules, and everything will be business as usual.”
Fitz’s statement doesn’t make Elodie feel better. Our eyes lock from across the room, and the panic in her gaze makes my pulse soar. She frowns, creases forming across her forehead, and I realize that I’m staring without the convenience of my Ray Bans to disguise my interest.
Look away, Jacobi.
Look away.
I should, but I don’t. I’m trapped by the pressure of her eyes on me. A slow, cunning smile begs to be unleashed across my face, and I relent, giving it free rein. Elodie jumps, startled, like I just dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over her head. She looks away first, and the satisfaction that courses slow like tar through my veins feels like victory.
“Miss Stillwater, are you okay? There’s no need to look so worried,” Fitz says. “I promise, it’s gonna be fine. If you’re worried about anything, come and find me. I’m nearly always here in my room. Aside from sharing the brilliance of Lord Byron with you—”
Oh, Fitz. I can read you like a fucking book.
“—it’s also my job to keep you guys safe.”
Damiana shoves her hand in the air. “Can all of us rely on you to be our knight in shining armor, Doctor Fitzpatrick? Or does your heroic valor only extend as far as Elodie?”
Fitz’s disgusted look is dirtier than the sock Pax uses to jerk off into. “I’m here for all of my students, Dami. You’re well aware of that. No need for ugliness.”
Damiana snorts. “I couldn’t be ugly if I tried, Doc. And you’re the one showing favoritism to the new girl because she’s got that doe-eyed innocent thing down and she’s rocking a great pair of tits. I’d saythatwas ugly, if you asked me.”
“I didn’t. No one did. Thank you, as always, though, for your valuable input, Damiana. Ifanyonefeels unsafe over the next forty-eight hours, please know that my door is open to everyone and anyone, regardless of their—”
Dashiell won’t look at a girl unless she’s got double Ds. Pax…god knows what the fuck Pax likes. He’s never demonstrated any sort of pattern where the women that he selects are concerned. He’s far more interested in their personalities. That sounds like bullshit, but it’s true. There are certain flaws and weaknesses Pax looks for in a girl, usually heavily revolving around their daddy issues. Me? I like my girls to have smaller breasts. Anything more than a handful is a waste. I didn’t need Dami’s shady comment to draw attention to Elodie’s chest—I’ve spent plenty of time thinking about it before—but since she’s brought the matter up, I treat myself to a cursory glance at Elodie’s tits.
Her shirt is two sizes too big, swamping her frame, but there’s a suggestion of breasts there. And the suggestion of breasts is always far more exciting to me than, say, Damiana’s obvious, in-your-face cleavage. That shit’s grotesque.
Fitz rambles on, talking about safety and using common sense. I spend a lazy thirty seconds picturing how pretty Elodie’s lips would look, parted and wet, if I slipped my hand up underneath that tent of a t-shirt, yanked down the cup of her bra and viciously rolled her nipple between my fingers.
When I snap out of my deviant reverie, Kylie Sharp is reading aloud from a bound book, but no one’s paying attention. Damiana snaps her gum. Dashiell’s eyes are fixed on Carina. Pax is openly asleep, head lolling on his shoulders, his arms folded across his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Fitz’s gaze is on his shoes, and—whoa, whoa, whoa…Hold the fuck up. Covertly, Fitz looks up, glancing at Elodie out of the corner of his eye. I wait for him to look away, but he lingers on her, just that little bit too long. The muscle in his jaw tics. That’s when he finally looks away.
What the fuck wasthat, Fitz? I donotfucking think so, homie.
As if my thoughts were piped directly into his mind, Fitz’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting mine, where they waver for a beat. He knows exactly what I’ve seen, and the motherfucker doesn’t seem to be worried. He knows me, so he should also know that I don’t take well to other guys eyeing my property. Possession, regardless of the fact that the other party isunawarethey’re someone else’s property, is nine tenths of the law. And I’ve always been willing to defend what’s mine.
Fitz has the audacity to smile at me.
Smile.
That piece of fucking shit.
Overhead, a deep, threatening rumble of thunder growls over the top of Kylie’s dark words.
“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air…”
