When Sinners Play: An Enemies to Lovers College Bully Romance (Sinners of Hawthorne University Book 1)

by Eva Ashwood

  “Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my blue-streaked hair.

  Max has a point. It’s something I never even considered as I was fighting off Cliff’s assault—not that I was thinking rationally or coherently at the time. And not that I would’ve done anything differently even if I had.

  “Yeah. Welcome to the world of the wealthy elite,” she says dryly, although there’s an edge to her voice. “Where they can wreck your life without ever laying a finger on you.”

  “Thanks for the heads up.” I chew on my lip, staring up at my blank walls, which are still devoid of art.

  I never had to think about shit like this before. Back in my old life, when you got into bullshit with someone else, you handled it and then it was done. No one had a lawyer on retainer. No one could afford one.

  Fuck. How much trouble is this going to bring me?

  I don’t have to wait long for an answer.

  On Monday, I’m summoned to the dean’s office before my second class even starts. The whole classroom breaks into whispers and murmurs as Professor Stanton calls me to the front, disapprovingly explaining that I’ve been asked to speak to Dean Wells.

  There’s no question in my mind about what I’m being called in for—I haven’t done anything else worthy of note, and I’m sure as shit not being summoned for some kind of academic accolade. I don’t think they give those out to the scholarship students, no matter how well we do.

  The campus is quiet as I walk across the lawn, but I still keep my gaze alert and my shoulders tensed up defensively. When I reach the admin building, the dean’s secretary ushers me inside his office.

  Dean Wells is probably in his fifties, and he looks like a cartoon character of a rich man come to life. Everything about him is crisp, from his suit to his perfectly styled hair to his movements, and he gives me a curt nod as I walk in, gesturing for me to take a seat.

  I do, pasting a bored expression on my face. I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of intimidating me.

  When I say nothing, an uncomfortable silence passes between the two of us, and he clears his throat before speaking.

  “I’m not one to beat around the bush,” he says. Thank God. “So I’m going to start by asking you about an incident that came to light regarding you and another student—”

  “You mean Cliff Montgomery trying to rape me?” I ask bluntly, because I can already sense the dean trying to spin it into something it’s not. I’m not going to give him the chance.

  His eyes narrow at my words. A hardness comes into them as he laces his fingers together, resting his elbows on his desk.

  “Ms. Wright, this campus prides itself on its safety and its culture of respect. If anything inappropriate were to happen between students, it should be reported to the appropriate authorities, who—”

  “Are you suggesting that I should’ve let him do whatever he wanted and then come to someone after the fact?” I cut in. “Sounds like a shitty school policy.”

  The dean’s steady gaze remains on me. The corners of his mouth turn down, and when he speaks again, he forms the words slowly like he’s talking to a child.

  “I’ll be frank with you, Ms. Wright. Were you anyone else, I might look the other way. But your conduct at this school leaves much to be desired. That little stunt at the assembly, your nude photographs, now this errant act of violence against another student—”

  “A student who’s a would-be rapist,” I interject, anger rising inside me. “Not to mention you’re blaming me for a bunch of shit that wasn’t my fault. You think I wanted my medical records laid out in front of the whole school like that? Why the hell would I do that?”

  As if he didn’t hear a word I just said, Dean Wells leans forward a little, leveling me with a hard look. “And did you or did you not initiate a vulgar stripping session that was filmed at a school party? These things reflect on our institution, Sophie, and we can’t just let illegal and out-of-bounds behavior slide.”

  “It’s Ms. Wright,” I bite out. I’ve never insisted anyone call me that in my life, but this fucker doesn’t get to say my name. He doesn’t get to act like he’s familiar with me, like he’s on my side or doing this for my own good or whatever bullshit lie he’s told himself.

  Dean Wells stiffens. I know I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut. I should probably be ingratiating myself to him, acting contrite and begging for another chance, but I can’t bring myself to do any of that. I didn’t do anything wrong, and there’s no fucking way I’ll pretend I did.

