Pretty Little Savage (Sick Boys #1) - Lucy Smoke Page 0,88

seat, take a deep breath and let it out before sliding into the chair and dropping my shit down by my feet.

They're just trying to elicit a reaction from me, I tell myself. Remain calm.

That, of course, is easier said than done when two minutes later, I watch as the three of them pack up their shit and move back with me. I stiffen as Braxton drops into the chair at the end of my row. My fingers twitch towards my bag, but I'm not even given the chance to avoid them because in the next instant, Abel bounds down the row in front of the one I’m currently sitting in, puts his hands on the table and lifts himself up and over and onto the other side, blocking me from exiting.

I turn accusing eyes on Dean who just stands behind Brax with his stupid grin.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I demand.

Dean's eyes drop to Brax, who gets up and shuffles past me, dropping a hand on my shoulder as he goes. I shrug it off with an irritated huff before returning my scowl to the man still standing at the end of the row like he fucking owns the place. I mean, he does, but does he have to be so fucking smug about it?

Like the night before, Dean's hands come down and cage me in—one on the back of my chair and the other on the table in front of me. He leans close, my vision completely overtaken by his chest and the dangling chain hanging down in front of the loose band t-shirt he wears.

"I told you," he says, whispering the words so only I can hear. A shudder threatens to overtake me. I shove it down and jerk my chin up as he continues. "I'm going to be keeping a close eye on you, Avalon. Consider me your new best friend because we're going to be spending a lot of time together."

I recoil. "Excuse me?" He can't mean what I think he means. "You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm dead serious, baby." He licks his lips, drawing my eyes back to his full masculine mouth. A flash of silver between his lips startles me. How the hell had I never noticed it before?

"You're going to regret this," I say distractedly, watching his mouth even harder, trying to see the piercing again.

"This is a new kind of lockdown," he says by way of answer. His breath smells like mint and menthol. It makes me want a cigarette really fucking bad, if only to take a drag and blow it in his face. "It's you and me, Ava." His eyes bore into me, the different shades of brown and red in their depths mesmerizing. "And when it's not me, then it's you and them." He nods behind me, meaning Abel and Brax.

"Why?" I blurt. It doesn't make any sense. "Why me?"

He hums low in his throat. Eyes watch us. I don't know if it's just the other guys or if it's the whole class and I can't seem to drag my gaze away from Dean's to find out. "I don't know," he admits, reaching up and lifting one tendril of hair from my shoulder and smoothing the pad of his finger over the individual strands. "Maybe because you're special, baby." He grins. "And you just don't know it yet."

I pull my head back, tugging my hair with it. He releases the lock of hair easily enough and then slides into his seat as the teacher walks in and class begins.

I fume for the next hour and a half that I'm trapped in the room with them. The teacher goes over the material, his unusually attentive expression not even bothering to hide his curiosity as he catches a glimpse of the Sick Boys and me smack dab in the middle of all three of them. My annoyance intensifies into anger. He's provoking me. Pushing me. Wanting to see what I'll do, how I'll react.

Cutting a glance at the man in question out of the corner of my eye, I observe him silently. His head is turned towards the front like this is just another day in class. Yet, his body is facing me as he sits sideways in his seat, like he's unthinkingly blocking the exit route with his massive form. I wonder if he even realizes what he's doing.

When the class period is up and the professor dismisses us, his eyes still jumping up to us every