Page 19 of Too Hostile

His large body is in front of mine, and it appears as if no one else is on campus. It’s dark out, but several streetlights illuminate the space. And I can see he looks upset. Really upset.

“I don’t hate you,” I say because of course I don’t. I don’t know him well enough to hate him. That’s ridiculous. “Laziness and entitlement bug the shit out of me. They’re my two biggest pet peeves,” I continue, and I notice his smile is completely gone now, replaced by a dark glare.

“I’m not lazy,” he says firmly, his body moving closer to mine, pushing me back a little so I have to step backward off the curb and into the actual parking lot. I don’t stumble though. “I may be spoiled, but I’m not lazy.”

I study him carefully, trying to examine his expression in the low lighting. He seems deadly serious, and I wonder why the lazy part bugs him so much but not the spoiled part. “You act like you don’t have a care in the world. You don’t seem to study or care about school. You saunter in with the biggest air of arrogance I’ve ever seen. You don’t seem to have any goals other than to drive me insane.”

“Fuck. You,” he says, crowding into my space and making me take another step back. My ass hits the car behind me, which I quickly realize is his blue Jeep.

I’m surprised by the venom in his words, his eyes shooting daggers at me. “Careful, Mr. Moore, it seems that smile you work so hard to put on your face every day is slipping.”

“Tell me what your problem is with me.” I can feel his body heat. He’s standing close, and I don’t push him away like I should.

“I already told you,” I bite out, and he winces—it’s slight, but I see it.

“I’m not lazy,” he says again, with a broken tone in his voice I don’t like as much as I want to. I should want to break him. That way he’ll leave me alone. Right?

“Who the hell are you?” I ask angrily. “You make no sense whatsoever.”

And he doesn’t. He’s an enigma, if I’ve ever seen one.

“Why do you care?” he asks me, his eyes boring into my own, his big body nearly pressed up against mine. I should shove him back. Tell him to keep his damn distance. Anyone could see us and question just what the hell is going on, but I don’t make a move to push him away.

“Because you saunter into my classroom with expensive clothes and so much damn I don’t give a fuck attitude, it makes me want to scream. Your arrogance is unmatched.” He looks like he’s about to argue, but I don’t give him the time. “But then you freak the hell out when you see a child getting reprimanded, and you read in libraries for fun. You make no sense. So I ask, who the hell are you?” My chest puffs in and out with fury.

“I’m no one!” he yells, surprising me. I’m not used to seeing Fletcher shaken. “You cracked it wide-open. I was born a no one. My own parents didn’t want me. Just tossed me away and hoped for the best.” I stand there, shocked stupid as Fletcher goes on, “Or I think so. I actually have no idea because I spent the next decade in foster care before the woman who I wish I was born to came and rescued me from hell.” My knees nearly buckle, and I feel dizzy as I listen to the words coming from him. “And yeah, I let her spoil me. I wanted it. I liked it. I never had that before, and Blair was the best damn thing that ever happened to me. But my past is always there, haunting me.” He steps even closer to me, the fake smile and fuckboy attitude long gone, his jaw gritted, and anger flaring in his eyes. “And there will always be people like you reminding me that I’m no one.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You were in foster care?” I barely manage, my throat dry and my mind foggy.

“Yeah, I was.” He stands so close to me, I can feel his breath on my face. He leans in even closer, his lips near my ear. “I like libraries because they were the only safe place for me as a kid. When it all got to be too damn much, I could go to the library, crack open a book, and forget the rest of the world.”

He starts to pull back after that, but I mess up and grasp his forearm with my hand. His eyes lock on mine, and I can’t seem to form any words. Fletcher was in foster care, and from the sounds of it, I don’t think it was good at all.

Only safe space.

I don’t think. I can’t seem to, but the only thing I want in this moment is to comfort him. To shield him from the pain I have no doubt is front and center after talking about his past.

I tug him into me and before I know it, my lips are slamming against his. He grunts in surprise, but it only lasts a second because before I know what’s happening, we’re in a duel for dominance. His mouth attacks mine, and his tongue is tangling with my own. It’s a fierce kiss, more intense than I’ve ever experienced, and it sets my entire being on fire.

He doesn’t pull out of my hold. But his free hand moves to my hair, tugging at the strands, tilting my head back as he continues to plunder my mouth. My lips are swollen and sore but blissfully so as we kiss. My hand moves from his forearm, up his bare bicep, and I revel in the tight muscles.

I need to stop. I know this. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registers that we’re on campus right now. But I can’t seem to remove my lips from his long enough to do that. We’re fused together, his hard body against mine as his fingers grip my hair and tug ever so slightly, just this side of pain.

I love every second of it.

But all too soon, he’s the one who’s pulling back. Not too far though. His forehead rests against mine as we pant desperately. “Come with me.”

My first reaction is yes. I want that so damn bad.

But then, reality comes crashing back. We’re on campus. Anyone could see us like this. His hand is still in my hair, mine on his upper arm. Our bodies pressed together.

“Fletcher...” I try to keep my voice even and firm but not cruel. He may drive me insane, but I’m starting to realize maybe I had him semi-wrong. He’s not just a spoiled rich kid. Or at least he wasn’t born that way. “I could lose my job.”

“No,” he says just as firmly, his forehead still resting against mine as he shakes his head. “I’m not a student. It’s summer. Just come with me.”

“You are a student,” I argue weakly. Every part of me wants to go with him, and I don’t even know where he wants to go.

“I’m not enrolled in any classes at the moment.”