  The dean clears his throat again, his voice still bland and formal.

  “As I was saying… Ms. Wright. Your conduct before this incident was enough to put you on thin ice, and it makes me question the validity of your claim about this incident. Cliff Montgomery is an accomplished student and member of the honor roll. He has no blemishes on his record, whereas you have had several incidents in your first semester alone.”

  I shrug stiffly, my teeth clenching so hard my jaw aches. “Sorry.”

  Dean Wells narrows his eyes, as if he’s not quite sure whether I’m mocking him or not.

  “We’re quite proud of our scholarship program, and we take it very seriously,” he says. “It is our honor to shape the best and brightest minds of the future—even those who, due to life circumstances and financial restrictions, might not otherwise be able to come here. However, your enrollment here is a two-way street. Any action on your part that may reflect poorly on Hawthorne University is grounds for suspension and, pending review, even expulsion.”

  My skin goes cold.

  Fuck. This is exactly the kind of thing Max warned me about. And she was right. Cliff clearly wants revenge, and he’s willing to fight dirty to get it.

  My heart thuds heavily against my ribs as my fingers dig into the armrest of my chair.

  I wasn’t even sure I wanted to come here, and there were plenty of times over the past few months when I thought about leaving. But every single time, I decided against it. Because I want to be here. I want to stay.

  I want a better life than the shitty one Jared and I and so many others like us were handed.

  And now the future I was trying to build is about to be ripped away, all because I wouldn’t let an entitled, creepy asshole put his dick in me. Because I fought back. Because I defended myself.

  I won that night in a flurry of fists and violence.

  But somehow, I’ve still lost.

  “I don’t understand,” I say thickly, forcing back the sting of tears as I clench my jaw. “I’ve kept my grades up. I’ve gone to class. I’ve done everything—”

  “This isn’t about your academic record.” He shakes his head. “It’s about your personal record. That’s where you’re failing, Ms. Wright.”

  My foot taps out a staccato rhythm on the floor. A torrent of emotions is brewing in my chest, and I can’t find the comforting blackness I used to rely on. It’s been slowly bleeding out of me over the course of the semester, and now all I’m left with is a bunch of feelings I don’t know how to handle.

  I open my mouth again, prepared to keep arguing my case until the dean has me forcibly removed from his office—but before I can speak, the door opens.

  “I’m sorry, Dean Wells—”

  The secretary’s harried voice comes from behind Gray as he strides into the office. I get a glimpse of her face over his shoulder, nervous and chagrined, before he closes the door behind him and leans against it, his posture casual.

  Silence settles over the room for a second as both Wells and I blink up at him. I honestly don’t know which one of us is more surprised to see him here.

  “Mr. Eastwood,” the dean says after a moment. “This is highly inappropriate. If you need to speak with me, you need to set an appointment.”

  “Do I?” Gray cocks his head, seeming to consider that. “Last time I was here, I didn’t need an appointment.”

  Dean Wells shifts in his seat, and I get the feeling there’s subtext in Gray’s words that
the older man can read but I can’t. He glances at me quickly, running a hand over his salt-and-pepper hair. Then he rests his palms flat on the desk and turns his attention to Gray again, his voice carefully neutral.

  “What do you need, Mr. Eastwood?”

  Gray smiles, a languid stretch of his lips. “I need you to tell me why you’ve got Sophie in here,” he says simply.

  “I can’t—”

  “You can. And you will.”

  The dean hesitates, gazing at Gray as if they’re playing a chess match and he’s contemplating his next move. Then he dips his chin slightly.

  “We were addressing her involvement in putting Cliff Montgomery in the hospital,” he says. “And discussing whether or not Hawthorne University has room for students that present such violent tendencies.”

  “And I assume she told you that Cliff Montgomery attacked her, and that’s why he landed himself in the emergency room.”

