Page 6 of Notorious Man on Campus

“Fuck the letter and fuck you for bringing it up.” His voice goes low and seething, his anger violent as his jaw muscles tense and the veins on his neck pop. He glares at me for a beat and says. “We’re nothing to each other. Remember that. We’re done here.” Then he throws open the door and storms out.

The thunders up the stairs, apparently not caring who hears him. I shut my door and collapse back onto my bed. Throwing my covers over me, I want to bury myself. I want to smack him, to hate him. I want to cry because I hurt him.

And that’s the very last thing I want to do.

I should hate him for being so unfair, for not owning up to his feelings. But deep down in my soul I still weep for that abandoned and rejected little boy he was. And I still long for the guy he’s become. He’s so virile, a gorgeous hunk of muscle with icy blue-green eyes and sensual lips I long to have all over me. He’s so hardworking and serious about his goals.

That’s something I can identify with, something we have in common, right? I need to keep my goal in mind: to graduate from SPU. Even if that means ignoring Brick. I can do this.

We can coexist like oil and water, never mixing.

Except when heated up to boiling point.

Chapter 3

Brick

I barely resist the urge to slam my door shut, more because I don’t want to raise eyebrows about the show of anger than the middle-of-the-night visit to Nyla’s room. I crash onto my bed, sitting doubled over as if I can squeeze the demons from me, the gnawed-out hollow feeling of loss and rejection going back too far for Nyla to know a fuck about it. She thinks she knows, but she has no clue.

And why should she care? I shoved her away as hard as my conscience will allow. Not far enough, because there is a small sprout on that seed of hope she planted four years ago and as much as I need to squash it, stomp on it until it’s dead and buried, I can’t bring myself to do it.

Probably because she’s so goddamn sexy. I’m hard as a rock to prove it. No one gets me going the way she does. No one ever has in the four years since the last night I saw her and no one probably ever will. Pain shoots through my shoulder blades as if I’ve been shot, or stabbed by Cupid himself as punishment for my defiance.

I don’t bother lying down. Trying to sleep would be useless with the swirling mess inside me, reminding me why I avoid the bog of feelings and attachments and confusing entanglements at all costs. It’s been working well for me at SPU. Up until now.

Now my relationship with my family, keeping Majik happy, and my rep at SPU could all be in jeopardy if I don’t get this thing with Nyla under control. The least of all my problems is my peace of mind. I yawn. I’m exhausted. And far too paranoid. I have weight room in the morning right after an early breakfast. With Nyla cooking and serving up the fucking food.

I force myself to lie down, but I still can’t sleep. The last thing I need to do is dream about her. Again. The kiss was stupid. The only thing I proved is that I can’t take a kiss and walk away, that she still has a hold on me, that the dreams about her are not a weird fluke of nature.

I don’t really want her. She was my brother’s downfall, the girl who broke his heart. The girl who tempted me to betray my own fucking brother. The girl who said she cared and then left and never came back, never called or spoke to me again. Until now.

I get up from bed and pace around. The starless night sky fills the window as a cool breeze forces me to stop and appreciate the here and now, to get out of my head. It’s never been a healthy place in the best of times. Whenever that was.

With Nyla one floor underneath me, I’m afraid I’ll go crazy if I let her get to me. But I won’t. She’s nothing to me. She can’t be. I don’t hate her for what she did to my brother, to me, to my family. I can’t afford to hate her. I take a deep shuddering breath.

Sitting at my desk, I fire up the laptop and go over my notes from the day’s classes. When the clock says three a.m. and I’m still nowhere close to sleepy, I upload game film of our first opponent. Lying on my bed, I perch the laptop on my chest and watch. Once, twice, ten times. I don’t know how many times through before I finally drift to sleep.

* * *

Surprise smacks me in the gut though I’m barely awake. I keep my mouth shut and my eyes in their sockets when I open my bedroom door to see Majik standing on the threshold. My automatic response is WTF? Holding that thought, I step aside to let her in, conscious that I’m wearing only boxers. But she doesn’t care, her face implacable. I need some of that mojo and relax my expression.

Closing the door, I steel myself. This visit can’t be good. It has to be about last night. As much as I can control my facial expression or lack thereof, I can’t control the irate thudding of my heart.

Fuck. I’m in trouble. I don’t know how she knows about last night, but she knows. Not that I did anything wrong, really. Except broke her rule and Majik is all about following her rules. Plus, she cares about Nyla. Possibly more than she cares about me. Chill, she can’t throw you out. All she can do is quit. Her ultimate rejection. Double fuck.

“What brings you to my room so early in the morning?” Or anytime, because this is a first. I force myself to sound like I’m talking to the pizza delivery boy, no one important, not to the one woman I’ve come closest to regarding as trustworthy and solid in my life. Until yesterday. Fuck, Nyla’s messing everything up. I resist thinking of Majik as a mother figure, but after three years of her looking after me, cooking for me, and dishing out as much advice as food, who am I kidding? I’m reluctant to let go of that hope for maternal attachment I thought we shared. Even though I should fucking know better.

“Relax. I knew you’d break the rule,” Majik says after looking around my room like it’s an alien planet. “I’m not a fucking idiot. I can see there’s something between you and Nyla.” She stands stock-still in the middle of my room, looking around some more. Who knows what she’s thinking? I let out my breath slowly, but my heart rate remains elevated as I wait for the other shoe to drop, wait to hear the reason for her visit. And not the least bit relaxed in spite of her encouragement.

She’s wrong if she thinks there’s something good between me and Nyla, if she’s thinking we’re hooking up, but the last thing I want to admit is that I consider her protégé my worst enemy. I can’t bring myself to test Majik’s loyalties again because the next time I fail will break whatever we have, and I don’t want to think of where that will leave me.

“Cat got your tongue?” She brings her unflinching stare back around to me.

My tension eases and I smile at her old-fashioned turn of phrase. She’s full of them.

“You came by to say something. I’m waiting to hear it.” My voice is cool and steady as we stare each other down. If she’s trying to make me pop with anticipation, she’s doing a hell of a job. But I’m not going to let her know that.

“Nyla is special,” she says. Full stop. I nod. I don’t disagree, though I may not share the same reasons for thinking of Nyla that way. I can’t stand the girl.