Page 6 of The Villain's Beast

It was only a matter of time and hormones before I was taller than him, but until then it was clear he was going to take advantage of the height difference between us. Fletcher pushed past me toward his desk, smelling like clean cotton and lavender, and I stared at the indent of his body against his comforter instead of watching him go. That moment offered me the first glimpse of what the rest of our lives would be. Missed connections, brushoffs, and the weight of a thousand unspoken words between us.

Swallowing, I spun around, finding his stare focused on the back of my head, now my eyes. His were blue as ever, a sharp contrast to the darkness of his room, but they betrayed nothing more than boredom. He had a copy ofHamletin his hand, looking like he’d bought it two hours earlier.

“I’ve read it,” I told him.

“Did you read the assignment?” he asked next.

I hadn’t, because after class I’d gone to swim, then I’d spent some time playing piano, and then I’d settled in for dinner and bed. Fletcher hadn’t bothered to reach out, so I’d written him off until Monday, but then…

“I haven’t.”

The corner of his mouth flashed into what might have been a smile, but it was gone as fast as I’d seen it. Back was the mask of impassivity and annoyance, which was ironic considering he’d been the one to call me. He’d been the one to wake me up, to drag me across campus in the middle of the night to start on a report we had two weeks to complete.

He’d called.

And I’d come.

Fletcher turned back to his desk and plucked a stapled paper from the top of a pile and handed it to me. The syllabus.

“It’s all in here,” he said with a scowl.

“Thank you,” I whispered, realizing things for me and him were never going to be anything besides exactly what they were.

“I have to piss.” Fletcher fussed with the button of his pants, popping it undone before spinning on his heel. “Catch yourself up so we can get started when I’m done. We don’t have all night.”

I looked down at the syllabus, flipping to the back page that detailed the information about the end of term assignment. It didn’t need to be a group project; it was barely enough work for one person let alone two. Group projects were meant to teach important life skills like delegation and time management. Skills that would never matter to men like me and Fletcher. When the time came, everyone would do whatever we told them to anyway.

Chapter 5

Fletcher

We could have finished the project in two hours, but somehow we managed to drag it out for the entire two weeks. The first night, we argued about who would take what part of the project, a rendezvous which ended with Gideon storming out of my room just shy of one in the morning, face flushed and hands shaking. He showed up at eleven the next night, and we finished what we’d started the night before.

Sunday, again at eleven.

By Tuesday night, we’d drafted the barest bones of an outline.

We worked at a slow pace, maybe deliberately. Every second we spent together was a direct rebellion to the rules of my father and probably to his as well. North and Sinclair, side by side, working toward a common goal. In all the history of our families that I’d bothered to remember, I’d never heard a story like that. It had always been lying and cheating and conniving until one man came out on top. One day, someone would break the curse of our names, but I didn’t think it was either of us. Gideon, maybe, but not me. There was too much fear inside me still, tangled in the marrow of my bones. I was my father’s son, a soldier for him, and I always would be.

Wednesday Gideon showed up with two takeout boxes of curry in a crinkling plastic bag. He didn’t say anything different, didn’tdoanything different. He was still in those well-worn plaid pajama pants, his hair twisted back into a messy knot at the base of his skull. When he lifted the bag of food to show it to me, his undershirt rode up, revealing the smallest sliver of his tanned, bare hip.

Swallowing, I stepped back, mind racing.

I was losing the upper hand.

“I hate curry,” I lied, hoping he didn’t hear the way my stomach growled at the scent of it.

Gideon didn’t falter. He licked his lips, corner of his mouth twitching—almost indecipherably.

“More for me then,” he said.

I didn’t invite him in. I never did, but he came anyway. Gideon dropped the bag of food onto my desk and pulled out one of the containers. In one graceful motion, he dropped down into the empty seat in front of my desk and kicked his legs up, propping them up on the foot of my bed. He made himself at home and dug into his meal, ignoring me until he’d polished off the last bit of rice in the bottom, then he tossed the empty in the trash and fixed me with an amused look.

“Now we can get started.”

Upper hand?

Didn’t know her.