  “She… mentioned something of that nature.”

  Gray tilts his head, a hard gleam entering his eyes. My gaze flicks between him and Dean Wells, trying to sort through exactly what’s happening here. Tension fills the room, but I don’t know where it came from or what it means.

  Eventually, Gray speaks up again.

  “You know, I wasn’t sure about coming here. There were a few other schools I was looking at, and I was courted by a few teams. But my dad wanted me to go to Hawthorne like he did. He’s proud to be an alumnus of this school… which is why he always gives so generously to your institution.”

  The dean’s posture stiffens. “And we appreciate it very much, I assure you.”

  “I know you do.” Gray’s smile isn’t casual anymore. It’s predatory, like a cat who’s about to swallow his prey whole. “And since it’s my family’s money that’s responsible for Sophie being here, I’m sure you understand why we’re invested in her success.”

  Wells looks torn between nervousness and annoyance, and it gives his face a pinched look. “Of course. But her behavior—”

  “The attack didn’t take place on school grounds. It’s not under your purview. And seeing as how no one else was there to witness the altercation, all you’re left with is a ‘he said, she said’ situation.” Gray shifts his gaze to me for a second before settling it back on the dean. “I, for one, believe Sophie.”

  I stare at him, not even bothering to hide the shock on my face. I don’t know what compelled him to come here, and I don’t know what exactly he’s referring to, but I’m smart enough to understand what Gray is doing.

  He’s throwing his weight behind me.

  Taking my side.

  Evening the playing field between me and Cliff.

  I turn back to the dean to find him staring at Gray, his lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands laced so tightly together that his knuckles are turning white. Finally, he unclenches his hands, drawing in a breath as he leans back in his wing-backed chair.

  “I… can see your point, Mr. Eastwood. And I suppose, all things considered, I could let Ms. Wright off with a warning at this juncture. But she will need to maintain her grades and uphold the ethical tenets of this school going forward. I cannot and will not allow Hawthorne’s reputation to suffer from this.”

  Gray keeps his arms folded over his chest as he regards the dean, considering his answer. Then he nods once. “Good.”

  Without saying another word, without acknowledging me or waiting to be dismissed, he opens the door and strides out of the office.

  Oxygen seems to rush back into the room now that he’s gone, and I hear the dean heave a deep sigh as I stare over my shoulder at the closed door.

  What the actual fuck just happened?

  25

  When I turn back to Dean Wells, his expression has gone back to the stern, formal one he was wearing before Gray walked in. He clicks his tongue against his teeth, giving me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “Well, Ms. Wright. I suppose you should get back to class. I was serious about you maintaining your grades and your standing at this school, and I don’t want to hear negative reports from teachers or see you in my office again.”

  I bristle at the renewed implication that I’ve been some kind of problem student, but I know better than to push my luck by talking back right now.

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter instead. “Thank you.”

  He gives me a magnanimous nod, as if he wasn’t just basically forced into letting me stay here. Then he gestures toward the door.

  I take it as the dismissal it is and stand, glad to be leaving the man’s office. There’s no damn reason that I should’ve been called in here to begin with, and I’d bet every fucking dollar I have that Cliff won’t be getting a similar lecture from the dean.

  It’s not fucking fair.

  But I’m still here. I’m still a student at Hawthorne, and there’s only one person to thank for that.

  Gray.

  The secretary looks up as I step out of Dean Wells’ office, but I barely glance at her. I hurry out of the building, my gaze scanning the manicured campus until I catch sight of Gray’s broad shoulders and chestnut brown hair glinting in the sun. He’s heading back toward his dorm, and I stride after him quickly, almost running as I try to close the distance between us.

  When I’m just a few yards away from him, I raise my voice, still walking at a fast clip.

  “What was that back there?”

  His head moves a little, but he barely glances over his shoulder. And he doesn’t answer.

  So I ask again.

  “Gray. What did you mean by that? Your family’s money pays for my education?”

