Low: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Suffolk Academy Book 1) Page 7

  Yet, his being in a distinct class of his own doesn’t excuse his arrogance. He’s so arrogant and rude, it makes my head spin.

  Now, I may have to stay with him in his private study room, though I linger on the hope that maybe I’m not supposed to be back there.

  Of course, he wouldn’t have been waiting for me there if he hadn’t already taken care of that part, assuming it was even an issue. God. Me and him in an enclosed, private room, away from any public eyes at all.

  Does this humiliation have an end?

  I can’t bring myself to think of a way to go through with it. I’m sure many girls would jump at the chance to be in this private study room.

  Not me.

  I am not like these girls. In fact, apart from Lowell’s good looks, I don’t like him or enjoy being around him. This isn’t something I’m looking forward to at all. And I really wish there were something I could do to get out of the partnership, but I still can’t think of anything.

  Not one damn thing.

  Lowell knew this all along, too. He wants me to be in this position. That’s why he changed my partnership.

  Jealous bastard.

  As I order lunch, he walks up to me at the table where I’m sitting alone—for the moment. “Eating alone today?” he asks.

  “Nope, my friends are on the way,” I say, hoping that will deter him from taking a seat.

  “Fine, I have a quick question for you, though.”

  “I’m not in the mood for your games, Lowell.”

  “Call me Low, like my friends do,” he says, watching me closely to see my reaction.

  “No, thank you. I’ll stick with Lowell. So, what is your question?”

  “Would you like me to give you a key card to my study room, or do you want to go in together?”

  Unbelievable. That’s the kind of power he has here? “Why would I want a key card to your private study room?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “Well, we’ll be going in there to work on this thing together—and now you know that,” he adds, smirking quickly. “So, it’s no harm if I give you a key card.”

  He lowered his voice in saying that, and leaned in over me, spreading his legs wider right beside me. It all added a sexual undertone to his words, and it annoys the hell out of me…at the same time that it makes my breath catch a little with nerves. The offer would be kind if it came from a nice guy. From him, it feels more like a threat, and I try to think again if there’s any way I can get out of this.

  Nothing’s coming to me. I force my gaze back to the menu, as if he means exactly nothing to me.

  “Keep your damn key card to yourself,” I tell him. “Just tell me when you’re ready to work on it. We can go together.”

  Suddenly, I can’t bear to be there with him. I look up and see him open his mouth to say something, but I rush to stand up to go to the bathroom, and I step away in a hurry. I’m not standing for another one of his sex-laden responses.

  During our last class of the day, my eyes settle on him at some point. He looks at me, too, because our gazes meet. He winks and licks his lower lip. I glance away again.

  As the last bell rings for the day, it reminds me of the other thing I have to do before going home. I peer to the area where Lowell sits. He remains there while the other students file out of class.

  He never rushes.

  It’s not until almost everyone has left that he gets up and ambles over towards me.

  “Shall we?” he asks with an outstretched hand.

  I ignore the hand, but I stand up from my desk to leave with him. What else can I do?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  L owell’s private study room is tucked at the back of a private hallway shooting off of the main library. I never would have found him here, but I guess these rooms are so well-known that he just assumed I’d know where to find him.

  “Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath.

  Our presence in the passageway has activated an automatic lighting system, and the lights have tracked us to his study room’s door.

  He notices the surprised look on my face as he pulls out his key. I’m still only halfway down the hallway, shocked by the technology. “Body heat sensors control the light. Now, come on in closer, or you’ll never see what’s here. My invitations are not common. Only five people, including myself, have been in this space since they completed it last year, and it’s the nicest of the study rooms.”

  I sense the smugness, and wonder if I should feel special about what he’s just told me. It’s not like I have any say in this choice to work with Lowell.

  Doesn’t he get it?

  That aside, the set-up impresses me. The lighting gave the passageway a beautiful, calming aura. There’s an engraved nameplate on the door, with Lowell’s full name in gold letters. I’m betting the cherry oak door cost a small fortune, too.

  “Do you want to help me, or do I have to slide it in myself?”

  We’re back to the sexual inuendo, I see. I roll my eyes, hiding my disgust behind a smirk.

  He huffs and scans the key card against the small black box next to the door.

  As soon as the door opens, I struggle to hide my amazement, but my eyes widen and my mouth might as well drop to the floor.

  Damn.

  This study room is sweeter than some people’s apartments.

  For a study room, it’s enormous, and it has almost everything one could think of. Two high-backed rolling chairs cradle a reading table that holds a laptop. There’s an oversized couch made of finely polished leather. A side-by-side refrigerator stands in the kitchenette with a microwave and flat-top range, all stainless steel. The marble countertop holds bowls of assorted fruit and granola bars. A large, black flat-screen television hangs against an accent wall opposite the couch. There’s also a closed door leading to what I imagine must be a pristine bathroom.

  “I don’t get a thing done unless I’m comfortable,” Lowell says with a sigh. “Ah, I’m glad to see they provided snacks for us today. I made a note that the room would be in use this week,” he adds, looking to me for approval.

