Page 7 of The Villain's Beast

Not anymore.

“How gracious of you to join me,” I said, rolling my eyes and flipping my notebook open to the outline we’d drafted the night before.

It was one sheet of paper, both our handwriting, and as I leaned down to review what we’d agreed on, Gideon sidled up close to me, shoulders touching.

“Teamwork,” he said softly, almost under his breath.

I looked at the backward way he wrote most of his letters, just like the weird fives in his phone number, wondering what life had been like for him before he was sent off to Rose Hill. He didn’t carry himself like he was scared of his father, like he got beat for falling out of line the way I did. He didn’t look like his dad dictated every second of his life.

But I knew he had to. He was a North, after all.

Fuck the North family, I reminded myself. A rule like that couldn’t come without a reason behind it. Maybe I’d underestimated him because he was nice to look at it. Maybe Gideon was a far more skilled predator than I’d ever be. He could throw me off my own goals just by batting his eyelashes in the right light.

“Do your parents know we’re working together on this project?” he asked, so close I could smell the coconut on his breath.

“No.”

“Mr. Smith would get fired on the spot if my dad found out,” Gideon said.

My mouth went dry.

“My father would probably kill him,” I whispered.

Gideon tensed, then relaxed, huffing out an aborted laugh. The paper in my notebook fluttered. I smoothed it down, unhappy to find it cool to the touch. My skin burned when Gideon breathed on me—why should the paper get off easy?

“Do you talk to him often?” Gideon asked. “Now that you’re here?”

I hadn’t talked to him since the first time I called Gideon to come over. “Not often. You?”

“Not since Christmas,” he said.

“Lucky bastard.”

Gideon laughed, leaning back and stretching his legs out, so comfortable and casual. He threaded his hands together behind his head and tipped back, staring up at the ceiling of my room.

“He treats his second better than me,” Gideon said.

“My father doesn’t treat anyone well.” I kicked my foot against the back of Gideon’s knee and he dropped his hands down to my desk, arranging himself in some semblance of an acceptable posture for studying.

He reached across me to get a pen, the entire length of his arm dragging over my chest, across my nipples. I shivered, knowing the feelings weren’t right, but I didn’t dare pull away from him. I didn’t know if Gideon noticed or not, but when he pulled back, pen in hand, he touched me harder, longer…only with the outside of his forearm, the back of his hand.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Fletcher,” he said softly, clicking open the pen.

“What?”

“Remember the first day we met? In the library?”

I nodded. “Of course.”

“I can still keep a secret,” he said, brushing away invisible dust or eraser shavings from the notebook between us. “If you ever wanted to.”

Chapter 6

Gideon

Imade it back to my room Friday just shy of three in the morning, beyond tired.