by Eva Ashwood
“You know, I had my doubts about coming here,” Max says as we finally step outside the house. I’m still naked, and we stop by the side of the driveway so I can get dressed. “But Gray’s face was priceless! And I don’t know if you noticed, but every fucking guy in the room was drooling over you. I don’t think Declan and Elias blinked once after your shirt came off. Cliff’s tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and Caitlin looked like she had a mini rage-stroke.”
She chortles, and I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face. “If I got under Gray’s skin and pissed Caitlin off, I’ll call this a win all around.”
As I tug down the hem of my top, my thoughts flick back to Declan and Elias. I wonder if Max is right. I was so focused on taking Gray down a peg that I didn’t look back at his friends as we had our little stand-off. But now I sort of wish I had.
When I step back into my shoes, Max starts to fish her keys out of her pocket. “Hey, since we’re not sticking around, wanna get a burger on the way back to the dorms and—”
“Hey! Skank!”
I turn around as Caitlin strides up behind us. Surprisingly, she doesn’t have her little minions by her side.
“That’s not going to keep him interested, you know,” she says, her lip curling as she rakes her gaze up and down my body. “Your little show was fucking pathetic. It’s nothing you can’t find for free on the internet.”
I tilt my head, scowling at her. “What the fuck makes you think I want to keep Gray Eastwood of all people interested in me? I’d love it if he’d leave me the fuck alone, but since he’s obviously not gonna do that, I’ll fight back if I have to.”
“Oh, please.” She tosses her chestnut hair over her shoulder. “I know your type.”
“Yeah? What type is that?”
“This.” She waves her hand at me, as if encompassing everything I am. “You come from a foster home and you have a tragic little backstory, and you’re all edgy or whatever. And that makes people kind of interested, because it’s different. You latch on to any kind of attention you get, especially when it’s more attention than what you’re used to getting, and you think you can climb out of the cesspool you came from. Whatever this little game is, it’s going to end, and end soon. You’re not going to get anything out of Gray.”
I roll my eyes. “Yup. You got me. This was all just a clever ploy to snag a husband. I’m so glad my idea to grow up in foster care with a bunch of shitty families finally paid off. It was a long game, but I think it was worth it.”
Max busts up laughing, but Caitlin looks nonplussed, like she can’t tell if I’m joking or being serious.
I roll my eyes.
She fucking doesn’t get it. But then again, why would she?
For her, status and connections are all that matter. Her future prospects are tied in knots around the connections she makes and the man she lands while she’s at Hawthorne.
She has her sights on Gray—on his money, and on the security and power that comes with having a husband who could buy a small country if he wanted to. She needs to sink her claws in someone, and she clearly doesn’t plan on graduating without securing a match first.
But that’s not why I’m here.
I take a step forward, and a rush of satisfaction moves through me when Caitlin jerks back.
That’s right, bitch.
Even without a wealthy husband, she has more money and power than I do by a long shot. But if it comes down to a physical fight between us, there’s no fucking question who would win.
Me.
And she knows it.
“I don’t want Gray Eastwood,” I grit out. “And unlike you, I don’t need Gray Eastwood. We’re not in competition for him, and if he’s not into you, that’s got nothing to do with me. Now, I’m not going to say it again: fuck off.”
Caitlin stares at me, eyes narrowed to slits.
She doesn’t believe me. Of course I have to have some ulterior motive for what I just did inside the party. Of course it must all be part of some master plan to seduce Gray and trick him into knocking me up or something. She doesn’t understand, and I don’t expect her to.
She can barely comprehend that something she wants isn’t something I need.
I turn away from her, shaking my head.
“Believe what you want. Max and I are out of here.”
14
I stretch out on the bed, tablet propped up on one of my pillows and a book open on the screen. The weeks since Gray’s party have been the most peaceful ones I’ve had since coming to Hawthorne—which doesn’t really say much, considering I still get glares, sideways glances, and rude comments everywhere I go.
But the attempts to capture me naked on camera has stopped. Either because the game stopped being fun when I one-upped them all or because they don’t want to go up against Gray having called off the bet, I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t care.
I haven’t been to another party since my now-infamous stride through Gray’s living room, but I still look forward to the weekends. They’re my one chance to hole up in my dorm, paint, do homework, and generally try to forget the rest of the world exists.
I’m almost a week ahead on the reading list for my literature class, and while I could give less than a shit about Hemmingway, the satisfaction of proving my professor wrong about me is worth the effort.
Late afternoon sunlight is pouring through my windows, and I’m sprawled out on the couch reading when I hear a click at my door—a sound that should only come from someone unlocking it.
I stiffen and sit up, dropping my tablet on the couch cushion beside me.
Fuck. It’s been long enough that I almost forgot about it.
I got my replacement ID card from the admin office weeks ago, but Gray never returned the one he stole. So it’s no surprise when the person who saunters into my dorm is none other than Gray Eastwood, followed closely by Declan and Elias.
My eyes narrow as I stand.
This fucker has a lot of nerve.
I haven’t seen him except in passing since the Monday after his party, when he pulled me into a shadowy nook between two buildings and handed me a roll of bills like we were doing a drug deal.
