Chapter 5
Eli
I stare at the lump of clay, willing some sort of inspiration to strike, but my thoughts keep spinning back to the same bewildering preoccupation—dry humping Alexei Petrov, the apparently not-so-straight hockey player I’ve developed a crush on.
It's been five days since getting off together. Five days of wondering if it actually happened or if I hallucinated the whole thing.
I poke at the clay absentmindedly, theShape of Youplaylist drifting from my earbuds doing nothing to spark creativity.
With a sigh, I lower my head into my hands. I can't stop thinking about his hands on me, his mouth crushing mine, his hard dick.
And I can’t shake the lingering concern for him either, can’t stop wondering what’s going through his head, especially when he’s skipped Composition class the past three days as if he’s avoiding me.
Maybe I should be happy I’m not a target of his bullying anymore, that things have gone back to the way they were before I ran into the brute.
Fingers suddenly dig into the back of my neck, wrenching me around. I yelp, ripping my earbuds free as I come face-to-face with the star of my daydreams and nighttime activities.
"What the hell!"
Alexei glares, his hand still clamped on me. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"
I slap his hand away. "You, jackass."
"Watch your damn mouth." He steps closer, his eyes full of danger. "You better not have told anyone about what happened. If you did. . ."
"I’m not that kind of person.” I try to refocus on my work, rather than continuing to argue, especially when it’s about his sexuality. It tookmea darn long time to say it out loud, and I have the most supportive parents in the world.
Paper rustles behind me and I whip around to find him flipping through my sketchbook, through the anatomy studies I've been working on for Figure Drawing.
"Don't!" I launch myself at him but he dangles it out of reach, his height an unfair advantage. He continues perusing each page while easily fending me off with one hand.
“Give it back, you towering dick!” I hop up, swiping at the book.
He spins away, now wholly immersed in my drawings. With a huff, I fold my arms across my chest and wait. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”
He ignores me, continuing to do what he wants. Like always.
After a few moments, he gently sets the book down, then picks up my mini sculpture, turning it around in his large hands. He raises one dark brow at me. "What’s this?"
"Just a model."
"It looks boring. Ordinary." He juts his chin at my sketchbook, open to a rather detailed rendering of the male pelvic bone. "Not like those."
My jaw actually drops for a split-second. A compliment. From Alexei-fucking-Petrov? I shake it off quickly. "Thanks. My scholarship doesn't allow for ordinary. Or failure. If I mess up one important project, it could ruin my whole academic plan going forward."
I tap my pencil eraser against the table. Why am I telling him this? I guess mutually coming in our pants together warped my brain a bit. More than a bit.
"Hockey is much the same." He clears his throat, looking away. "If I don't impress the scouts, my career ends before it begins."
“But you can still get a job, finish your degree. Not like me, my parents can’t afford the tuition.” I shake my head and snort. “Must be nice to have everything handed to you. Bet your dad could buy a team and get you on if it’s that important.”
Wrong thing to say.
Alexei grabs my chin, forcing me to look into his narrowed eyes, now filled with a dangerous spark I’ve never seen. "You think my life is easy? I earn my place on the ice every damn day." His chest heaves, face turning red. "Don't act like you know me."
I’ve pressed a button, one I didn’t mean to.
Now I feel two inches tall. "I'm sorry."
