"They're in the rec room. After dinner, we get a few hours there, but you're in detention, so you can forget about it."
I want to ask why Miles isn't in the rec room, too, but I figure maybe he doesn't want to talk about it. Or talk about anything, to be honest.
"What about you?" I ask Ethan. He shrugs.
"I'm sticking here with you."
"Why?" I can't make sense of it, but I'm grateful for some reason. I do like to have him close.
"To make sure you don’t get into more trouble than you already are in. I’m keeping an eye on you."
"Chill, man," I laugh. "I’m not going anywhere. What trouble could I possibly get into? You don’t need to babysit me all the time."
"Well, when they told me I’d be the leader of another newbie, I thought it would be easy. The newbies are usually scared as shit, and it takes a while for you guys to stir up trouble. I was completely wrong. You managed to sneak weed in your shoe before even finishing your first day and then punched someone and landed your pretty ass in detention."
Does he think my ass is pretty?!
But, yeah, when he puts it like that, it makes some sense.
"I promise I’ll behave, Daddy," I joke, but something about saying that gets to me. I feel a rush, a twinge of excitement.
He just raises an eyebrow at me, in that commanding way of his, and I like it even more when he does that.
"I’ll stay here to make sure," he says, settling on his bed. "I actually prefer staying here and reading, rather than hanging out in the rec room. It’s loud and unpredictable. Fights break out all the time, and the guards put everyone in detention indiscriminately."
"Sounds fun," I say, but don’t get the laugh I’m expecting. I shrug, getting used to that by now.
Chapter 7. Ethan
I'm so sick of cleaning mats, but I don't say anything because Liam would love to hear me complain. He's three mats over, slowly scrubbing like he's never scrubbed anything in his life, which he probably hasn't. He keeps pausing to blow hair out of his eyes, that black fringe flopping forward every time he leans down, and I catch myself watching longer than I should.
"You're missing the corners," I say, and it comes out harder than I mean it to.
He looks up with those ridiculous eyes, too blue, too bright. "Sorry, Daddy."
He's teasing. My nostrils flare. He keeps saying that word, and he has no idea what it does to me. Or maybe he does, and that's worse.
I wring out my rag into the bucket, the dirty water spiraling. Don't think about it. The ointment. His skin. The way he went soft under my hands.
Don't.
It's detention duty, day two.
Liam is humming something under his breath. I can't make out the melody. His lean shoulders roll with each scrubbing motion, and he's relaxed and easy, even on his hands and knees cleaning dirty mats, in a way that shouldn't be possible in a place like this.
I find it irritating. That's the word.
When I can’t take it anymore, I get up.
"I have paperwork to finish," I announce. I need to get the fuck away from him. I stand and dry my hands on my workout shorts. "You finish the last two rows, then go straight to the cafeteria. I don't want you to be late for dinner today. Straight there. No detours, no exploring, no conversations with anyone you don't need to talk to."
He salutes me with the dirty rag, grinning. "Sir, yes sir."
"I mean it, Liam."
"I know. You think I'm some lost puppy. I'll be fine."
I leave before I say something I'll regret. Or worse, before I smile.
