Chapter 5 Not so friendly

OLIVER

My first two weeks of college have been…interesting to say the least.

On my moving-in day, I hit the car of CSU’s star center and hockey captain after he stole my parking spot.

And because I refused to apologize, I’d apparently declared war on the entire hockey team.

I don’t come across them often, but the few times I have…let’s just say I have the bruises to show for it.

Fuck them though, because outside of their cliche bullying, things have been….good.

Really good.

I got lucky with housing and ended up with no roommate, so I have my dorm room all to myself.

Classes are better than I expected and all the bruises on my face are gone so I took off that hideous nose plaster a few days ago.

I’m actually enjoying myself and some days, I even forget to be worried.

The only thing missing is him.

God, I miss my boyfriend.

We text all day, call when we can, but it’s not the same as curling into his side.

By the time my last class ends today, all I can think about is getting back to my dorm and seeing his face on my screen.

So I hurry along, taking the elevator to my floor with a stupid smile on my face.

But the instant I get to my dorm, the smile on my face twists into a frown.

Why is there a broad-shouldered, tattooed guy doing pullups on my doorframe?

“Excuse me,” I say, dragging my eyes from his body with a little difficulty. “Do you have the wrong room?”

The stranger finishes at least five more reps before gracefully jumping down.

Sweat runs down all the cuts and edges of his ripped body as he turns around and looks at me.

The next breath I take hitches in my lung, and my jaw nearly scrapes the floor as I come face to face with my fucking stepbrother.

“You?” I squeak, my heart jackhammering against my ribs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he gives me this slow head-to-toe once-over. Those green eyes are flat and cold as if he’s sizing up something insignificant.

My brain immediately spirals into the worst place.

Oh God.

Something bad happened to Mom and Orson sent his psycho son to tell me.

It’s a little weird that he set up a push-up bar while waiting for me just to tell me about the emergency, but my brain is too fried to think about that.

“Is my mom okay? Did something happen to her?” I blurt.

Rhysand’s expression doesn’t change.

He pulls on a black tank hanging on the door and the fabric sticks to his damp skin, putting on display every bit of muscle underneath.

Swallowing the lump that formed in my throat, I quickly cut my eyes to his forehead.

“I’m not your mother’s sitter.” That’s what he says when he finally opens his mouth, in an infuriatingly deep voice that sends shivers down my spine.

That’s it. Nothing more.

Gritting my teeth, I shove past him–or try to.

But he doesn’t move an inch and I end up brushing against hot, damp skin that smells like clean sweat and an expensive cologne.

I swear my heart stops for the brief moment I’m stuck between him and the door frame until he finally steps back and strides into the room.

As my heart remembers its blood pumping function, I drag in multiple shuddering breaths and tell myself I wasn’t flustered…just angry.

Still speechless, I follow him into the room.

My mouth opens and closes as I try to form the obvious questions–what the fuck are you doing in my dorm then?

But my heart stops all over again when I see that the empty-half of the room—that I'd started to imagine decorating–is no longer empty.

A black duffel bag sits on the bare mattress and a beaten-up leather jacket is slung over my study chair.

He’s clearly moved into my dorm room.

But why? How? Is he a student here too?

How is he a student when he literally just got out of pr–

“Got out of what?” His icy voice cuts into my mental spiral and I freeze as I realize my inside thoughts aren’t that…inside.

He heard everything.

Oh fuck!

Tilting my head up, I dare to meet his gaze and the look he’s shooting me could freeze fire.

I can’t even speak.

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

“Uh. I mean…nothing,” I gulp hard, forcing the words out. “It’s just…there are tons of room in this dormitory. Tons of people you could room with. You can’t room with me.”

He arches one brow. JUST ONE. Tell me that’s not psychopathic behavior.

“And why is that?”

My eyes bulge and the words tumble out before I can bite them back. “I don’t know. Maybe because you pissed all over the place at my mom’s wedding? You broke my nose. You–”

“Beat your ass in front of your whole family,” he finishes for me in a quiet voice that starkly contrasts with the sudden glint in his jade eyes. “I think we should try that again.”

A cold wave of fear slides down my spine, making my knees feel weak.

And right behind it is this weird, hot twist in my gut I can’t even name.

The thought of being under him…pinned and helpless as…

What the hell is wrong with me?

I drag in a shaky breath, unable to meet his gaze in fear of him reading my very fucked-up thoughts. “I’m going to housing right now. They’ll fix this.”

He doesn’t respond and just drops onto his bed, pulling a joint from his pocket.

With a flick of his lighter, a red glow appears at the nub of the blunt.

The flame briefly catches the hard lines of his face for a second, and God, he looks unfairly hot doing it.

His head is tilted back a little, thin red lips wrapping around it as he inhales deeply.

He blows out a slow puff of smoke, watching me with half-lidded eyes through the haze.

“Go ahead,” he says flatly. “You’ll be told the same thing I was. Our parents thought it’s a good idea we stay in the same dorm so we can… bond.”

The word ‘bond’ drips with so much disdain, it almost makes me flinch.

I stand there, suddenly exhausted, lost and fucking furious.

What the hell was Mom thinking, going on along with something like this…especially after he did at the wedding?

And exactly how loaded is Orson that he can just snap his fingers and manipulate college housing almost a month into the semester?

I’m still spiraling when another thick cloud of smoke rolls toward me.

It’s starting to choke the small room, clinging to my throat.

“Hey,” I snap, coughing a little. “Smoking is not allowed here.”

He ignores me completely, taking another long drag. Then he blows it out slowly, right in my direction.

Anger flares hotly in my chest and before I can think about it, I'm across the room.

I snatch the joint right out of his fingers and toss it on the floor, grinding it under my shoe.

The room goes dead silent.

He raises those green eyes to me–two pools of pure hatred–and slowly rises from the bed.

He towers over me, broad-shouldered and insanely muscular.

When he speaks, his voice is almost soft.

“You shouldn’t have done that, stepbro.”

Shit.

I take a step back and try to boot it out of the room but pain explodes across my side and the breath knocks out of me as I hit the floor hard.

Burning heat rushes to my eyes and I try to roll away, but his foot comes down on my neck, pinning me to the floor.

His weight isn’t crushing, but enough that I feel every ounce of his control.

I stare up at him, my heart pounding wildly in its confinement, and all I can think is how completely, terrifyingly fucked I am.