Not really, not if it makes you a prick with no basic regard for people’s feelings.
I hate people like that, those who think they can buy their way out of consequences. Normally, if I come across someone like that, I fight back. I don’t roll over and play dead.
My voice deserves to be heard.
Only last night, it wasn’t my voice that did the talking. Nope. It was the dumb sex sounds that filled the room, even if they were barely a whisper.
What I hate even more is that his aggressiveness turned me on.
Excessively.
In all fairness, he is sexy. With dark hair, a jawline so sharp I could cut my hands on it, thick lashes framing intense brown eyes that almost look black, and his criminally smooth Russian accent—the man’s a walking hard-on.
Still, he’s an asshole. That should negate how good he looks.
Frustratingly, it doesn’t.
What I can’t make sense of is why he sprinted away after. It seemed so out of character for the brute he is.
Maybe I’m not the only one who felt more than anastomotic tension between us. Because, personally, I felt like I was two seconds away from kissing him. Or maybe being kissed. Or not.
The thing is, I’ll never know.
Fate seems to have other ideas because the moment I turn the corner of Ochre Hall, one of the many 19thcentury mansions the University utilizes, the stupid man I can’t get my mind off walks out of the University’s sports complex.
And in typical Eli Holmes pigheaded fashion, I can’t leave well enough alone.
So much for heading to the cafeteria for lunch.
“Hey!” I call, running across the neatly trimmed lawn, doing my best to catch up to his ridiculously long strides. He doesn’t even look my way so I try again. “Alexei! Hey, dickhead. Wait up!”
He stops so suddenly, I almost run into the big bastard.
Again.
Because it seems the universe finds it funny to have us crash into one another.
“What the hell did you just say?” I take a step back as he looks me up and down, his face turning red, the vein in his temple sticking out. “Need a dirt nap? Would anyone even miss you if you disappeared?”
I keep my tone cordial, if not a little forceful. “Oh, please. Spare me your tantrum. It’s anything but flattering. I just want to talk.”
His nose scrunches up but he doesn’t break eye contact. “I don’t talk to nobodies like you.”
I bite my tongue at that last insult because, deep down, it hurts. Maybe because he is somebody, at least to this school. And I’m . . . not.
Pushing down the feeling of inadequacy, I straighten. “Why not? Don’t want to ruin your asshole reputation by acting decent? Look, I wanted to talk about what happened last night.”
He steps forward so fast, it’s as if he’s going to lunge at me and rip my throat out. But I stand my ground, though I do have to tilt my head back a bit so I can match his stare.
He grins, cocks his head to one side, and says in his thick Russian accent, “Oh, yes. I too wanted to talk to you about that.”
I’m caught off guard. “Wait, really?”
“Well, less talking and more punching your ass into a permanent fixture in the pavement.”
I roll my eyes hard and sigh heavily before returning his smirk. “Very mature. Wait, is that what last night was about? Were you trying to intimidate me into sleeping with you?”
“What?” He practically splutters. “I am not—I like girls! I wasn’t trying to have fucking sex with you!”
