Page 2 of Obsessed with my Temptation

Antony watched me closely with green eyes that saw too much, and honestly, sometimes I hated how perceptive he was.

But because he loved me and he was a good guy at the core, he let it slide and said “You could always try celibacy for a bit, you know? It might do you good.”

Yeah, not everyone was a determined, disciplined pseudo-stoic like he was. Antony had decided not to date. He was focused on his studies and his friends, and he would, by sheer force of will alone, not be interested in anyone until college was well over.

Well, it wasn’t like I was interested in anyoneeither— no one I would pursue, at least— but I had problems to deal with. Or rather, to run away from.

I never said I was brave.

I was a popular, well-liked guy who, more often than not, nowadays, felt like a shell, a Russian doll, instead of a real person.

“Maybe I’ll try that next,” I said half-heartedly.

Because I was afraid that beingcelibatewould leave me alone with the hungry monster.

I eyed the Saturday night crowd, lively and chatty, the constant background noise of chatter drowning most of the pounding music from the dance floor. The low, warm lights in this area made the place feel almost cozy over here—but that wasn’t what I was looking for.

I was looking for the blue-purple lights on the dance floor. The eerie glow that gave everyone a mysterious edge that might just be thrilling enough to fill the hunger.

Some girls I vaguely recognized waved lightly at me from across the room, and I sent them a hopefully not-too-tight smile.

“Isn’t that your favorite arch-enemy?” Antony asked, leaning his elbows back on the slightly sticky bar.

I didn’t want to turn.

I couldn’t helpbutturn.

My eyes found him instantly.

Travis Ashford.

College senior, boxer, bad boy cliché, and the bane of my existence.

The one I’d been picturing pushing me into my now ex-girlfriend. The one I pictured holding me down at night.

He was standing all cool and chiseled, broad shoulders encased in a dark band t-shirt that tightened around his biceps, talking to some guys by a high table.

“He’s not my arch-enemy,” I grumbled, even if it was futile.

People had gotten a rumor going that the senior and I were enemies,rivals. I hadn’t evenspokento the guy, for fuck’s sake, but word had caught like fire and now I was trapped in this ruse.

As if being attracted to him hadn’t been embarrassing enough.

I hadn’t known, in the beginning, what this unsettling feeling he gave me was. As a college freshman, I’d caught sight of him across campus and frozen on the spot, stomach tightening, hairs raising, eyes stuck on him, unable to look away.

The boxer was intimidating. He had the aura of a predator, as my friend Eliot liked to say, all quiet menace. He was the very opposite of me: while people were attracted to me like flies, when they saw him, they wanted to take cover. He didn’t care what anyone else thought of him.

Travis Ashford’s gaze made people want to look away instantly. It made you wish you were never caught in a dark alley with him.

And for some reason, it made me breathless.

It was ridiculous.

Even when I hadn’t known it was attraction I felt, I’d sought him with my eyes everywhere. I became a little obsessed.

Then my fantasies became about him.

I’d still been in denial—and I still was—but when I caught sight of him in one of the dark corners of this very bar, with a guy on his knees in front of him as he fucked into his mouth, my heart had almost stopped.

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