Page 3

Jackson

“He treats you like a three-year-old,” I said from my vantage point in the kitchen, chewing the last of the grapes.

When she turned around, her dark eyes narrowed on the final grape in my hand. “I wanted those for my snack tomorrow.” Her voice was low and threatening. Too bad she was about as scary as the mouse tattoo on my ass.

Smiling, I popped the final grape into my mouth. “You should know food doesn’t last long in this apartment.”

Her fists clenched, she took a few steps, then stopped and took a deep breath. Drama. Drama. Drama. Thea was the most dramatic woman I’d ever met, and I loved finding new ways to get it out of her.

“I’m going to buy a mini fridge so you can’t get your thick grubby fingers on any more of my fruit.”

I nearly choked on that final grape. Was she trying to be sexy with that comment? She slapped me upside the head, loosening my hat, before I could ask.

“Can’t believe I’m stuck with you,” she muttered.

“Awww, I’m sorry I ate your grapes. I’ll get you more if you tell me what the hell you did in school that makes your brother think you can’t be left alone for longer than five minutes.” I already knew she wouldn’t answer. No one ever did when I asked. It was her reaction I wanted.

“None of your business,” she shot back, stalking into the room like she had a point to prove.

I grinned and pressed a hand to my chest. “Are you sure? Because if I’m in danger, I can couch surf for the next ten days if I need to.”

“Couch surf?” It came out as barely a whisper, a brief flicker of interest before she shook her head in annoyance. “No. No need to call Grace.” She flicked her hand in my direction.

Grace? Why was she mentioning a girl I hadn’t spoken to in a year? A girl I stopped seeing when Thea arrived.

“We should both be able to stay here without ripping each other’s heads off.” We looked at each other, knowing the answer to that. “Fine. Let’s just make some rules, then.”

“Rules?” I raised a brow, taking in the tiny potential assassin in front of me. She shivered before taking a breath to stop it. This girl really thought she could regulate me? She had no idea how much fun I could have breaking every rule she laid out.

She lifted her chin. “Yes, rules. You’re acting like this is a new concept for you.”

I tipped my head, amused. “I just don’t see how you plan on enforcing them, Pyro. What are you going to do? Tie me to my bed?”

She ignored me, raising a single finger between us, and I went cross-eyed staring at it.

“Rule one. When I’m home, you’re not.”

I snorted, pushing back from the counter. “Pfft. That’s a shitty rule. You never leave the apartment.”

“Yes, I do.”

“To go to class. Besides that, you have no friends.”

Her sharp inhale told me I’d struck a nerve. I didn’t feel good about it, but I also wouldn’t apologize. Rumors about the sorority incident had spread faster than wildfire, making her an outcast, and that wasn’t on me. What was on me was her unfortunate need to sit in the apartment every day and night yelling at me over every single move I made.

“Fine.” She shouldered past me toward the kitchen drawer. When I didn’t move, she growled. “Ugh. You’re like a brick wall.” It was true. I was a big guy, and I liked it that way. Quarterbacks were precious little things. Always getting injured with a single touch. Me? No one took me down. I was the one doing the bulldozing on the field, and that mindset was what made me a good defensive end.

When I finally stepped back, she popped the drawer open and pulled out a pen and paper, presenting them to me like they were her prized possessions.

It was quiet for a second as she watched me.

“Do you want a medal or something?” I said, looking around the apartment as though I was missing something.

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and placed the piece of paper on the counter before she started writing on the days of the week in bold, capital letters.

“What are you doing?” I asked, peering over her shoulder. I was close enough to see the tiny freckles on her button nose and searing annoyance at my presence.

“I’m making a schedule.”

“A schedule?”

“How many times have you been hit in the head that you don’t grasp the concept of a schedule?”

Geez, Thea was in full-hate mode with me today. She wasn’t always like this. I can remember a time when she actually seemed to enjoy hanging out with me. Hell, I thought she was funny as fuck and interesting when she first got here. Now, all she does is snarl and call me Baseball Cap when I so much as look in her direction.

She scribbled our names down on alternating days, then turned to me with that same expectant look in her eyes. Did she want me to say something? I looked at my name, then back at her. “Has anyone ever told you your handwriting looks like bubbles?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most annoying man on the planet?”

“Yes. You. Multiple times a day, to be precise.”

She marched over to the fridge, yanked off the Carolina Catfish magnet, and slapped the paper underneath it.

“Perfect. There’s no way even a buffoon like you could miss that. This is the schedule we will live by for the next ten days. If it works, we might be lucky enough to never have to see each other.”

I stepped in behind her so close I half expected her to elbow me. When she didn’t, I leaned in a little more, breathing in her soft floral perfume. It was from the fancy bottle she left in the bathroom, and I had to admit, it smelled nice. It was probably the only nice thing about her.

“So, it looks like tonight is my night, then,” I said, rereading the list.

“See, aren’t I nice? Giving you the first night in?”

Was she a witch? Could she hear my thoughts? I shook the idea out of my head, reverting to my usual response with her—banter. “Nice is a strong word.”

“But applicable here.” She turned to face me, holding two fingers up. “Rule number two. If it’s your night, you get the apartment until ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty? A little early, isn’t it?”

“Not all of us are up all night playing Ride the Stallion like you, Baseball Cap.”

I barked out a laugh. “Ride the Stallion? Are you talking about Ride or Die? One of the best carjacking games on the planet?”

She waved me off. “I don’t know. Do you really think I care about what you’re doing when you’re lounging on the couch? Honestly, you lie there so long I always wonder if you’ve pooped yourself.”

I smirked. “You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you do a lot of thinking about me. Maybe it’s you who wants to ride the stallion.”

“Ugh. Have you checked how tight that cap is? I’m worried it’s cutting off the circulation to your head.”

“Nope. It’s not.” I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my gray sweatpants, watching her reaction. Fake flirting and innuendos were the best way to get a reaction out of her. “But, you know, these pants are cutting off the circulation to my legs. Maybe I should remove them. What do you think, Pyro?”

Her breath hitched, and her eyes did exactly what I thought they would—rolled—and I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

Too easy.

She made it too easy to rile her up, and I had too much fun to want to stop.

Then, just as quickly, she scowled and spun on her heel. “Wait, where are you going, Pyro?” I asked, following her down the hall.

“To my bedroom. I’ve got to get ready to go out.”

She slammed the door in my face before I could question her. Yeah, she made this stupid schedule, but who the hell was she going to go out with tonight? I guess it didn’t matter. I had the place to myself, and that was what was important.