  I try to hide any reaction, but it’s hard not to be impressed.

  Before he leads me in, Lowell places his hand under his chin for emphasis and pushes it up. “Chin up, darling. Don’t stand there like a mute. Close your mouth and get in here. We have work to do.”

  Forcing my mouth closed, I finally find my voice. “Yes, you have all the comfort you need in here. Add a bedroom and you may as well live at S.A. in this study room.”

  “Are you kidding?” Lowell laughs. “I can’t live in this shabby place.”

  “Huh?”

  “This is nothing,” he says, shutting the door behind me with a too-loud click. “How about we sit at the table?” he suggests next, waving his arm in that direction.

  This is probably the first time I’ve ever heard him speak to me properly, but I doubt it will last. I glance at him to make sure it’s still Lowell Bartlett. That smirk is still there.

  “I’m not interested in your choice of habitat,” I tell him. “Can we get down to work already?”

  And I do want to work, to get this over with, but what I just said wasn’t entirely true.

  I want to know what his mansion looks like if he calls this room shabby. With a bedroom and a window, an average bachelor would be proud to call this place home. And that couch looks like it would be heaven to lie down and nap in. But then again, Lowell is not your average guy.

  “You’d like to get down?” he asks. “I’m ready whenever you are, baby.”

  And there’s that smirk again. Beneath those electric-blue eyes, it’s deadly. I look away, pretending to be unaffected, but his seductive words are getting to me. They’ve been sending hints of sensations I don’t want to acknowledge all throughout my body—especially since he shut us in here alone.

  “You don’t have to be silly. Let’s get to work,” I reply, taking my books out of my backpack.

  I place my books on
the table while he fires up his laptop. And, with that, we work on the project. The sexual inuendo actually disappears for the most part, and I’m able to forget about all of the tension leading up to today. Our job is to map out a timeline of major literary movements in Europe, and describe the transitions from one to the next, and I didn’t realize he was a serious student until now. We have to prepare for a presentation as well as write a paper, so there’s a lot to be done. But Lowell knows the right places to go on the internet for useful materials and journals. That makes the work easier. Once we lay out the basics, we only have to assign parts for each of us to focus on and then create a timeline for completion. I agree to meet with him for one hour, three times a week. We should finish the project right on time.

  Judging by how things have gone so far, Lowell will actually be great to work with.

  But one thing keeps happening as we work. I sneak glances at him—because I just can’t help it—and I catch him staring at my chest several times.

  Other times, he looks at me with a glimmer in his eyes. A few times, he catches me glancing and holds my gaze. It’s true that his words are all about the work, and someone listening to our conversation wouldn’t realize anything is amiss…but that’s not the whole story.

  I have to ignore how he licks his lips. I have to remain focused on the work and elude his flirtatious expressions. I have to ignore his electric eyes and his tan skin and the way he makes totally innocent words sound so damned sexual.

  After the first session of our working together, I hope it will get better, but part of me knows that this is how it’s going to be.

  A week into the project, I hate being with alone with Lowell. I hate being helpless. That’s how he makes me feel, and he knows it. In fact, he’s taking full advantage of my helplessness, relishing every moment that he makes me blush or look away. And when he sees that he’s gotten to me, he only amps up the flirtation. I don’t appreciate it at all. It’s almost revolting.

  Almost.

  Because the problem is…the attention tempts me. The times I catch him looking at me, he is sexy and gorgeous. There’s no denying it. His lips casually part with a pen hanging from his mouth—just to tempt me, I’m positive.

  And there I am, imagining those same lips pressed against mine. It’s only the third time we’re working together, and I can’t not imagine it.

  In my head, they’re locked against mine.

  Suddenly, he stands up and takes off his school polo, tossing it on the sofa,

  I gasp—audibly. Can he read my mind?

  “Don’t drool, I have a t-shirt to put on,” he tells me with a smirk, walking over to a built-in closet I’m just noticing. “Those polos get scratchy after a long day at S.A. I have to change.”

  Why does he have to advertise his muscles? But it’s like I can’t stop looking. Oh, to have my body gelled against his hard body, and his muscular arms locking me in an embrace…. It’s been way too long since I’ve felt a handsome guy’s hands on me, and Lowell is nothing if not handsome.

  I look back down to my book, hoping the sexual tension I’m feeling isn’t too obvious. I’m trying my best to mask it on my end, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult with each minute that passes.

  He comes back to the table, and his confidence and cheeky lines turn up the heat. It doesn’t help that he looks like he’s about to go work out in his muscle shirt. Under different circumstances, I might have considered sliding my panties to the side at the very moment we stepped into this private study room. Different circumstances and a different guy, that is.

  At least, that’s definitely what I’m telling myself.

  Finally, the hour is up. The moment we make it out of the room, relief floods through me. It isn’t until this moment, when I’m walking out on wobbly legs, that I realize how intense this whole situation has become.

