Page 12 of Deranged Imposter

I say that with grace and tact, but Mikah takes the hint.

Lots of funds go into the building structure. They have an in-house library and supposedly, they have a dedicated area for doctors to check on students’ health.

What I’m most sour about is the canteen. From the pictures students take under the hashtag “lawless” on the school’s forum, it looks like a five-star restaurant with deliciously greasy food.

The main campus cafeteria is great, but they are on a different level of delight.

“We can have dinner there,” he offers, the corner of his lips twitching at my scowl.

“I’d rather not. It’ll ruin the aesthetics if it really tastes gross.” I shake my head and take his empty plate to the kitchen.

After doing the dishes, we get ready to leave for the day. I dread my first class, absolutely despising the quiz on this week’s readings. The professor has a way of turning multiple choices into defusing a three-wire bomb.

With my keys in hand, I lock up after him. He walks first, expecting me to be next to him, but my key gets stuck in the hole. I huff and yank it out, considering a call to the building management to look at it.

The view of his back is fabulous; the soft fabric of his navy dress-shirt fills in his broad shoulders, sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows to expose his thick forearms and the sensual dip of his waist where it meets his long legs.

My gawking alternates between his thighs and ass. Both are equallynice.

I’ve seen him in only tight boxer briefs before, but I try not to think about how much I suck at imagination. The black material is not shy when they hug his big, fat—

“Stop walking so slow,” Mikah protests, boring heat onto my forehead as he waits for me to catch up. “I’ll leave you behind.”

—thighs. Yeah, thighs.

I scuttle to close the distance, pouting at his surly tone as he lifts a brow in question. Warily inspecting his hand, I gauge the inches from my face to see where he’ll pinch. He tilts his head, a motion of expectancy, and I take the final two steps to stand next to him.

“Did you wear it on the wrong hand?” I ask, pointing down to the watch around his right wrist.

He glances at it as he presses the elevator button, unaware of people’s eyes soaking his form up.

There are levels of wealth in this school, and Mikah meets the privilege of buying a house. I don’t think I can live in a large home; I like small and enclosed spaces with a type of unparalleled, heartening warmth.

Cozy, safe, and happy. That’s what home means.

“Don’t go wandering,” Mikah warns as we stop halfway to my morning class. “I’ll be right back.”

I sputter, words clumsily dancing on my tongue as he swings into a semi-busy café. I better not see a seasonal drink with ingredients that’ll give me heartburn.

While waiting, I busy myself with guessing the orders of fancy drinks when students leave. Not thirty seconds after Mikah goes inside, the fitful clearing of a man’s throat thunders from behind me.

I bite my tongue, my heart racing against my ribs as I almost ask the man not to spit phlegm on the ground. I peer down anxiously, hoping he was taught manners, and I sigh in relief when the concrete and my pants are clean.

He’s an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, a single-breasted suit under an overcoat, and a gold-embroidered cane. He could play a posh villain or the loaded grandfather who disapproves of his grandchild’s life choices.

He holds a tobacco pipe up to his lips and smiles.

He’s definitely not affiliated with the school because we have a zero-tolerance policy for smoking and drinking on campus.

“Can I help you, sir?”

The man taps his finger against the pipe and walks closer, his profile lining up with the window’s leaflet about smoking damaging the lungs and a hotline for narcotic addiction.

He asks how Mikah is, odd queries about his school life, and then slips in questions about his private matters. I have an idea what this is and who he is, but I want to reserve judgment.

The ever-so-helpful “I don’t know” derails whatever he’s scheming.

He glares, then shines a benevolent smile. Now, he looks like a gangster badgering for protection fees.

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