Page 17 of Wicked Little Darling

Then I remembered he’d smelled like cigarettes. Just how much did he smoke to make his voice sound likethat, though?

I took a step back. “What are you doing in here? How did you get in here? Get out of my room!”

Dakota’s lips curved upward at one corner, and he tilted his head a bit. “Well, it’s not justyourroom, is it?”

When he took a small step toward me, I realized just how tall he truly was. It had been easy to dismiss his size out in the open, but here in these cramped quarters, he towered over me. His head almost hit the top of the doorway and his broad shouldersactually brushed either side. He wasn’t heavily muscled at all, but rather lean. That didn’t detract from his intimidating demeanor, especially with eyes that were so unnervingly sharp. It was like being watched by the cold eyes of a viper.

“Itismy room and you—you’re trespassing!” Did he have some kind of universal keycard because he was the dean’s son? “Can you just—pleasejust leave. Please.”

Dakota took another step toward me, forcing me to tilt my head to keep holding eye contact. “Oh, now you can ask nicely? Well guess what? It’s my room, too,” he said, and this time, both corners of his lips curved up in a close-mouthed smile, lifting his cheeks and distorting the scar. I was certain if he showed his teeth they’d be sharp and dripping with saliva. Or venom, more like. “So you’re not even gonna thank me for saving your life?”

Saving my life?

Then his earlier words hit me hard.

It’s my room, too.

“What?” I breathed, feeling every ounce of the fight going out of me. But it was quickly replaced with the most horrific apprehension that squeezed my chest and made me feel like I’d throw up. “No. No, I’m—I mean, you’re the dean’s son, you?—”

“So? That doesn’t mean I get special treatment.” He raised a brow, turned around, and headed back out into the room. “That doesn’t mean anything at all, really.”

“But—”

Dakota waved a hand over his shoulder. “We’re sharing a room, Reese. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

I immediately followed him out into the main room, watching as he fell heavily onto his bed and tucked an arm behind his head. He picked up a book that was lying facedown on the covers and started reading.

How did he know my name…?

I wanted to scream in frustration. Or agony. Maybe both. Because the idea of sharing a room with this guy—this enigmatic, apathetic, self-centered asshole—was nearly incapacitating.

A veritable nightmare.

“You just gonna stand there and stare at me all day?” he asked without looking at me.

This from the guy who was staring at me in the administrative office. The guy who blew me a fuckingkiss.

I ripped my eyes from him and moved to my side of the room, sat down on my bed near the headboard, and crossed my legs. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back until it hit the hard wood, wondering just how in the fuck I’d landedhimas a roommate.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. But even if it was, it didn’t matter because there was nothing I could do about it. He could maybe request a new room since his dad was the dean, but me? I had zero power here. I had to just suck it up and go with the flow. If I upset Dakota, who was to say he wouldn’t complain about me to his dad and get me kicked out? I was just a lowly scholarship student, it’s not like they’d be losing any money with me gone. Nobody but me would give a shit.

“What are you thinking about?”

I cracked my eyes open to find Dakota sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at me. His long legs were spread wide, elbows resting on his thighs and hands hanging in the space between them. They were nice hands; wide palms with long, slender fingers that looked like they’d flow nimbly over a keyboard or look pretty plucking strings.

Was he here for music? Itwasan arts academy, so he was here for some kind of creative endeavor. But he didn’t seem like a musician at all. No, he seemed more apt to smash an instrument than to play one.

Dakota waved those beautiful fingers at me, pulling me from my thoughts. “Hey. What were you thinking about? You’ve got the same look on your face that you did earlier, like you were ready to just give up.”

Good god he was so offensively blunt. His hoarse, throaty voice kept raising goosebumps all along my arms and dragged an uncomfortable warmth across the back of my neck. The fact that he was so close to the mark was unnerving, too.

I cleared my throat and said, “Nothing. Can we just not talk right now? Sorry, but I’m really tired.”

“Sure,” he replied, sounding completely unbothered. “There’s always tomorrow.”

Then he reached up and back and pulled his shirt off over his head.

My face started burning and I tore my eyes off his naked torso, reaching for my backpack.