Page 13 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)
ADAM
T his motherfucker.
Opening the door to my new walk-in wardrobe, I huff and put my hands on my hips. I knew it.
There’s a certain way I like my clothes to be lined up. Trousers on the left, shirts in the middle, hoodies and jackets on the right—the order I get dressed in. It’s just common sense. And it looks nice. Neat. Organized.
Easton, the bastard, knew exactly what he was doing when he put my things away for me while I was sleeping last night. My clothes have been hung up with no thought or system to it at all, and my shoes have just been thrown in together at the bottom.
Shaking my head, I crouch and organize them properly before working on my clothes. He even turned a few of my hoodies inside out.
“Very fucking funny, asshole,” I grumble.
Walking into my room, I notice my books on the shelves— not organized by author—and my iPad and chargers set down next to it.
If he tied all the wires together, I’m going to murder him.
Just as I’m about to check, I notice the pictures on the nightstand.
I didn’t see them when I first woke up. I was too distracted by the throw blanket draped over me and the sight of my bags missing from the bedroom floor.
Picking up one of the photo frames, I look at the picture of me, Easton, Axel, and our parents at mine and Easton’s high school graduation.
The picture of me and Axel, where I’m giving my idiot big brother a piggyback on holiday a few years ago, has been turned face down.
Snorting, I pick up the picture Easton placed at the front.
It’s one of me and him. We’re at the drive-in on my eighteenth birthday.
His arm is around my shoulder, there’s a lollipop in his mouth, and we’re both grinning at the camera. We look happy. Really happy.
Carefully setting the photo down exactly where he put it, I open the nightstand drawer. The bottle of lube I brought with me is in here, but the condoms are missing. Guess he doesn’t think I’ll be needing those.
I smile from ear to fucking ear as I go into the bathroom to investigate what he’s done to my toiletries.
“Why do you look so happy?” Easton asks, rounding the kitchen island toward the pot of coffee I made.
Fuck, I can’t stop smiling.
Setting my phone down on the counter, I look at him over my shoulder. “You think you’re funny?”
He smirks. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry yet.”
He gives me a look. “That’s not what I asked you.”
I playfully narrow my eyes. “Do you have Lucky Charms?”
He laughs knowingly. Sitting next to me with his coffee and a box of Lucky Charms, he pours me a bowl and slides it toward me.
“You’re up early,” he says around a mouthful of my favorite cereal.
“You have classes today, right?” I shrug, then quietly add, “I didn’t want to miss you.”
He turns his head toward me, studying my face as he chews slowly. After a few beats, his gaze travels down, lingering on my neck, the black stud in my ear, then my arms, the black bracelets on my wrist, and the black T-shirt stretched across my chest.
“You look good,” he tells me. “Older. Hotter if that’s possible.”
My face and body heat at the compliment, my skin tingling where his arm touches mine.
“So do you,” I whisper, not taking my eyes off his.
He raises a brow, lifting his spoon up to his mouth and taking another bite.
I drop my eyes, watching the way he wraps his lips around the spoon, slowly dragging it out as he continues to stare at me.
I swallow and shift in my seat. Just as I’m about to tell him he’s playing with fucking fire, he changes the subject. “What are you doing today?”
Huffing out a breath, I pick up my phone and show him my open search of jobs in Hawthorne.
“You want a job?” he asks. “How come?”
“I don’t think I want to commission my art anymore,” I explain. “Or at least I don’t want that to be my sole income anymore. It was fun at first, but it’s starting to feel more like a job than a passion, and I don’t want to lose my love for it, you know?”
He nods, continuing to eat his cereal. “What do you want to do then?”
“Honestly, I’ll take anything I can get.” I toss my phone down. “Not many people in this town want to hire a college dropout with no legitimate work experience.”
“How do you know? You only just started looking.”
I chew on my lip.
“Adam,” he says, waiting for me to look at him. There’s an accusation in his eyes, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks more surprised than anything. “How long have you been looking for a job here?”
A long fucking time.
His brows perk. I don’t admit it out loud, but the answer must be written all over my face, and he can still read me like a book, it seems.
“You’re looking for a job?” Frankie asks as she walks in, heading straight for the coffee to pour herself a cup. “The Hideaway is hiring.”
Easton glares at her.
She catches the look, throwing her hands up. “What? They are.”
“What’s The Hideaway?” I ask, bouncing my gaze between the two of them.
Easton opens his mouth, but Frankie beats him to it. “Our favorite gay club,” she says with a grin, wiggling her brows at him as she speaks to me. “Your boy and I have a lot of fun there. Ain’t that right, E?”
Now it’s my turn to glare at the bitch.
“Frankie,” Easton warns, though there’s no real malice in his tone. “Don’t be mean.”
“I’m not,” she says defensively, taking a pen out of her bag and grabbing my hand, startling me.
Her eyes meet mine, and I nod, unsure what else to do.
She writes a phone number and a name on my hand—Mick.
To Easton, she says, “If he can’t handle hearing about what happened here after he left you, he’s free to walk his ass out the door.
I’m not tiptoeing around him. He made his bed. ”
The muscle in my jaw tics as she takes her coffee to go and walks her ass out the door. I glance at my hand, running my thumb beneath the black ink there as her words resonate with me.
She’s not wrong.
“Did you fuck her?”
“No,” Easton says with a sigh. “Almost, but…no. We like to share though.”
That doesn’t make me feel any better. At all.
I glare at the front door she just walked through, hoping the force of my anger will surge into her and make her fall flat on her ass. “I hate her.”
Easton lets out a laugh, standing to load his empty bowl into the dishwasher. I grind my teeth, pushing my half-eaten bowl of Lucky Charms away.
“You look cute when you pout,” he says from behind me. He can’t even see me. There’s no way he can tell whatever look is on my face right now.
“I’m not pouting.”
“You look cute when you’re jealous too.” He comes up behind me, his body heat searing into my back as he places one hand on the counter next to me, the other in my hair.
“Don’t,” I rasp, shivering at his touch and the way his nails scrape across my scalp. “Please, don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Go out of your way to make me jealous.” I arch back, leaning my head on his chest to look at him. “I know I have no right, but…I can’t play that game with you. Not yet.” Not ever.
“Then why are you here?”
Because I want you all to myself.
My eyes slam shut as the thought comes unbidden. God fucking damn it.
“I want to be your friend again,” I breathe the words like a mantra, reminding myself why I’m here—why I’m supposed to be here.
“Who do you think you’re talking to, baby?” Tightening his grip on my hair, he yanks my head back, his mouth teasing my ear. “I thought you didn’t lie to me.”
I groan through my teeth. “I hate you.”
He chuckles and moves closer, his lips hovering over mine, so close I can fucking taste him. “That’s another lie.”
I nod. “Kiss me.”
He grins wickedly, straightening up and shoving my head away. I scrunch my face and drop it into my hands, roughly running my fingers through my hair in an attempt to stop the chills racking through me from my scalp to my damn toes.
“If you call that number…” He trails off, tipping his chin at my hand as he grabs his backpack. I think there’s a threat on the tip of his tongue, but what comes out is, “You’ve got a good chance at winning that game you don’t wanna play with me.”
Confused, I frown at his back as he walks toward the front door. “Do you want me to call him or not?”
Turning to look at me at the last second, he grins again. “Later, little brother.”