The other nerd looks like he might drop dead from fear.
Little Mouse, however, looks like he’s about to punch me in the face. I almost want to laugh, his expression is so cute. As if he could hurt me.
“What is your prob—” He takes a deep breath and looks away. “You know what? You’re not worth it.”
He turns his back on me.
He turns his fucking back onme.
The satisfaction from a few moments ago melts away like heated wax. This mother fucker.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” My voice comes out as a booming growl, like I’m a fucking devil or some shit.
But he just keeps walking, blatantly ignoring.
“Eli!” his female friend calls out, then chases after him, the other close on her heels.
Eli.
My fingers clench and unclench. I’m going to strangle Eli, make him wish he never stepped foot on Crestwood University’s campus, that he never crossed my path.
And I’m definitely going to make him regret that holier-than-thou attitude because he obviously didn’t get the memo that the Titans rule this school.
Not some punk nobody.
Just like in hockey, it’s time to read the play, then wait to take advantage when the opportunity arises.
So, I hide in the crowd, stalking him, waiting for the right moment.
And, eventually, it comes.
Good thing this is Walsh’s house, and I’m familiar with the layout. Eli’s making his way toward the bathroom.
I’m right behind him, just far enough away but still close, like one car tailing another.
Just as he walks into the bathroom, I push him forward, slam the door, then grab his collar and shove him up against it.
His eyes go wide, brows lifting high on his head as he turns a bit pale.
Perfect.
I crowd him, my fist tightening in his shirt. “I’m not finished with you.”
Eli swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he reaches up, placing his hands on my chest, trying to push me away to create space. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what the hell you want but—”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. You don’t know who I am?” I widen my grin, baring my teeth. “Well, let me introduce myself. I’m AlexeifuckingPetrov. Son of Vladimir and Yulia Petrov.”
I wait for the look of recognition, but it doesn’t come.
“Okay? And? I’m Eli Holmes . . . er, son of Marcus Holmes?” He closes his eyes for a moment, then exhales a deep breath before re-opening them and staring me dead in the eye. “I don’t care if you’re some entitled ass rich nepo baby or whatever is fueling that massive ego of yours. Nothing gives you the right to treat people like this.”
Mother. Fucker.
I growl, stepping closer, pretty much erasing any distance between us as I loom over him, intentionally breathing into his face to intimidate as I thrust him against the door again.
He lets out a small gasp from the force and shivers slightly. The confidence on his face breaks and his lips part slightly as he gazes up at me.
My eyebrows knit together when his pupils dilate, breath coming out in shallow rasps, eyes still locked onto mine.
