Page 17 of Deviant Obsession

"Following you?" He has the audacity to look wounded, pressing one hand to the center of his broad chest. "Can't a guy just happen to be in the right place at the right time?"

"Not when it's the third 'right place' in as many days, he can’t." My accusation drips with disdain, but he just keeps grinning like I'm putting on some kind of show for his entertainment.

"Listen, about the other night..." He takes another step closer, and I immediately take one back just to breathe air that’s not tainted by that intoxicating cologne. "And the restaurant... I was a jerk. Let me make it up to you."

"Hard pass."

"Come on, Rhea." The way he says my name makes my skin prickle in a way that’s somehow torn between a disgusted cringe and a delighted shiver. I wish he’d never learned it, that we could have stayed strangers right up until graduation. Hearing it from his lips sounds like a sinful promise that would keep ringing in my ears even if I dunked my head in holy water.

"One dinner,” he insists, “and I know I can win back a place in your good books. I promise to be on my best behavior."

I bark out a laugh that holds absolutely no humor. "You can’t win back something you never had. And I'd rather eat glass than go on a date with you."

"You can't avoid me forever." His tone turns mocking as he lets out an exasperated sigh, that predatory gleam I remember all too well from the party returning to his eyes. "We both know you'll cave eventually."

"Yeah, we’ll see about that." I shoulder past him, making sure to clip him hard enough that he has to catch his balance. Thecontact sends another unwanted jolt through my bones.Why does he have to be so goddamn solid?

"Playing hard to get just makes me want to try harder," he calls after me, a growl in his voice.

I don't turn around, but I do raise my middle finger high in the air as I storm away. Nat would be proud. I’ve never been one for vulgarity—my father raised me better than that—but something about Dean makes me forget my careful manners in favor of red, primal rage. His answering laugh echoes across the quad, making me grind my teeth until they’re in danger of cracking.

My hands are shaking as I try to shove my papers back into my bag at last, anger and frustration making my movements jerky and uncoordinated. I feel as if I haven’t had a moment to breathe since stumbling into Professor Shaw’s office. I was barely gathering my wits as I hurried across the quad, let alone thinking about filing my research back into the correct folder.

And thenDeanhappened. The nerve of him, the absolute entitled arrogance. As if his looks and his charm give him some kind of free pass to harass me!

The worst part is, under different circumstances, I might have actually found his persistence charming. If he wasn't such an overwhelming douchebag about everything, if he didn't act like my rejection was just foreplay, if he showed even a hint of genuine remorse for his behavior...

Butno. Dean clearly views me as nothing more than a challenge, a prize to be won. And after what happened at that party, after how he tortured me at the restaurant, I'd sooner kiss a rattlesnake than give him the satisfaction of wearing me down.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Nat asking if I'm still coming to the bar. I type back a quick'omw'before hoisting my bag back onto my shoulder, the depressingly crumpled papers safely concealed inside likedamning proof of my frazzled state. At least I know exactly what I need right now: my best friend, a large glass of wine, and absolutely zero testosterone in my immediate vicinity.

The familiar warmth of O'Malley's wraps around me like a comfortable blanket as I push through the heavy wooden door. Nat's already spotted me from behind the bar, her experienced hands never faltering as she throws together the ingredients for a complicated-looking cocktail while shooting me a sympathetic look.

"You've got that'I need alcohol immediately'face," she calls out as I slide onto my usual stool. Without missing a beat, she sets a generously filled wine glass in front of me.

"You're an angel," I sigh, taking a long, grateful sip. "A beautiful, mind-reading angel who enables my bad habits."

"Spill," she demands, wiping down the bar top in front of me to make it look like she’s working. "What's got you looking like someone killed your imaginary puppy?"

I groan, dropping my forehead to rest against the cool wood. "Dean."

"Again?" The disgust in her voice is almost comical. "What did Trust Fund Ken do this time?"

"Ambushed me outside the Psychology building." I lift my head just enough to take another sip of wine. "Tried to convince me to let him 'make it up to me' over dinner."

"Make what up to you? Being a complete, aggressive tool at the party? Or being an even bigger tool while you were just trying to do your job?" Nat snorts, pausing her work to settle her forearms on the bar. “Dudes like that don't hear 'no', they hear 'try harder.'"

"Funny, that's almost exactly what he said." The wine is already working its magic, softening the edges of my irritation. "He's got that whole brooding bad boy act down to a science."

"Too bad he's actually just an asshole." Nat glances at the clock, then grabs a bottle of water for herself. "Break time. Tell me everything."

I watch her circle around to join me, settling onto the next stool and tossing her golden ponytail over her shoulder. "There's not much to tell. He caught me off guard, I dropped my papers everywhere like some corny rom-com heroine?—"

"Did he do that thing where he gathers them all up for you?" Nat interrupts, rolling her eyes. "Because that would be disgustingly on-brand."

"Of course he did." I drain half my glass in one go. "Then he had the nerve to act all wounded when I accused him of stalking me. Like it's totally normal to keep 'accidentally' running into someone you literally just met."

"On a campus with twenty thousand students? Yeah, those aren't accidents." Nat takes a swig of water. "He's hunting you, babe."

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