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Enemy. Bully. Rival. I repeat inside my head, to starve off the indecent thoughts I’m having right now.
“Harlow,” Oliver calls out, and I shake myself from the daze I’m in. The dimpled smile on his face tells me I’ve been caught red-handed.
“You know, I thought Banks was joking when he said you threw yourself at him, but I see it now. That’s your thing, isn’t it? You use your body to get what you want? How many guys have you slept with to get your way?”
I can’t help but laugh at his question as I push him away. I’m a little insulted and for a split second I think about telling him that I’m still a virgin, but that fact seems too personal to share, especially with him.
“Oh no! You got me.” I raise my hands into the air like an idiot. “Harlow, the harlot. I just go around kissing guys and whisking them off into my bed to get them to do what I want. Haven’t you heard,” I lean into his stoic face, “my vagina is made of gold.”
His facial expression combined with the words I’m spewing send me into a fit of laughter that makes my belly hurt. Bending over I hold a hand to my stomach and snort loudly.
“Fucking Christ,” he mumbles under his breath, grabbing me by the arm and practically dragging me up the steps to the library.
“I’m guessing you didn’t think that was funny?”
We pass a group of people and even with the quick motion I can still feel their eyes on me. Once up the steps I shake off his hold and put some space between us.
“You aren’t taking this serious at all, are you?” he asks, his voice threaded with frustration. Little does he know his frustration only makes me feel better. Shrugging, I tuck a couple loose strands of hair behind my ear. My chest is still burning from the laughter and the run up the steps. “This is all a game to you. That’s all it’s ever been.”
“I guess it doesn’t really matter what my answer is. You guys will do your worst no matter what I say.” I don’t wait around to hear his response. Instead I turn and walk inside the library. My sanctuary.
Oliver follows behind me like there is an invisible string tethered between us. It doesn’t take me long to find a seat, and I pull out the chair making sure I don’t scrape it against the wooden floor.
“I’m giving you one hour, that’s it. Then I’m putting you over my shoulder and carrying you back to the dorm. I’m not babysitting your ass all night.” He growls, throwing himself into one of the wooden chairs. He almost looks too small for it.
“Aww, why not? Got another girl to traumatize?” I whisper getting my notes, pencils, and book out.
“Nope, only you,” he says, and somehow his words make their way into my brain and make me feel a way I’m sure he didn’t intend. Only you.
I start working on the stupid paper, trying to concentrate on my books and not on Oliver sitting next to me. A few times I have to get up and find different books for references, and every time I do, Oliver’s there watching me like a hawk, like I’m some criminal that’s about to make a run for it or something.
After almost an hour I’m not even close to being done.
Sighing, I set my pencil down. “You know you don’t have to babysit me, right? I’m not anywhere near being done here and it’s painfully obvious you don’t want to be here. I don’t understand why you have to watch me every second of the day. I’m not a child.”
At my words he looks up from his phone, which he’s been playing with for the better part of the last hour.
“No, I have a better idea. You gather your stuff up and we’ll head back to your dorm. I gave you an hour of my time, if you want more you’ll have to earn it.” His expression is dead serious, nothing but honesty reflecting in his eyes and that kind of frightens me.
“Earn it? What’s that supposed to mean? If you think I’m going to sleep with you, then you’re mentally ill.”
“Pfft, you’d be lucky to ever get graced with such an amazing experience.”
I stare at him, my expression blank, “I’m not earning anything. I’m a grown person and if I want to stay here then I will. I’m a human, not an object.” I barely get the words out before he is on his feet and reaching across the table. He gathers my papers and pencils stuffing them into my backpack haphazardly.
“Stop,” I demand. “I’m not done!” I’m vaguely aware of someone saying shhhh but I’m more concerned with Oliver than them right at this moment.
