Page 22 of Fight or Flight
I freeze mid-swing.
“Told ya you’d be interested.” He smiles knowingly. “So, are we gonna have this conversation in the hall, or are you going to invite me in so we can have some privacy?”
Grudgingly, I open the door and step back.
“Thank you kindly,” he drawls and walks into my room like he owns the place.
I close the door behind him and lean against it as Jace looks around.
“Huh,” he says after a few beats and cuts his eyes to me.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?”
“I mean, what did you mean by saying ‘huh?’”
“Nothing.” His voice is calm, but the humor in his eyes makes my blood pressure go up a few points.
“Tell me what you meant.”
He shrugs. “Seems like a weird hill to die on, but it didn’t really mean anything. I’m just surprised your room looks like this.”
I glance around.
All the rooms in Hamilton House are identical and are just as ridiculous as the rest of the building.
The dark wood accents, intricate crown molding, and sculpted ceilings with elaborate chandeliers give the rooms a rich and luxurious feel. So do the massive antique beds, the heavy wooden wardrobes, and private baths.
Each room is made to house two people with matching beds, desks, wardrobes, dressers and shelves opposite each other, and in the center of the rooms are sitting areas with coffee tables, a couch and a stupid settee that’s definitely more of a decor choice than something a group of college kids would want in their dorm rooms.
Thanks to my status as a founding legacy, which just means that my family was part of the group that originally founded the society, I’ve had the choice to live alone or have a roommate since my first year while everyone else has to share with a roommate.
I’ve chosen to live alone, and after three years of not having to deal with having anyone in my room, I don’t like that Jace is in here and invading the only space at this damn school that’s just mine.
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like you don’t even live here.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He crosses his arms, making the material of his sleeves pull tight around his massive biceps. “Other than your desk and that”—he waves at my guitar—“there’s nothing with any personality. It’s like Dracula’s Airbnb in here. Boring and plain.”
“Just like me, right?”
“I didn’t say that.” He shoots me a little grin. “But if that’s what you’re saying, then who am I to argue?”
“Tell me what you meant in the hall,” I say, changing the subject.
Jace has a singular talent for pissing me the fuck off, and the worst part is that he doesn’t even have to resort to insults or barbs and just twists everything I say until I lose my shit while he just stands there and grins like the dumbass he is.
“So demanding.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “I meant exactly what I said. I saw your little trick with Cody.”
“What are you talking about?”
There’s no way he means what I think he does, right? He has to be talking about something else.
He fixes his intense stare on me, his earlier teasing and fake innocence evaporating in an instant. “I saw your trick with the card.”
