This room makes sense in a way I dislike.
Messy, angry, half-finished.
Just like him.
“Are you coming in or just judging from the doorway?”
His voice drifts over my shoulder.I step inside without answering, because engaging him on his terms is a mistake.I drop my bag to the floor and pull out my notes, stacking them neatly on my lap as if order might keep him from getting into my head.
“I don’t have time to waste,” I say.“So keep your comments to yourself.”
“Relax,” he says.“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“Good.Keep it that way.”
He grabs a hoodie off the bed and pulls it on, as if he’s doing me a favor and knows exactly how much I hate that he gets under my skin without even trying.
We sit on the floor, knees spaced carefully apart.Just worn carpet beneath us and the scent of his cologne cutting through.
“Don’t fuck this up,” I say, meeting his eyes.“This is worth almost half our final grade.”
“I got it.”
“No,” I say flatly.“You don’t.You don’t care about any of this.”
He shrugs easily, unbothered.“Maybe I care about some things.”
“Not school.”
His eyes lock onto mine.“You care enough for both of us.”
The audacity of it makes my jaw tighten.“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He leans back on his elbows, stretching out with a relaxed posture, watching me as I pull my laptop from my bag and place it between us.I sense his eyes on me, following every movement of my hands.
“Are you always this angry?”he asks.“Or is it just me?”
“It’s you,” I say without hesitation.
The corner of his mouth lifts, and the fact that he’s smirking like he enjoys that answer just makes me more pissed off.
Because even sitting here, surrounded by his mess and trying to focus on what truly matters, I’m painfully aware of how close he is.Of how easily this could go wrong.Of how much I want to prove I’m immune to him.
I open my laptop and remind myself that this is just work.
I repeat it to myself even as his gaze burns into my skin, and I know deep down that nothing about this will stay simple for long.
I don’t allow myself to look at him.I keep my eyes trained on my notes, the screen, or anything that isn’t his mouth, his hands, or the way he fills the room effortlessly.
Because if he wasn’t who he was, this arrogant, reckless fuck boy who thinks he can coast through life on a smile and a reputation, maybe I could like him.
But he is who he is.
And I won’t like him.Not now.Not ever.
“You can’t just wing this,” I snap, fingers moving as I pull up my outline.My voice is tight, clipped, already exhausted.“There’s a structure.If we don’t hit the criteria, it doesn’t matter how smart the content is.”
Reece leans back on his elbows, his long legs stretched out with boots still on the carpet, as if my grade isn’t on the line.“You worry too much.”