His hand lingered on mine for just a split second too long as he gave me the money, sending an electric charge up my arm, and I yanked my hand away, hating the way my heart jumped like I’d gotten an electric shock.
Hating that he had any effect on me at all.
He opened his mouth, and for a second, it looked like he wanted to say something. But then he snapped his jaw shut and stalked away, leaving me with ten grand in the palm of my hand.
I put the money under my mattress, and as far as I’m concerned, that was the beginning and end of my business with Gray Eastwood.
So why is he here?
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I bite out, my hands curling into fists as I step away from the couch, like I’m getting ready to defend my territory physically if need be.
Just like when he made the hand-off, he says nothing.
Declan and Elias lean against the wall on either side of the door, looking around. They give off a carefully cultivated air of boredom, but I don’t miss the flash of interest in Elias’s eyes as his gaze lands on me for a second.
It reminds me of the way he looked at me when we first met—although the interest wasn’t at all disguised then. He was openly flirting with me until he found out I was one of the scholarship students. Until he realized Gray hates me.
And now, for no reason other than the solidarity of bro-hood, Elias and Declan apparently hate me too.
It makes me hate them back, almost more than I hate Gray.
I glare at them both as they maintain their positions near the entrance to my dorm, standing guard like sentinels. Gray, however, strolls around the space like he fucking owns it. He casts a critical gaze at the furniture, which I rearranged a bit to make room for my painting studio in the corner. Judgement clouds
his ocean eyes, and it sends irritation spiraling through me.
Stepping into his path, I transfer my glare to him. “I asked what the fuck you think you’re doing.”
“Dorm inspections,” he says simply. “They’re mandatory for everyone.”
I scoff. “And you’re definitely the person who’s supposed to be running those inspections, huh? Does the school give you extra credit for that or what?”
Gray shrugs his broad shoulders. “Nah. This is voluntary. Sort of like a neighborhood watch thing. And you get a special inspection. Have to make sure you’re not trashing the place. Not looking good so far; the way you moved things around looks like shit.”
I don’t know how he could have possibly known I rearranged my dorm, unless all the dorms are laid out the same. Or maybe he’s been in here before. I know he and the rest of the Sinners are second-years. Maybe whoever had this dorm before me was some random hookup, some girl he banged on the couch I was just sitting on.
That thought makes my stomach clench so suddenly and tightly that I almost gag, bile rushing up my throat.
It shouldn’t matter to me whether he fucked the entire female population of the school—or the male population, for that matter. But for some reason, my mantra doesn’t seem to work when it comes to Gray Eastwood.
I can tell myself over and over that it doesn’t matter, but my body refuses to believe it.
“Sorry you don’t approve,” I bite out, refusing to ask how he knows what this room should look like. “It wasn’t rearranged for your benefit. And I haven’t trashed the place, though now that I know how attached you are to the decor, I gotta admit, I’m very tempted.”
Maybe it’s the growl in my voice, or maybe it’s the threat of me trashing the room that has him looking at me with flared nostrils and fire in his eyes. Either way, I smirk.
“What? That hit a nerve? Let me guess: your ex-girlfriend used to live in here or something? She leave you for someone better? Is my presence defiling her good memory—”
Gray has me pushed up against the wall before I can finish. His hands hit the plaster on either side of my head with a loud smack as his body crowds mine, his large form radiating anger.
Shit. He’s really pissed.
He’s so close I can feel the heat of him through his clothes, smell the spicy bourbon tones of his aftershave. His chest presses against mine, his face so close that I have to tilt my head up to meet his eyes.
“You don’t know shit.” His voice is low. Threatening. “So I suggest you shut your mouth.”
“Or what?” My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs that I’m sure he can feel it in his own chest, but I pretend it isn’t. I pretend every molecule of my body isn’t reacting to his proximity. “What are you gonna do about it? You gonna toss my room? Destroy my shit?”
He goes still, his eyes darkening like he’s considering taking me up on my suggestion. Or maybe leaving the room alone and destroying me instead.
It’s hard to breathe with him so close.
It’s hard to focus.
With every inhale, I draw more of his essence into my lungs, feeding a craving I like to pretend doesn’t exist.
The room goes silent, and part of me wonders what the fuck Declan and Elias must be thinking as they watch the two of us in our silent standoff, my body pinned to the wall by Gray’s large frame.
Can they feel the tension that crackles between us like an electric cloud?
My gaze darts in their direction, and as it does, Gray pushes off the wall, leaving me sagging against it. I straighten quickly, crossing my arms over my chest to hide the way my nipples have peaked from rubbing against his chest.
As if nothing out of the ordinary just happened, the smooth, cool mask slides back over Gray’s face. He resumes his perusal of my dorm, his attention moving from my bookshelf and its meager contents to the art on my walls.
I stiffen as he cocks his head, stepping closer to one of my biggest pieces. I completed the whole thing in about twenty minutes one day, the shapes and images pouring out of me as if I was just a conduit for something bigger than myself. Bigger than words.
Not many people have ever seen my pieces. I don’t create them for others, I create them for me, and I’ve never had much interest in baring my soul for any asshole off the street to stare at and judge.