  And, I can’t help thinking, I’m in trouble. Because if he’s reading me as well as I think he is, he knows exactly how helpless I am around him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A ll day long the next day, I don’t want to see Lowell or even go near him. This is the first day we’re not supposed to work, but he slipped me a note earlier to tell me he wants to see me in his study room today, too. And I feel like my whole body is on fire with thinking about it. The week has been so intense, I’ve been thinking about it non-stop. If it gets any more serious, or he amps up the flirtation, I don’t know what I’m going to do.

  I decide I’m going to skip out on him today. We didn’t plan on working today anyway, right, so what’s the big deal? I’m going to get out of class with the crowd and then, instead of meeting him by his study room, I’ll tell him when I see him that I wasn’t feeling well. I just need a day of not being so close to him.

  And I think I’ve escaped him, too, until his dark, wavy hair appears above everyone else’s when I’m on my way down the hall. Before I know it, he’s right in front of me, with those unnaturally blue eyes focused on mine.

  “Come with me, Goddess,” he commands me.

  I hate that those words sound so tantalizing coming from him. I can’t believe he said that, it’s true, but more than that…I can’t believe how my body’s reacting to those words. It crosses my mind that I would love for him to cause an orgasmic explosion between us, but I push the thought back. That’s not going to happen. I can’t stand him and how ugly he can be to me, I remind myself. Giving into him is not an option.

  “I have…I want to…have to go home,” I stammer, trying to distance myself from him.

  “I’ll take you home after you come with me.”

  Why do I feel a slight tingle between my legs every time he says come?

  He wraps an arm around my shoulders like it’s the most natural thing, and guides me down the hall. We’re in the library and headed to the back passage of study rooms before I even think to speak, and by then it’s too late. He rushes me past several students, and my legs feel weaker with every moment. I should run when we get to his room, but instead I just stand there while he opens the door and ushers me inside, and then he presses down on my shoulders, forcing me to sit down on a chair like I’m a child waiting for my punishment.

  His eyebrows contract, him wearing a hard expression with his lips curled in a smirk. His eyes look dangerous, until….

  Suddenly, he breaks out into laughter.

  “Tell me, are you in love with me, Goddess?” he asks in between chuckles.

  I swallow. He’s got to be joking. “In love with you?” I ask in a high-pitched voice.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t love people that make me suffer,” I say, and my voice is a lot bolder than I might have imagined possible.

  “Are you suffering, Goddess?” he asks.

  I throw my hands up in the air and cover my face, groaning in disgust. I don’t know how to deal with the mix of emotions I’m feeling. On one hand, I’m revolted. On the other hand, I’m disgustingly turned on. And he’s using it all against me, reading me like I’m a fucking textbook. Any response I give him will be useless.

  “Do I make you suffer?” he asks.

  I refuse to answer his stupid-ass question.

  “I hate you with my whole heart,” he says quietly, “but I will make you love me. Think about how that will make you feel.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing, let alone understand it. I shake my head, deciding we’re done. “You can’t make somebody love you—either they do or they don’t,” I tell him, finally meeting his eyes again. “That’s not how love works,” I tell him firmly, rising from my seat. I’m ready to get out of here and go home for the sake of my peace and my sanity.

  He’s watched me stand, but before I can take a step toward the door, he’s physically pushed me back down in the chair.

  I try to catch my breath, and I think I should look away from his hypnotic gaze, but I can’t quite make myself. “You can’t keep me in your private study room against my will, you idiot,” I say, attemptin
g to rise again.

  “I can and I will, and you will do whatever I want you to do. Your mother may have named you after a so-called goddess, but I will be your god from now on,” he says, towering over me.

  His words sounded so serious, but this is crazy. I know he sees the surprise on my face, because I’m definitely feeling it, but then I can’t help being amused. This is insane, and there’s no way I’m backing down to him.

  “You are delusional,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I like this brave front you’re putting on. Keep flinging those insults my way and you’ll see what the fuck you will get,” he says, taking a step back and making a show of looking me up and down.

  “You don’t know how brave I can get—because you know what? You don’t know me, you sick bastard,” I hiss at him. I’ve had enough, especially now that that mean smirk is back on his face. I’m tired of these games with him. I want to be on my way home like everybody else, project or no project.

  “Yes, the brave goddess. That’s who you are, right?” He reaches out and lifts my arm. “Are you who I think you are? You are the one I’ve been looking for, I do believe.”

  His voice is so serious. And his gaze is like…like acid, seering and dangerous. Suddenly, I realize he’s been deadly serious about everything he’s said, crazy as it might have sounded. “You could have anyone you want. Why don’t you leave me alone?”

  “Everyone leaves you, don’t they, poor baby?”

  I sit up straight in the chair and stare right up into his cold blue eyes. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but my life is none of your fucking business, Lowell. I’m not from here, so I don’t have to follow along like everyone else at this stupid school. I couldn’t care less if your daddy owns this place. You cannot hold somebody against their will. I hope the cameras see everything you’re doing right now.”

  He remains silent, though his gaze doesn’t soften.

  But he has to realize I just threatened him. He has to know the law will be on my side because cameras do not lie.