4
Hamilton
If anyone finds out…
The thought throbs through my mind as I rush across the quad. Thankfully, it’s dark out and nearing curfew, which means that there are few, if any, people to see my walk of shame. A gust of cool, November air sends a shiver rippling across my limbs. I left without my workout bag, which included my sweatshirt. Doesn’t matter. That was the very least of my fuck-ups tonight. I need to cool the fuck off anyway, from head to toe. And—shit—yes, that apparently includes my dick, because Jesus Christ.
What just happened?
No fucking idea.
One minute I’m taunting her, just hoping to put her off all this shit, and the next thing I know, I’m kissing her.
And she kissed me back.
I come to an abrupt stop as a gag seizes my throat. My stomach twists in disgust, but I luckily manage to keep the contents down. I drag a wrist over my mouth in a futile attempt to rid myself of the ghost of her kiss, the taste of her mouth.
Fuck.
What have I done?
The thought that responds to me is, a
nnoyingly, my father’s voice. If he ever—god fucking forbid—found out about this. It’s what he’d think. It’s what he’d say. It’s what I’d be.
Weak.
She’d said it, too. “I think you’re weak...”
My hands clench around the thought. Is that what set me off? Her calling me out like that?
It’d be easy to say it was. But I’d been on a hair trigger from the instant I’d accidentally walked in the room and saw her in that tight swimsuit. The girls always wear these racing suits, low in the back and cut high on the hips, revealing plenty of skin, leaving nothing to the imagination, and come on. I’m only human. Her nipples were pebbled from the cool air.
That’s not what I saw first, though. It’d been her wide blue eyes and her flushed cheeks. Her full, pink lips. Not like the other girls—no need for pounds of makeup or hushed procedures over spring break.
Just seeing her, knowing how much trouble she’d caused me, made my blood boil. And the thing is, she doesn’t care. She never has. She calls us all cruel, heartless sociopaths, but in reality? She’s no better. And now that I’ve had time to really turn it over in my brain, I remember that whole situation in the locker room was her fault. She’d baited me. Humiliated me. Basically, dared me to scare the hell out of her.
I push open the door to Cresswell, and take the stairs two at a time, passing the first three floors, up to the fourth—the senior hall. I cast a furtive glance down the hallway to be sure no one is around. If anyone found out…
Fuck, I’d never live this down. Never. Not after years of ruling the Devils with an iron fist. Not after setting such an immaculate standard on who we associated with, and how we treated those we didn’t. Sure, I’d been cruel to those who stepped out of line, but it was for good cause, no one could fault me for that. That’s what leaders do. They lead.
...by example.
They definitely don’t make out with trash like Gwendolyn Adams in the co-ed locker room.
If anyone heard I’d done such a thing, every ounce of my credibility would be gone. All the work I’ve done up to now, wasted.
My unit was down at the end, with a view of the lake. My father may have made me live with the commoners, but no Bates was ever going to live in a dorm’s shitty single. Nah, I unlock the door to my suite, and something within me unwinds, even if only slightly. Even when it came to punishment, I had the best.
“Yo!” Xavier peers at me over the back of the couch. “Where you been?”
I clear my throat, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as rough as it feels. “Gym.”
I make a beeline for my own room, grabbing a banana and sports drink from the kitchenette’s counter along the way.
But Xavier isn’t far behind. He leans casually in the doorway as I toe off my shoes. “Hey, you good?”
What? Why? Can he tell?