But that’s exactly what Gray is doing right now. I can feel it in the way he examines the painting, his eyes narrowing slightly. He’s not just looking at paint. He’s looking at me.
A part of my soul he’s not supposed to see.
My skin prickles, a stinging sensation like I’m being bitten by a thousand ants, and when one of his large hands reaches out toward the canvas, my heart seizes in my chest.
It’s bad enough for him to look. It’s too fucking much already.
But if he touches that painting, I’m not sure I’ll be able to survive it.
I lunge forward, but Declan and Elias catch me by the arms before I can reach Gray. They hold me back from him, and Elias chuckles.
“Jesus, you’re fast. Did you ever play sports? You’d make a great cornerback.”
“Fuck off!” I snap, twisting in their grip. My gaze doesn’t leave Gray as he moves on to the next piece on my wall, examining it with the same probing stare. “Don’t fucking touch that. It’s mine!”
I channel my panic into anger. Guide the fear that’s beating my heart out of my chest into pure fury instead. I’m not going to let them see what makes me weak.
Gray chuckles, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Oh? Have I struck a nerve?” he mocks. “It’s against school regulation to tack anything up on the walls like this. I’m afraid all of it’s going to have to come down.”
The panic surges again. I hate the emotion, hate the way I can’t control it.
Hate the fact that Gray Eastwood can make me feel it.
“Why do you care what I do?” I blurt, aware that desperation has seeped into my tone but unable to stop it. “Find someone else to fuck with. Why do I matter so much?”
Gray’s hand is on the wall. His fingers splay next to a sketch of Jared smiling. It’s a recent piece, one I did just a few days before arriving at Hawthorne—a replacement for the one Brody destroyed. It’s a complete figment of my imagination; I don’t think Jared ever smiled the way he is in the drawing, yet I couldn’t help but feel comforted as I sketched the easy curve of his lips.
Now I brace myself for his image to be destroyed again, ruined forever because Gray Eastwood has a bone to pick with me. I can imagine the sound of the paper ripping. Can imagine the graphite leaving residue on his fingers as he tears the piece to shreds.
But the ripping doesn’t come. Gray studies the black and white face on the wall in silence for a second. Then his hand withdraws from the sketch and he turns around. His expression is almost mocking.
“You don’t matter,” he says. “And I don’t care about you.”
My muscles go rigid.
You don’t matter.
Unconsciously, he’s echoing the mantra I’ve repeated to myself more times than I can count when I needed to fight back emotions rising too strong and too fast in my chest.
But this time, instead of soothing, the words hurt.
“You’re a fucking liar,” I bite out, my stomach churning.
“Am I?” He gives a half-shrug, the movement languid and smooth. “Why the hell would I lie about that? And why would I give a rat’s ass about some random chick I fucked in a bathroom? I was having a shitty day, Sparrow. And you were a hole I could fill.”
My heart is crashing in my chest like a prisoner rattling the bars of its cage.
He’s lying. He’s fucking lying, and I can’t take it anymore.
I hate the smug, controlled look on his face. I’ve seen him come apart. I’ve seen him raw and real and brutal.
And that wasn’t the mask. This is.
I want to see his ice-cold exterior crack, want to shatter it into a
million pieces. So I do the first thing I can think of.
I call his fucking bluff.
Turning in Declan and Elias’s grip, I step toward the man who’s covered in nearly as many tattoos as I am and press my lips to his. Declan stiffens, his body going rigid against mine, and Elias’s hold loosens as he lets out a shocked, choked noise.
I take advantage of the opportunity, wrapping my arms around Declan’s neck before either of them can stop me and molding my body to his, pressing myself flush against him as I attack his lips.
It’s not a sexy kiss. It’s more like I punched him in the mouth with my mouth, like we’re in some kind of no-holds-barred fight and I’m trying to force him to tap out.
But he doesn’t.
His hands land on my hips, and I expect him to shove me away, maybe make a big show of wiping off his lips as he jokes with Gray about how disgusting I am. Instead, his fingers dig into my flesh as he pulls me even closer, the hard line of his lips melting against mine as his tongue slides into my mouth. His thigh slides between my legs, and a hint of something warm and woodsy fills my nostrils as I drag in a gasping breath.
Elias makes another noise behind me, and a second later, footsteps ring out on the hardwood floor like gunshots. A hand fists my hair, forcibly dragging my mouth away from Declan’s, and Gray spins me around, his other hand coming up to clasp my throat.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His voice is such a low growl that the words are barely intelligible, as if he’s more animal than man.
My mind is reeling. I feel like the room is spinning around me, and if it weren’t for Gray’s hold on me, I’m pretty sure I’d be stumbling sideways like a drunk. My lips tingle, and I want to brush my fingertips over them, to try to make sure they’re still actually attached to my body. But I can’t seem to get my hands to work.
If that kiss was a no-holds-barred fight, Declan just got a TKO.
I honestly didn’t expect him to kiss me back. He’s backed up Gray in every encounter we’ve had, and I can only imagine the shit Gray’s told him about me—not to mention the details of my personal life that’ve been spread all over campus.