  Still, he says nothing.

  He’s walking so fast that we’re nearly to his dorm building already. I get the sudden vivid impression that I’m like a burr he’s trying to shake off, and I hate that feeling. But it’s not enough to make me give up.

  “Gray!”

  My voice is harder, louder, and I crowd in behind him as he enters his building, forcing my way inside before he can slam the door in my face or something.

  “What?”

  That one word is all I get as he flicks another glance at me, taking the steps up to the third floor quickly.

  I grit my teeth as my feet pound on the stairs in a counterpoint rhythm with his. This man is infuriating. He’s acting like nothing happened, like it was no big deal for him to stroll into the dean’s office and throw around his weight like that. To stand up for me and keep me from getting thrown out of school.

  Why?

  Why did he do it, and why won’t he fucking talk about it?

  Gray reaches his room and slides his ID card into the slot on the door. The lock clicks, and he turns the handle. I’m fully prepared to barge in after him, but before I can, he stops and turns back to face me.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  His voice is cool and hard, almost as dispassionate as it was when he was talking to Dean Wells. But there’s something just behind his eyes that contradicts his tone. Something wild and dangerous and almost frantic, like a trapped animal.

  “Yeah. You can.” I’m glaring at him, and I know I should thank him, but anger and confusion override any gratitude I should be feeling right now. “Why the fuck did you do that?”

  “Would you have preferred I didn’t?” he asks dryly. “Did you want to get kicked out of school? If you’d like, I can go back to Dean Wells right now and tell him—”

  “You fucking asshole.” I shove at his chest. “That’s not what I meant, and you goddamn well know it.”

  I can feel his muscles go taut under my palms, and his jaw tightens. His blue-green eyes flash. “You want to stay here, Sparrow? Then just take the win and leave it alone.”

  That’s exactly what I should do.

  I know that.

  There’s something roiling under the smooth surface of Gray’s facade, and whatever it is, I’ve got a feeling it could prove very hazardous to my health. To my heart.
r />   But I’ve just never been the kind of girl who backs down.

  Curling my fingers, I fist the front of his shirt and take a step closer to him, my heart thudding erratically in my chest.

  “Tell me,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “Tell me why you did it.”

  His pulse is racing almost as fast as mine. I can feel it against my hands as I clutch at his shirt. For a second, we’re frozen like that, practically nose-to-nose as he drops his head and I tilt my chin up to meet his gaze.

  Then he groans, a low sound that I feel vibrate in his chest before the sound ever reaches my ears.

  “Goddammit, Sparrow. You really don’t know how to take a fucking hint, do you?”

  Before I can respond to that, he kicks his door open and hauls me into his room, yanking my messenger bag from my shoulder and dropping it on the floor.

  The door slams shut a second before my back hits the heavy wood and Gray’s lips come crashing down on mine.

  His fingers are in my hair, tugging at the strands as his body pins me against the door. He kisses me like he’s trying to shut me up, or maybe like he’s trying to tell me something. It’s hot and hard at first, desperate and crackling with tension as his lips descend on mine over and over again.

  I lose myself in it like I always do, knocked over and dragged out to sea by the tidal wave that engulfs me.

  My teeth nip at his lips, wanting to taste him. Wanting to hurt him. Wanting to claim him.

  For several long minutes, our bodies battle each other against the door, as if this kiss is just a continuation of our fight.

  But then something shifts.

  The heavy weight of Gray’s body softens against mine, and the hands in my hair ease their tight grip. His fingertips slide down to trace the line of my jaw gently as our kiss deepens and slows.

  He probes my mouth with his tongue, sweeping inside deeply as he makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat—almost a sigh.

  I’m unprepared for the sudden change, and I try to hold on to my fury, try to let it feed my desire for him like it always does. But when he breaks the contact of our lips to press little kisses over my cheek and jaw and throat, I find the tension bleeding from my own body too.