Page 26 of Twisted Little Game

“I’m glad you spotted me following you,” I tell him. “It means you’re paying enough attention to your surroundings.”

“I’m not oblivious.”

“Good. Next time I’ll come correct your shitty form on the bench press.”

He gives me a hard stare. “My form is perfect.”

“It’s almost perfect, but it is not.”

“Did you like it when I punched you in the fucking head? Because I kind of want to do that again right now.”

I can’t help but smile a little bit again as my cock perks up again under the table. “Try it, Tate. See what happens.”

The idea of it is delicious.

I want him to try to fight me so badly it’s confusing my entire goddamn body, and if I don’t fuck someone soon, I’m bound to get hard every time Tate challenges me like that.

My cock has always had a thing for bratty attitude and people who provoke me ‘til I fucking blow. But until now, that’s only been that way with women.

Tate leans forward, putting his arms on the table.

I catch another glimpse of his torso through the deep armholes of his shirt.

I want to grip him there again.

Yank him toward me.

Pin him down on this tabletop and watch him try to land a single punch on me.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, cutting through my thoughts.

“You.”

“Same.”

His eyes are so beautiful. My pulse quickens and my cock strains against my denim uncomfortably.

I bite my inner cheek.

“You bother me.”

“I know,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “You’re cute when you feed the birds on the bench outside my dorm, by the way.”

Something flips in my stomach, like a bright spotlight exposing my fucking soul.

“You saw that?” I ask.

Chyort voz-mi.

Damn him.

Sometimes I bring a packet of cheese crackers so I can break off some to give to the sparrows as I wait in the mornings. It’s something Mom and I did, when I was a kid, and she smiled at the way I made sure each bird got its own piece….

“I need to leave,” I tell him, getting up so fast I knock my knees into the edge of the table. “Are you done eating my food?”

4

Tate