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That gaze slides from mine down to the paper thin cut on his arm. He smears the blood with his middle finger, clearing off the cut and squeezing the skin until no more flows. His eyes close as he takes in a deep breath, head tipping back, and eyes opening again to land on mine as he lets the breath out.
“What do you want, Morales?”
I want to roll him over and turn his backside every shade of red. I want to listen to him gasp and whine and writhe, and bitch about how it isn’t fair. But that isn’t what normal people want. Especially not from someone they supposedly hate.
“To get ready for class, but I think I’m going to need to cleanse the place first.”
I’m not someone to snitch over some recreational weed, but Shiloh could get his attendance revoked if he’s found with any drugs in his system other than the ones he’s prescribed. Plus I have no doubt I’ll have to field lots of questions and put up with a shit ton of 420 jokes simply because this next class has a lot of college freshmen signed up.
“I brought Febreeze,” Shiloh says with a lazy grin and a finger pointed towards a bag a few feet away.
“Super helpful. Thanks, sweetheart.”
A frown flickers on his lips but is quickly replaced with the beginnings of a smirk.
“Sweetheart? Cute. You wish.”
Not wanting to stoop to his level but also not wanting to let him get away with his attitude, I cross my arms and crouch down beside him.
“I know better than to want to fuck a straight boy, Novak. But if you’re swinging this way…” I tilt my head and give him a slow appraisal from head to toe, hiding my smile at the wide-eyed flush his face becomes. “You might want to behave.”
Beside him, Valco snorts. The twins have both packed up their litter of belongings and are standing next to their friend. Vulture lightly kicks at his knee with her boot and grins.
“You seem fully relaxed, doll. We’ve done our job. Time to hand you off to the warden.”
Shiloh, with his face a burning red and his eyes fluttering around the room, gives her the finger, which has the twins laughing as they walk over him and pat my back on their way out. I expect some kind of explanation for their strange behavior, but all I get are the thwacks of boots on pavement and fading laughter.
“Interesting pair you’ve got there.”
His eyes drift back to me, his still extended finger following. “Fuck you, Morales.”
“There you go giving me the impression that you bat for my team again.”
Maybe I listen a little too closely when Atlas and Shiloh talk in the hall, or push a bit too far when nonchalantly checking on him through Blair, but I know there’s whispers of Shiloh maybe not being one hundred percent straight.
It makes my blood boil and my dick pitch a tent because there’s no denying I want my hands on him, but whispers aren’t confirmation. As willing as I would be to let him experiment, my kind of play might be a little too intense for him.
Shiloh’s body goes slack, arm plopping against the concrete as he closes his eyes on a heavy groan. “This isn’t fun anymore.”
I don’t even bother offering him a hand as he sits up and rises to his feet, dusting off his black, skin tight jeans that accentuates the subtle bulge behind his zipper. He smacks his palm on his thigh in a way that snatches my attention and proves he caught me staring.
Clearing my throat, I straighten. When Shiloh slings his bag over his shoulder and moves to walk past me, I hold my arm out and guide him back. He’s perfectly capable of going around me, but he doesn’t.
“What?”
I curl my fingers around his bicep, coaxing him closer, and though his nostrils flare and his jaw ticks, he comes.
“You can’t go back to the dorms smelling like that.”
He narrows his eyes. “Plenty of kids on campus smoke weed.”
“Those kids aren’t on probation.”
Before he can think to rip himself away and stomp off like the defiant toddler I know he can be, I tug him again. This time he steps forward until our chests brush together.
“Are you high enough to fail a drug test?”
“I’m not high at all.”
