What is he doing?
“You have Fisks for English 101, right? I saw you in the back the other day.” His eyes rake me over in appreciation once again. He’s not even trying to hide his interest.
Normally, I’d be flattered, but right now I just want to get to class.
“Um. Yeah." I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and try to ignore the way my stomach clenches. “So you know, gotta run.”
I try to go around him again but his hand shoots out, gripping my forearm. “Hold up,” his voice pitches low and his eyes lock onto mine.
Mine widen, a flash of trepidation slamming into me before I shove it aside. I don’t know who this guy thinks he is, but he can’t just grab me. I tug on my arm, but unlike the first time, he doesn’t release me. His fingers flex, his grip tightening as his penetrating stare bores into me. Something dark and dangerous seeps into his expression and tension bleeds into the air.
I swallow hard. My gaze darts around us, taking in the empty hallway. Classes started almost over five minutes ago, so it’s just the two of us in the halls.
He must pick up on my anxiety because all of a sudden the dark look on his face is gone, replaced with an easy carefree grin. “Safety in numbers, right? Come on." Not giving me a chance to respond he gives me a conspiratorial wink and pulls me the rest of the way to our class, his hand wrapped around me though they’ve slipped down, his fingers encircling my wrist.
The door to our class is already closed but he quietly inches it open and peers inside.
"How’s it look?" I ask, trying to dispel some of the tension still thick between us. I attempt to peer over his shoulder, but he's nearly a foot taller than me so I can’t see much.
He turns to look at me, giving me another smile, and I realize he’s young. Probably a freshman like me since we’re in the same english class. He still has some softness to his face, though that looks like the only place you would find any. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow and his arms are corded with muscle. Between the body, the arrogance, and the shoes, I'm betting he's an athlete, and since Beast Mode Gear is owned by a former NFL player, I’ll assume he’s on the football team.
"Come on," he whispers, tugging me through the door with him. He adjusts his hold again, this time capturing my hand with his. I stare at our laced fingers with a frown, but allow him to lead me inside so as not to disturb the class.
Fisks is at the whiteboard, his back to us as he writes today's assignment on the board. We get a few interested looks from other students as we make our way to the empty seats in the back, my hand still locked in his as he raises his finger to his lips, the universal sign to be quiet. A few students nod and grin before turning their attention back to the front of the class.
Once safely in our seats, he releases me and I expel a relieved breath right as our professor turns around to face the class. His gaze lands on me and he frowns but doesn't comment, continuing with his lecture.
"That was a close one," the guy who crashed into me says.
I bite my bottom lip and nod. Pulling out my notebook so I can take notes on today's lecture, I do my best to block out our strange encounter, hoping that's the end of it.
"I'm Deacon," he whispers, eyes straight ahead as though paying attention to Mr. Fisks.
I don’t bother to respond. But after a minute passes, he asks, “What’s your name?”
I consider refusing to answer, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t be hard to figure out if he really wanted to.
"Kasey," I whisper under my breath.
"Nice to—"
"Mr. Hunt."
Deacon tilts his head to our professor, adopting a bored expression. "Yeah?”
“Is there something you'd like to share with the class?" Mr. Fisks asks, and there's a warning in his voice.
"Nah, I’m good,” Deacon answers, unconcerned.
"Then I suggest you pay attention to today's lesson. We'll have an exam this Friday.” He turns away, droning on about what will be covered on the exam and this week's assigned reading, but I’m not really paying attention. I glance at Deacon through my peripheral, only to catch his eyes on mine.
He reaches into his backpack and retrieves a notebook of his own. His large dark hands make it impossible for me to see what he's writing, but I know it’s not anything class related.
He tugs on the page, tearing it out before neatly folding it in half and sliding it onto my desk with an arrogant smirk.
I purse my lips and give him a questioning look. One he returns with a wink. Rolling my eyes, I reach for the note and carefully unfold it so as not to draw Mr. Fisk’s attention again.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and I cover it with a cough when I see what the note says.
