Page 4 of Forbidden Deviant Games

There’s no way to misinterpret his meaning. My chest swells with acknowledgment. Death is coming to Eastpoint and this time, I’m the dealer.

3

HALEY

“Come on, Haley. Just one date?”

I throw my head back and look skyward even as I shove Josh to the side and keep walking.

“I said no,” I repeat for what has to be the millionth time.

Josh jogs to catch up with me as my legs eat up the distance between me and the next classroom building. I check my phone and curse. I’m already going to be late for class and I really don’t have time to deal with him today.

“I just don’t understand why you keep saying that, though,” Josh continues. “Am I ugly?”

I roll my eyes. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation, but surprisingly this is the first time Josh has tried the ‘pity me’ route. “You don’t have to be ugly for me not to be interested, Josh,” I tell him blandly as I side step a bicycle flying down the campus walkway and keep going. Josh barely manages to dodge it himself as he trails after me, hurrying to meet my stride once more.

“Then give me a reason,” he pleads. “Just one date—”

“No!” I groan as my shoe catches on a crack in the sidewalk and I stumble, going down hard on my knees and spilling the contents of my bag all over the place. “Shit.” I shake my head and hurriedly start grabbing items, stuffing them back into my messenger bag as quickly as my hands can move.

I’m fucking tired from the doubles I pulled at the club over the weekend and in no mood for Josh’s new round of ‘ask Haley out’ questions. Josh stands over me, flittering around me in a circle as he continues talking. It doesn’t escape my notice that he doesn’t offer to help, much less bother to get on his knees next to me as I continue to clean up my mess.

“I’m a nice guy, Haley,” Josh says. “You know I’d never treat you poorly.”

Why won’t I go on a date with him? Things like this. We’re not even dating and he can’t bother to do nice shit unless he gets something out of it. Yeah, he’s such a nice guy. The fucking captain of team nice.

I finish cleaning up my class materials, including my expensive paint brushes, and stand, marching forward and ignoring his continued pleading. Just once, I wish he’d lock on someone else. Someone who might actually give him a chance because that person will never be me.

I round the corner and spot my building halfway down the sidewalk, but unfortunately—and rather surprisingly—I spot something else familiar not far from it. The bane of my fucking existence and part of the reason why I’m so fucking stressed and exhausted.

Mitchell fucking Vikson.

He’s in one of those hundred-dollar suits, sans jacket, as he walks down the sidewalk with a few men dressed similarly—administrators, I assume. Despite the fact that I know I need to hurry up and get to class, I find myself lingering on the sidewalk, watching him. Curious.

It’s odd to see him like this. I’m so used to seeing him in the club’s setting with his sleeves rolled up and his collar undone, sporting all of the ink I know lays beyond the fabric that covers him. I’ve always wondered if that ink went all the way down. Even dipping into his pants. I bet he’s got a few pieces below the belt, but the only way to truly be sure, of course, is to see him naked. I shake my head as my face flames.

Holy shit, was I just thinking of Viks naked? Oh, no no no no.That is such a big fucking no.

“Haley?” Josh’s voice brings me back to reality and I jerk around to face him. “Are you okay? Your cheeks are flushed?” He steps up to me and presses a hand to my forehead. “You’re not sick, are you?”

I wave him away, pushing his hand back. “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have to get to class?”

“Oh, shit,” he jerks into action and starts running. I watch him go, relieved, but of course that’s not the last of him. He turns back and calls over his shoulder. “Don’t think this is the last you’ll see of me, Haley!” he yells. “I’ll make it happen. I swear!”

Horror strikes me as every head in the vicinity turns towards me, including the one I really wanted to avoid. When I turn back to my building, my head lifts back to where Viks had been walking and our eyes lock.

Fuck.

I quickly duck into the building, hurrying into the double doors and towards my next class. I make it in time, though just barely skating in before the classroom door slams in my face.

Professor Wilkes stares me down as I skid past him and the door, but I ignore it in favor of grabbing my canvas from the ones stacked against the wall and hurrying towards the only open easel left in the room. Of course, it’s the one with the worst line of sight to what we’re supposed to be working on today, a bowl of fruit.

I blow out a breath as I set my stuff down, catching my friend Alyssa’s gaze from across the room as I do so. She raises her brows and I shake my head. I know she wants to know why I was late, but it’ll have to wait ‘til later.

Professor Wilkes launches into the beginning of his lesson, explaining the difference between types of paintings as we ready our easels and prep our materials. I’ve become so used to his rather bland method of teaching that I find myself tuning out his voice as the class gets to work.

Instead of paying attention to the words of my instructor, my mind shifts and focuses on the man I’d nearly had a run-in with right before class. I can’t say what it is about Mitchell Vikson. He is not a man that I should think about. Technically, he’s my boss. He’s the reason I had to work overtime this weekend, and the reason why I got virtually no sleep between shifts as I prepped for my upcoming showcase.

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