extra seats.
Bryce shook my confidence, something I found to be completely unacceptable. Here I was, a man who'd managed to get one up on hundreds of men. I'd managed to manipulate them, to play a part to get what I wanted. And not one of them had affected me like this.
I knew that I should suck it up and meet with him. We did have a project still and the longer we waited, the more we risked losing that automatic A by not being the first to turn in our work. Yet there I was in study hall, waiting out the time between classes so that I wouldn’t run into Bryce.
At least I’d brought some comics with me. The pages I held were kind of magic. I loved the stark reality of thick black lines and solid colors. I loved how it was impossible to not see the truth in each panel. The escape that I found in comics was necessary to keeping my energy and focus preserved, and even though I usually kept my comic reading at home, I needed a little something extra today.
Because I was spending a ridiculous amount of energy avoiding Bryce so I wouldn’t have to think about Bryce.
Clearly it was working for me. Not.
The chair across from me squealed as it dragged across the floor. The grating sound was jarring, and I looked up, irritated. Only to feel heat flare from my belly to the tip of my head and back down, straight to my cock.
Bryce. Blond curls and sly smirk and vibrant blue eyes pinning me with a knowing stare.
“You have been avoiding me,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up.
There was no point in denying it, but that didn’t stop me from flushing and getting defensive. “And yet here you are, unable to take a fucking hint.”
“Understanding a clue doesn't mean I have to give you what you want. Besides, I don't even think avoiding me is what you want. I think you just have a hard time with competition.” The smirk became a full-on smile and my pulse quickened.
Shit, shit, shit. This was spinning out of control—and not to my advantage.
“I'd have to have competition in order to have a difficult time with it. You flatter yourself if you think I consider you a challenge,” I said.
The words were cutting but said with little conviction. I wanted to look anywhere but at him, but my gaze was snared. My palms began to sweat. The rock-hard swelling in my cock told a different story, and thank god for the heavy wood table I was sitting at.
Bryce’s vibrant blue, teasing eyes dulled. “You really do hate me, don't you?”
I swallowed hard. No, I wanted to say. I'm like this because I like you too much and it fucking terrifies me. Instead, I opened my mouth and scratched out a, “Yes.”
There was no satisfaction in witnessing him jerk back at my answer, like I’d slapped him. He looked stunned, finally at a loss for words. He looked like a wounded animal. And I was the one to make him look that way. My stomach twisted and sank, my boner suddenly pitiful.
“I don't believe you.” Bryce tried to sound glib, but the words lacked his normal confidence. “No one hates me. I'm too adorable and likeable.”
And because I was a caustic fool who didn't know how to rein himself in, I said, “Just because everyone wants to fuck you doesn't mean they actually like you. You shouldn't confuse lust for like.”
Pain streaked across Bryce’s features, making his eyes and mouth crinkle in hurt. I much preferred when they crinkled from amusement. Our banter was quickly exiting the realm of humorous and spiraling into something awful and mean, and I was the one at the wheel.
Once you have the job, you won't have to worry about the hurt feelings you caused on your way to get it.
The thought gave me zero reassurance.
Bryce leaned in, resting his elbows on the study table. “Have you always been this...”
“Stuck-up? Standoffish? Dickish?” I wasn't dumb, I knew how I was viewed by others.
“I was going to say introverted. Guarded.” He leaned in closer as if he expected me to whisper a secret.
But there wasn’t a secret. I used sharp words and jabs to keep myself distanced. The more threatened I felt—the more I thought I might actually like someone—the crueler I became. Because it was dangerous to get too close. To let people in. Because if the people