Page 25 of Iced Out

The last thing I needed this morning was to be running late. Again.

But here I am, barreling my way across campus to one of my economics classes when I almost run smack dab into the last person I thought I’d see. And probably the last person who wants to seeme.

“Jesus Christ,” Oakley grumbles, a glare aimed my way as he steps out of my way and continues down the path the opposite way. “Watch where you walk much?”

At first, I don’t think he notices it’s me. Hell, I know I would’ve completely missed him if I didn’t recognize his voice. But I’d know the sound of pure contempt anywhere.

“Good morning to you too, Oakley,” I call after him in a sugar-sweet voice.

I expect him to turn around and say something—even a grumpy, smart-ass comment—but instead, he keeps walking away from me.

There’s a brief second where I think I might’ve imagined it to be him, and it was some other random student. But the navy-blue duffle bag over his shoulder—an exact replica of my own—clearly emblazoned with a huge, white #33 is a dead giveaway.

So I do the only logical thing.

I follow him.

Why is it logical in my messed up, sleep-deprived brain? I don’t have the slightest clue. Which is a real fucking problem when I grab his shoulder, spin him around to face me, and get a viciouswhat?snarled in my face.

I pause for a second, and for once in my life, I’m at a loss for words. Because I’ve seen Oakley mad. Hell, I’ve made Oakley so fucking angry, he might as well have been steaming out his ears.

I made the guypunch me,for fuck’s sake, and he claims to be a pacifist.

But I’ve never seen him as ragey as he is while glaring at me right now. The kind of glare capable of making lesser men drop dead on the spot if only to escape it.

“I…just wanted to make sure you got home okay last night.” I wince as soon as the words come out.

Jesus Christ, really, Quinton? That’s all you could come up with?

If the way the crease between Oakley’s brow deepens is any indication, now all I’ve managed to do is piss him offandmake myself look like a fucking idiot.

And even more late for class, on top of it all.

“Seriously?” he seethes, stepping toward me. “That’swhat was so important you had to chase after me in the quad? You wanted tomake sure I got home okay last night?”

Once again, I have nothing to say.

He continues to glare at me for a second before turning his head, as if to look around to see if anyone caught us speaking to each other. That’s when I catch the edge of a hickey just barely peeking out over the collar of his shirt. In the exact same spot where I bit him last night.

Instantly, all thoughts of getting to class on time are out the damn window. In its place is the sound of his pants as I took his cock down my throat and groans of pleasure as I brought him to release.

Even though those things supposedlydidn’thappen. Something he’s quick to point out.

“What happened to you agreeing withthis never fucking happened?”

And now I’m the one who’s getting all raged up.

“There’s a difference between acting like something never happened and avoiding someone like the fucking plague. Which is exactly what you were doing by acting like I don’t exist.”

He steps back, crossing his arm over his chest and tilting his head to the side. “Would we be having this conversation any other day of the week? If last night had truly never happened, would we even be speaking to each other outside the confines of the arena?”

“No, probably not, but—”

“Exactly. So just drop the shit and get on with your day.”

Another wave of irritation ripples through me, and I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m just saying us ignoring each other isn’t exactly good for team morale.”

“Oh, and us hashing out the details of our hook-up is?”

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