“You can’t do this. Not here,” I seethe, my eyes darting around for spectators.
“I can do what the fuck I like, Miss Andrews.”
I try yanking my arm free of his hold, but it’s pointless. He’s got it in a vice grip.
I glare at him, silently pleading with him to let this go, but of course it gets me absolutely nowhere with this pig-headed, stubborn fuck.
“Don’t you have better things to be doing than stalking me? You know, like revising? Don’t forget, I’ve seen your work, your grades now. You’re on the verge of failing, Mr. Cirillo.”
It’s not entirely true, after Melissa told me that his coursework was solid earlier; obviously, I went searching for it, and I’ve got to say, I was impressed. This fumbling buffoon can actually write a decent assignment.
But with revision like he so proudly handed in earlier, his upcoming exams are going to seriously let him down.
“Fuck you.”
“Eloquent. That’ll help. And here I was thinking that your argumentative skills were top notch.”
His jaw tics in irritation as our eyes hold, neither of us willing to give into this little battle of wills we embarked on that very first night we hooked up.
I’d have thought us fucking like rabbits would have broken it, but apparently, it only gets worse each time we collide. Like we suddenly both have even more to prove to each other.
“I want my credit card back, Siren.”
“Then you’re going to have to let me fucking go, aren’t you,” I say sweetly.
It takes him a second or two, but he finally releases his hold on me, allowing me to reach into my bag and pull my purse out.
I dig out the card and hold it between us.
The second he reaches for it, I pull it back, like the child that I am.
“You might be many, many things, Brianna Andrews, but I never had you down as a thief.”
“I’m not. Until I was handed this, the only thing I’d taken from you was pleasure and abuse,” I state flatly. “And I only made use of this because you owe me.”
His brows shoot up. “I owe you? Please explain.”
“If you have to ask, then you’re stupider than you look. Here,” I say, thrusting his card at him. “Take your fucking credit card, your attitude, and your smug fucking face elsewhere. I’m fed up with being anywhere near you.”
I take a step away but falter when his amused chuckle hits my ears.
“What?” I snap, unable to stop myself.
“Nothing, Miss Andrews. You run away like a good little teacher. But just remember…” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not going to be very far away.”
My breath catches at the unspoken threat in his words, but when I look back, he’s already marching away from me.
“Fucking dickhead,” I mutter under my breath before I pull my key out and lock myself safely in my car.
I close my eyes, blowing out a long, calming breath. But the knowledge that I have to come back here tomorrow and do it all over again never leaves me.
* * *
The second I closed my front door behind me, I flipped the deadlock for fear of him following me back and using his unending wealth of random skills to pick my lock and torment me some more. To be fair, he could still probably do it if he so wanted; there doesn’t seem to be much that stands in his way. Entitled privileged prick.
I stripped out of my clothes, threw them in the general direction of my laundry basket, and put myself in the shower to hopefully wash the day away.
It did very little. When I got out, I was wrung just as tight as when I stepped in.