4. Lucas

LUCAS

Who the hell does this guy think he is? Making me write lines. Is that hot? Definitely not. Then why does it intrigue my man downstairs? Thank god he didn't see that because that would've been extremely embarrassing. Maybe it was just the way he said it. Yeah, that's probably it.

Anyone with eyes would agree that Hunter is hot as fuck, so it was probably just the fact that those words came out of his mouth that got me hard.

My shower is a cold one, so I don't stay in it for very long. With my most immediate issue now resolved, I still have plenty of time to spare. After letting Hunter know that I'm almost ready to eat, I grab a pair of pajama pants and slide them on.

Once again, my eyes fall to his side of the bed where he dropped his cup and spilled his milk all over the floor.

Now that I think about it, he totally avoided my question. He distracted me with his… bossiness and completely changed the subject. What an ass. Well, he won't be able to change the subject on me at dinner.

I step out of our room and make a beeline for the fridge to grab myself a beer. One I have rightfully earned. As I close the fridge, my eyes meet Hunter's, and he gives me a look. A look that tells me I need to drink water first. Or else. All of his demands always have that unspoken "or else" at the end of them.

Except for his last one, I guess.

If I drink the beer anyway, would he make me write lines for that too? How would he even do that? I'm almost half a foot taller than him. He can't make me do shit… can he?

Not in the mood to find out, I roll my eyes and switch out the can of beer for a bottle of water. I need to rehydrate myself anyway after all the running I did at practice. So really, it's my decision to drink water, not because he's making me. Mostly.

I sit down at our little table for two and set my water bottle down. One benefit of having my smartass best friend as my roommate is that he knows how to cook. Athletes were not meant to survive off eggs and ramen noodles, and the dining halls are too much of a hike to be worth the effort. Especially during the week.

The plate Hunter places in front of me looks fucking amazing, but I will not be distracted by food. I'm getting some answers. Real answers. "So, about the random cup of warm milk in our room, you said—" My words are cut off by Hunter sliding a piece of paper with a pencil over to me. For a moment I just frown at it, confused. What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

"I wasn't kidding, Lucas. You're gonna write out everything you need to get done and everything that's gonna be on that test, and if you don't know, figure it out." Hunter's tone leaves zero room for any sort of argument, though it never does, so that's not all that surprising.

Looking up at him, I swallow, and our eyes meet for what seems like the hundredth time today. Something about him when he's like this makes it hard to hold his gaze. I never last more than a few seconds before I crumble.

Every. Fucking. Time.

This time, I break my personal record by lasting about thirteen seconds before my eyes dart away, and I take the pencil into my hand. This, like everything else that's happened today, is stupid.

I don't have to do this. He's not the boss of me.

With a glance back at him for a second, I let out the loudest sigh I can muster before I start writing.

Saturday.

A day that would usually be reserved for recovering from the football game the night before. A time to relax a little, maybe do some conditioning, but mostly just hanging out. A day to sleep in without an annoying roommate refusing to leave me alone.

This week was long, hard, and exhausting. You would think that knowing what I went through this week, Hunter would let me sleep in out of the kindness of his heart. But you'd be wrong. Turns out, he doesn't have one.

I paid attention to all my classes yesterday and even went to the team athletic center's Friday study hall session. That alone warrants being allowed to sleep in on a Saturday. At least, it should.

"Luke, I"m not telling you again. Get up."

Ignoring him still, I pull my pillow over my face and let out a whine that will hopefully make him disappear.

It doesn't.

The pillow is ripped away from me with a strength greater than Hunter has any right to possess.

Sitting up, I glare at Hunter through my tired eyes that aren't even completely open yet. "What."

"Get. Up."

"No."

"Luke, I swear?—"

"You're not my fucking Daddy, dammit. Piss off!"

The room goes quiet, and my eyes go wide for a moment as I register what I just said. Maybe he didn't hear it. Maybe, if I don't make eye contact with him, he'll just forget about it. Keeping my head down, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and head to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth.

Hunter mutters something when I walk past him. It isn't clear, but it definitely couldn't have been what it sounded like. Because it sounded like, "Maybe I should be your Daddy. Clearly, you need one."

My head turns back toward Hunter in some sort of attempt to make sense of what he actually said.

His face tells me nothing, but his eyes tell me everything. They're pointed, accusatory, and just daring me to step out of line again so he can punish me for it.

I shudder a little, and my semi-hard dick twitches in my pants.

Fuck. That thought is definitely hot.