8

-NORTH-

MALCOLM SPEEDSthe entire way back to my dorm, staring straight ahead, his face like thunder. I sit slumped in the passenger seat like a scolded child.

He's really pissed. Like really, really pissed. I'm used to him being a grumpy asshole, but I've never seen him this mad before. The way his eyes flash under his lowered brow, the stiff powerful way his body moves, the way he holds his anger in his wide shoulders. I'll never admit it out loud, but it's kinda scary. And also very hot.

What's his problem? So I left my pen at home, so what, those things are damn expensive. Not that he's ever had to worry about money in his entire life. Of course he wouldn't get it, spoiled rich boy. Why does he even care so much anyway? He made it more than clear that he doesn't care about me, or even like me very much.

I glower. He's angry at me? Yeah well, two can play at that game. I'm still pissed at him for ripping my head off when all I wanted to know was if we were going out or not. Excuse me for wanting to be clear. And yeah, it hurt my feelings. Big time. People don't turn me down, like, ever. And it took me more effort than it should have to pluck up the courage to ask. I never get nervous about this shit, but I felt like a kid asking someone to prom for the first time. And not only did he say no, he said hell no with a cherry on top, loudly, in front of a lot of people. My cheeks heat at the thought.

I glare out the window at the passing trees along the side of the road. It is a glorious day, just like I thought it would be, and it looks glummer than ever. What is it about me that is so unlikable to him? We really seemed to be getting on well all morning. I did everything he wanted, and damn it, it really felt like we were vibing for a moment there. Was it just my imagination? Reality replaced with what I actually want? But he smiled, and he joked. And the chemistry I felt between us was real, I swear.

But what do I know, I guess I'm an idiot.

I take a sullen spoon of my chili cheese fries every now and then, although it doesn't taste as nice as it did before. Still, it feels good to rebel after what he said. Trailer park BBQ. Fuck him. I don't even live in a trailer park. Anymore. And if my dad had a BBQ no way he'd be invited.

The entire ride back passes in tense silence, and I'm determined not to break it first.

Ten minutes and several broken speed limits later, he storms into my dorm room like a vengeful hurricane.

"Where is it?" he demands.

"In my drawer," I say.

It occurs to me that this is the first time he's been in my dorm room, and it's a complete tip. Clothes, books, and empty wrappers strewn across the floor. The bed is a nest of blankets. And the distinctive odor of unwashed socks fills the air. But he doesn't even like me, so why should I care what he thinks of my pigsty of a room?

He kicks his way through the mess, yanks the door of my bedside table open, grabs the pen, and shoves it into my chest. I grab it, almost knocked backward.

His eyes flash. "I don't want to see you ever leave this room without it again, do you understand?"

"Whatever, Mal, just chill out, man." My heart races.

"Don't call me Mal, my name is Malcolm. And I said do you understand?!" He looks fucking wild.

"Yes, I understand," I say. "Why the hell does it matter to you anyway? You don't give a fuck about me, right? Other than as a way to get your dick wet."

He glares at me, and I think he's going to say something else, but then he closes his mouth, shakes his head, and storms away. He's halfway out of the door when he spins back.

"Your life is worth more than a fucking EpiPen, North!"

The door slams behind him.