“Well, fuck. I don't know how to advise you with only half your story. So either tell me it all, or go spend weeks researching it online like I had to.”
He looks at me again, and then sighs, rubbing his hands over his face like he wanted to scrub years off it. His biceps flex invitingly with the action and I resist the urge to reach out and squeeze them. “Fuck it. I have a large inheritance from my parents, but to get it, I'd have to fulfill certain… obligations that I refuse to do. I won't lose my soul for the money. My mom has nothing. Avery pays for all my shit. How do I get emancipated?”
I push my tray away, the meat now cold and unappealing. Every time I was interrupted by one of these guys, I end up missing out on good food. The kitchen staff had put out an amazing spread for only two students, and now I’m not even going to finish my plate. So damn wasteful.
“You would have to have enough money to cover all of your expenses for the next four years in a bank account, and a plan on how you would use them. Detailed, like an itemized list, down to how much soap you use in a year. Can Avery give you that?”
He doesn't answer, he just grits his teeth again and picks up his tray. I huff out a breath, feeling dismissed, and then he calls out to me as he leaves, “Thanks, Mounty.”
I grab my own tray and head back up to bed.
I don't get out until Christmas Day is over.
* * *
Boxing Day is not a good day for me.
I decide to go down and eat breakfast, and Harley pours me a cup of juice as he passes by my chair. I stupidly think it’s a nice gesture after how much information I gave him at our last meeting. I should know better by now.
He'd put laxatives in it.
I could not leave the girls’ dorms for the rest of the day.
I am so angry about the juice that I throw caution so far into the wind, it ends up in fucking Kansas.
I know Harley is on the swim team because it's the only class we don't share, and I've heard Blaise and Avery talking about it in our choir and voice development classes. I also know that being as unbelievably gorgeous as he is, he must be very attached to his looks and, especially, his immaculately coiffed silvery-blond hair. You can't bethathot without also being vain.
I have no access to any beauty stores, but I'm an inventive sort of girl. The kitchen staff are very happy to help me out with my science project, and armed with two bottles of food-grade dye, I find his shampoo and conditioner and pour an entire bottle in each. I'm not sure Harley is the type to pull off the Smurf look, butgood godam I ready to find out.
Being the only two students in the school gives me an extra dose of bravery, like I'm untouchable over the holidays, when really I know that Harley will tell his friends, and then I'll have to face whatever it is they decide to retaliate with. Avery had already proven herself to be an unconscionable bully, and that was without me ever fighting back. It was a sobering thought of what she would do once she finds out. But for now, I'm going to enjoy the sport of beating this gorgeous guy at his own game. It’s nice to be able to mess with him in such a low-level way.
I get to dinner early and sit at the far end of the table in the exact chair that he usually sits. I enjoy ten minutes of silence and steak before showtime. When the door at the far end of the dining hall swings open, I don't look up, and it's a struggle not to smirk. I can hear him filling his plate and then the sound of him walking toward me. I roll my eyes that he would insist on sitting at his chair even in an empty hall, and I prepare to stare him down but then he pulls out the chair across from me and sits. I glance up and snort.
Between the bright blue tones and the tattoo, he looks like he belongs in an eighties punk band. The shocking part is that his eyes are twinkling with laughter rather than the malice I expected.
“Good shower?” I prod at him.
“Great. Just what I needed. How's your bowels?”
“Lovely and cleared, thanks for asking.”
He snorts with laughter and digs into his plate. It's weird to sit with him, but I can't move away without seeming weak or bitchy. Plus he's just as alluring as the first time I saw him, so hot it hurts to look right at him.
“Which dictator did you pick for history? I'm going to wipe the floor with you.” His eyes are still twinkling, and it makes me feel lightheaded. Is he flirting? He can't be. I clear my throat.
“Avery Beaumont, but Ms. Aurelia said I can't choose someone still in power, so I went with Mao Zedong. Who did you pick?”
He smirks and shows off his perfect teeth.
“Like I'd tell you.” He gives his juice a sniff before shrugging and drinking from it. I regret not messing with it. He sees me watching him and says, “I’m sure you've thought of something worse, but if you have spiked it, I needed some fiber anyway.”
I smile and hope that not knowing drives him a little crazy.
“I bet you've picked Hitler like every other student ever. Predictable. Boring,” I taunt him, but he just smiles. Even his smile is deadly. I can feel it slicing into my soul.
“Have you finished yet? Is it printed out and ready to be headed in?” His voice is soft and sweet, and fuck if it doesn't make me nervous. And a little turned on, but mostly nervous.
“My breakfast, my assignment, or fucking with you?”
