Page 17 of Only With You

When I’m just a few feet away from him, I call out, “Hey,” but still, he doesn’t stop. Digging my fingers into the heels of my palms, I grind my teeth and speed walk until I’m standing in front of him.

He almost tramples over me but manages to stop before he does.

“I’m not sure which demon possessed you, but it’s too early for you to act like a piece of shit,” I snipe, my chest rising and falling rapidly. “Give me my stuff back.”

“No,” he simply replies and takes a small sip of my latte. “Mmm, good.”

The fucking audacity.

“I swear if you don’t give me my stuff back, I’m going to—” I raise my hands, but drop them because I’m usually not an aggressive person. It’s rare, but when it happens, I get these little twisted thoughts in my head.

Like wanting to take that silver chain around his neck and strangle him with it, and for good measure, kick him in the balls.

His eyes flick to my fisted hands at my sides, and I swear something sparks in them.

“You swear you’re going to dowhat?” He cocks his head to the side.

“Nothing. Give me back my stuff.” I lift my hand, my palm facing upward.

He takes another sip. “Tell me, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

I glare at him, wishing he’d choke on the drink. “I know the Devil enlisted you to make everyone around you miserable, but today is not the day. I don’t have time for your bullshit. So, go find someone else to piss off and give me back my stuff.”

“I’m bored and you’re wasting my time.”

I snarl, my blood boiling. “Wasting your time? You’re the one who paid for my order and took my stuff. If anything, you’re the one wasting my time. I could be in class right now, but instead, I’m here arguing with you.”

He hums. “Arguing? Is that what we’re doing?”

I eye his chain again.

“Do it.” His taunting voice pulls me out of my twisted thoughts. “I dare you.”

I force my gaze away from his neck to his eyes. “Dare me to what?”

He takes two steps forward, looking down at me. Something sadistic shines in his eyes, and for the first time, something playful lurks in them.

It throws me off because that’s not something I’m used to. Not from him.

“Choke me. I dare you.”

“Wh-what—why would you say that?” My face burns with embarrassment at my stutter.

“Your eyes,” he simply says.

“My eyes, what do my eyes have to do with choking?”

“They don’t lie.”

I huff a laugh. “What are you?—”

“You’re either really fascinated with my throat, my chain, or both?” He tilts his head to the other side, eyeing me inquisitively.

I almost laugh, but glare at him instead. “The only fascinating thing about you—or at least, on you—is my latte and oatmeal. So, get over yourself and give me my stuff back.”

“No.” He takes another slow slip, sidesteps me, and walks away.

I groan, following after him, but I have to quicken my steps because of his long strides. Never thought there’d be a day I’d have to walk faster to catch up to someone. Normally, it’s the other way around.

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