Page 4 of Blades of Obsession

I’ve always wondered how he got his name, Blade. The only reason I know it is because I asked my best friend Skye about him when I started seeing him everywhere.

No, really,everywhere.

For the past month or so, he’s been a constant presence in my life, but he’s always kept just enough distance away. Still, that doesn’t stop me from noticing him almost every time I leave my dorm room.

He’s tall. Easily over six feet because he always towers over the people near him, even now with the football players. Not that I’ve noticed… or anything. Okay, maybe Ihavenoticed, but don’t say anything because who wouldn’t notice a tall, sculpted man walking into the room? It’s just biology.

What strikes me the most is the way people seem to linger around him. A few admirers always hover close, trying to draw his attention, and I can see the way they hang on his every word.

I think I’d combust if I had that kind of audience. I hate being social, and I especially hate being the center of attention. I’d much rather hide out in my dorm room with Skye and binge watchThe Vampire Diariesfor the hundredth time.

Which is why my skin is crawling as he stares at me like I’m the only person in the world. Like I’m the center of his attention.

His expression darkens, like fire and ice all at once. He’s looking at me with an intensity that feels like he’s reading me, all of me. My soul included. At first, I can’t seem to tear my eyes away, but I force myself to refocus on the girls still practicing.

That’s when the realization hits me—I’m wearing the cheerleading uniform, and I can’t help but curse the skimpy pieces of fabric. I suddenly feel naked. The uniform is a navy blue, gold, and white two-piece that leaves little to the imagination. I hate it. I even complained to Coach Dawn once, but she just brushed it off, muttering something about thebudget. Apparently, most of the athletics budget goes to their precious football and lacrosse teams, leaving us with nothing.

Being as subtle as I can, I pull down the skirt, but that only manages to expose more of my midriff. Damnit.

I huff. It’s not my job to cover up more, it’s his job to stop freaking staring at me. I roll my eyes, a spark of annoyance igniting. The football players do the same thing, undress me with their eyes, and it makes me sick.

You know what? If I can stand up to Catalina, I can surely deal with her ex and his creepy staring. Before I can talk myself out of it, I straighten my shoulders and march over to him. During the walk, his eyesstillnever leave me, not even for a second.

“Why are you staring at me—”

Holy hell, he’s even more gorgeous up close. Shockingly beautiful, to the point I’m momentarily stunned into silence.

I know, I know—I just called him shockingly beautiful. But I mean, I have eyes, and I’m sure not blind. All I can say is Jesus took his time with this one.

His velvet-black hair is the perfect kind of messy, tousled yet styled in an effortless way. A few rebel strands frame his face and fall just before his eyes—eyes that are the color of storm clouds, a blend of blue and grey that’s uniquely him. A raw, primal energy rolls off of him in waves.

The confidence I had fizzles out, and I’ve even forgotten what I was supposed to say. I had a whole speech planned in my head, but his presence makes my mind feel all… fuzzy.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares, his gaze locked on my cheek like he’s angry about something. But why? His finger taps in a steady rhythm against his pants leg, and the more he looks, the more uncomfortable I get. It’s like his eyes are burning into me.

“I asked a question,” I manage, my voice less steady than I’d hoped.

Maybe coming over here was a bad idea. The tension is almost burning me alive, so I turn to leave.

“Come back.”

I freeze. His voice is deep, one of the deepest voices I’ve ever heard. Smooth like silk, but with this rugged edge. There’s something in his tone that feels almost hypnotizing because it makes me want to dowhateverhe’s telling me to.

I turn back around slowly, my heart thudding against my ribs by the time I face him again. Before I can say a word, he steps closer and grabs my jaw, tilting it up towards him. My breath hitches, and I feel the heat radiating from his touch. His scent hits me, the kind of smell that invades every corner of my brain—a hint of mint and something earthy, like cedarwood.

His voice drops lower, rougher. “Who did this to you?”

I almost forgot. After the fight with Catalina, I never checked my face in the mirror. I must have scratches like she does. Is that why he was staring at my cheek and getting angry?

“I tripped and fell,” I lie.

He clicks his tongue, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Now tell me the truth.”

“I-I am telling the truth.”

Get it together, Amelia.Stuttering?

“Then why did you just crinkle your nose?”

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