Page 20 of Forever We Fall

“I’m not trying to trap you in here. Christ.” I hate that he affects me. I glare at the ceiling. “You came into my room.”

What is it with assholes today? They get my dick up and act like I’m the one in the wrong.

He moves fully into my room but keeps the bathroom door open for an easy escape. His impressive width rivals the door itself as he carefully pivots to it and turns the lock. I press my nails into my palm to keep from focusing on the fact that he’s in my room, the door is locked, and we’re alone.

Nothing will happen. I know that as assuredly as I know I’ll have my dick down Nate’s throat by Sunday, if I want.

After he’s adequately begged for it, of course.

Mr. Judge turns toward me. His arms are crossed over his chest, looking pissed and more assured than I’ve seen him.

I lounge like I haven’t a care in the world—lies—and wait him out.

The muscles in his jaw work, but he’s steady on his feet.

His lips finally part.

“What’s your name?” I cut him off, purposely, just to incite a reaction. He reels back like I asked him if he’s jerked off since the last time we spoke. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t. “The professors call you Mr. Judge. I’m not calling you that, and I’m tired of referring to you as my suitemate or the prick next door in my head.”

“Arlo.” His voice is so different. Like the last gasps of whipped cream from the can. Like a printer running out of ink. Used up. It’s raspy and thin.

The first time I heard it, I couldn’t believe my ears. I thought it was rusty from disuse. But no. It’s tattered and broken. It suits him, and that’s fucking sad.

“You don’t look at me for ten weeks, Arlo. Suddenly, you’re watching all my practices. Now, you’re in my room. Why?”

“Were you going to make Nate…” His upper lip curls, and I swear he’s about to snarl.

“What, princess? Was I about to make Nate, what?” I tilt my head as though I’m straining to hear what he’s not going to say. “Suck my dick? Moan like my bitch? Come in his pants?”

“Yes.” His arms unknot from his front and go taut by his sides. He clenches his fists, and the veins in his arms pop. The muscles too.

“No.” I put my hands behind my head. “I wasn't going to make him. I was going to allow him.”

“That’s not what it sounded like,” he snarls.

“You have a penchant for eavesdropping.” I grin. There’s no joy in it. Only contempt. And something else I haven’t examined just yet.

He steps forward and brandishes his index finger like a weapon. “If you force yourself on anyone, I’ll beat your ass.”

“Like the old guy who beats yours?”

His chest heaves. The color in his cheeks darkens. “Fuck you.”

Blood buzzes in my veins like I’m on the mat, locked in with a worthy opponent. “You wouldn’t have to force me.” I shrug. “Just say the word.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he spits.

The shrinks don’t know.

“What’s wrong with you?” I shoot back. “Why are you creepin’ on practice?”

“I’m not creeping.”

“Are you going to try out for the team?”

“No.” He looks at me as though I spoke an alien language.

“Then you’re creepin’.”

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