“I don’t have time to deal with this right now,” I said, “we should both be focusing on what Dean Christie and the faculty are cooking up for our first Leader’s Challenge.”
Lucca groans. “Remember last fall? The bags of rocks in the water challenge? That bastard Costa gave one of my swimmers a concussion when he nailed them in the back of the head with one.” He gives me an unpleasant smile. “I’m glad I killed him.”
“For so many reasons,” I agree, slapping him on the shoulder. “Look… will you do me a favor?”
He leans forward, looking a little concerned. “Of course.”
“Will you put Mariya on your team for this first challenge? She hates me enough that I don’t… I have to be able to focus. I can’t lead if I’m fighting her every step of the way.”
Springing to his feet, he offers me a hand up. “After hearing about her conversation with Tatiana, that might be a good idea.”
Mariya…
“...and then he dislocated poor Liam’s shoulder! I didn’t know Konstantin could be more unpleasant.” I’m yanking off my running shoes and trying not to throw them across the room. Tatiana convinced me to start running with her, and for a girl who swore she would never run unless she was being chased, I’m starting to really enjoy it.
“That seems so unlike him,” Tatiana says, frowning. “I know he loves pushing your buttons, but being all snarly and aggressive?” A grin that can only be described as evil transforms her face. “He’s jealous. He’s distracted because he’s jealous and probably in withdrawal from your fine self.”
“My fine self?” I’m laughing and she is, too.
“If we were normal people, I’d suggest you flirt with other guys to infuriate him,” her face fell. “We’re Bratva. No normal here. Also, based on last year - remember the rave out at the lighthouse?”
“You mean when he dragged me out like he was somesumasshedshiy,a lunatic because I was dancing with Ronan?” I said bitterly, “Oh, yes.”
“What you could do,” she says slowly, “is to ignore him. Don’t let him set you off.Bozhe moy,my god, all you two did last year was fight. It was the most obvious foreplay I’ve ever seen.”
“That was not foreplay!” I said indignantly. “I hate that idiot!”
“Of course,” she says with a completely straight face.
I point my finger at her. “Don’t. I mean it!”
Her lips twitch, she is losing the battle between laughing at me and trying to pretend to have my back on this.
“That man is ass cancer wrapped in a skin suit,” I said, “and you better stop grinning.”
“Sorry,” she groans. “It is a tiny bit funny.”
“No, it’s not!” I said sharply, “I’m going with your suggestion of ignoring him, although that is going to be difficult in Combat class.”
“True,” she said, picking up her running shoes and mine and depositing them in the basket next to the front door of the suite, “ignoring him in class is going to be impossible since there will be words - and perhaps bodily fluids - exchanged there.”
“I am going to hit you in the head with my shoe!” I shout, heading for the basket.
“No violence at home!” Tati said, “Besides, Athena and Mala are coming over for movie night. May I say how much I love being your roommate after escaping Athena’s chilly embrace last year?”
She’s moving around our main room, putting out bowls of popcorn and a couple of bottles of wine. I flinch a bit at her sweet words, because the reality is that my old roommate Camille is dead, shot by Dean Christie for attempting to kidnap Tatiana. So, my handy vacancy is due to that awkward little fact and I was thrilled to help her move in.
Like all the other accommodations at the Ares Academy, our suite is luxurious, a large common room with dark, gleaming wood floors, a big fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out on the college grounds. We each have our own bedroom with ensuite bathrooms. I like to douse my private space with bright colors and lots of books and pictures. Tatiana’s side of the suite is more tasteful and subdued.
“Open the door!” I hear the muffled shout that could only be from Athena, “We come bearing chocolate!”
“We walk into the Armory and this man is standing there-” Athena stops for another gulp of wine.
“Not a man,” interjects Mala, “a god.”
“I’m Greek, and I’m telling you right now he’s one of ours. I don’t care where he was born.” Athena corrects her.
“He’s towering over us with this dark lord of the manor look,” Mala continues, waving her wine glass a little too enthusiastically. “He’s huge, I mean, really built with these manly hands.”
