Kiss Me, Damnation

II

Evelyn

It was coffee. Just coffee. Yes, it had spilled all over his mountain of notes, but honestly—who takes up half the library with papers like some egotistical professor?

Adrian Rowan. That's who.

I'd known of him, of course. Everyone did. The school's golden genius with a brain full of formulas and an ego too large to fit through the door. I'd seen him around, always sitting alone and if he wasn't sitting alone, he was with Dickens, always acting high and mighty.

A stuck-up loser with no friends.

So, when my clumsy hands betrayed me and coffee splashed across his perfect pages, I'd braced for annoyance. Maybe even a sarcastic comment.

But his eyes... those eyes had burned me alive.

He didn't just glare; he looked at me like I'd committed a crime against him personally. Like I'd cracked open his chest and stolen something I had no right to touch.

I apologized—twice—but it wasn't enough for Adrian Rowan. Nothing would be. He wanted me to bleed for the mistake.

He even called me a sheep. He was a psycho and everyone knew it.

So yes, I scoffed. I couldn't help it. Because if I didn't scoff, I might've screamed.

I wasn't going to let Adrian intimidate me. Not in the library. Not in the classroom. Not anywhere.

Still... my fingers tingled, remembering the way his stare had pinned me in place. Cold. Possessive. Hungry.

He even looked at me throughout classes. It irked me out, but I shook it off. It was Just Adrian Rowan.

I ran out of classes when it ended. And God help me, I hoped I never had to see him again.

******

By the time classes ended, the entire coffee fiasco had almost slipped from my mind. Almost. My friends teased me about it at lunch— "Nice move, Eve, maybe he'll sue you for damages"—and I laughed it off, pretending I didn't care.

But walking home alone, the evening air crisp around me, I couldn't shake the image of his stare. The way he'd looked at me like I wasn't a person, just a problem to solve... or destroy.

I tugged my bag higher on my shoulder and quickened my steps.

And then I saw him.

Leaning against the lamppost at the corner, dark shirt rolled up at the sleeves, eyes locked on me like he'd been waiting all along.

My stomach dropped. No. Impossible. He wouldn't—

But he pushed off the post and walked toward me, slow, deliberate, like a predator stretching its claws.

"What do you want?" I snapped, trying to keep my voice steady.

He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could smell clean soap and the faint tang of ink. His smile wasn't kind. "You walk fast, sheep. Almost like you're running from something."

"Or someone," I shot back. "And I'm not a sheep, you psycho."

His eyes narrowed, but his smile didn't falter. "I'm a happy Psycho, sheep." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Have you forgotten you ruined something of mine this morning. I don't forget debts."

I glared up at him, heart pounding, but I refused to step back. "It was coffee, Adrian. Get over it. You think you can threaten me into... what, an apology tour?"

"I think," he murmured, tilting his head as if he were studying me under a microscope, "you don't realize what happens when you cross me."

For a second, fear scraped down my spine. But then anger burned it away.

So, I did the only thing my stubborn pride allowed—I shoved him. Hard.

He didn't stumble, but his eyes widened slightly, just for a heartbeat.

"You don't scare me," I said, louder this time, forcing the words past my racing pulse. "And you can glare at me all you want, but you're just a boy with a pile of paper. Not God."

For a moment, silence stretched between us. Then he laughed. Soft, low, unnerving.

"We'll see," he said. "We'll see just how much I scare you sheep."

And with that, he stepped aside, letting me pass, his gaze burning into my back the entire way home.

I didn't look back. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

But deep inside, something whispered: this wasn't over. Not even close.

By the time I got home, my pulse was still racing. I slammed my bedroom door, dropped my bag, and paced the floor like a trapped animal.

I told myself I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of getting under my skin. But when I met up with my friends the next morning before class, the words came spilling out anyway.

"He waited for you?" Hannah's eyes went wide. "Eve, that's—creepy."

"Creepy?" I snorted. "Try psychotic. He practically said I owed him my soul for ruining his precious notes."

My other friend, Carla, shook her head. "That guy's trouble. Everyone knows it. Teachers worship him, students avoid him. I've never seen him talk to anyone except Dickens... until you."

"Lucky me," I muttered, stabbing at my cereal.

"Stay out of his way," Hannah urged. "If you're smart, you'll just—ignore him."

Easy advice. Impossible to follow. Because ignoring Adrian was like trying to ignore a storm while standing in the middle of it.

******

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's Adrian's smug face. I tried to ignore him but the universe must have a cruel sense of humor, because the moment Professor Langley scribbled a complex equation across the board and asked for volunteers, I knew—knew—Adrian would be the first to rise.

And I couldn't stop myself from rising too.

A ripple of whispers followed us as we walked side by side to the front. My heart pounded, not with fear, but with that stubborn streak that always rose in me when someone thought they were untouchable. Adrian was brilliant, sure. But he wasn't perfect. And I was going to prove it.

I grabbed the marker, hands steady, and worked through the problem with sharp, precise strokes. Each number slid into place like clockwork. I didn't even glance at him. Didn't need to.

When I finished, I capped the marker and stepped aside. My answer gleamed under the fluorescent lights, neat and unshakable.

And then he smiled.

Not the warm kind. No. Adrian Blackwood smiled like a wolf about to crush the bones of its prey.

"Interesting approach," he said smoothly, as if he were about to compliment me. Instead, he slashed through my work with swift, merciless strokes. "Though, if you consider the secondary theorem—"

Line after line, he rewrote my solution until my neat logic was nothing but a mangled corpse on the board. The class chuckled, and heat crept up my neck.

He glanced at me once, eyes gleaming, daring me to fight back.

I snatched the marker from his hand. "You're assuming constants where there aren't any," I snapped, underlining one of my original points. "Which makes your conclusion invalid."

The laughter stopped. All eyes were on us now.

His gaze dropped to the marker in my grip, then slid back up to mine. Close. Too close. His voice dropped so low only I could hear.

"You're feisty when you're cornered. That's not how a sheep should behave."

I wanted to throw the marker at his smug face. Instead, I stared him down, refusing to look away.

Professor Langley finally broke the standoff with a booming clap. "Excellent! This is exactly what I like to see. Healthy competition sharpens the mind."

The class chuckled again, tension melting. But my cheeks still burned as I stalked back to my seat.

Healthy competition, my ass.

Adrian wasn't competing. He was declaring war.

And I had no intention of losing.

I slumped into my chair, trying to focus on the lecture, when a soft voice drew my attention.

"Hey."

I turned, and my heart stuttered. Daniel Rowe. Tall, athletic, with that easy smile that made half the girls in school sigh. And he was smiling at me.

"You were amazing up there," he whispered. "Seriously. The way you shut him down. Legendary."

Heat rushed to my cheeks again, but this time it wasn't anger. "Thanks," I murmured, ducking my head.

Daniel leaned closer, his cologne fresh and distracting. "Don't let Adrian get to you. Guys like him... they think the world revolves around them. But you—" His smile widened. "You proved him wrong."

Before I could respond, Professor Langley called the class to order. Daniel gave me a quick wink and turned back around, leaving me with a flutter in my chest I hadn't felt in ages.

Maybe Adrian wasn't the only one who noticed me.

******

After class, I was still replaying Daniel's words when Hannah and Carla caught up with me in the hallway.

"Spill," Hannah demanded, linking her arm through mine. "Daniel Rowe? Since when do quarterbacks notice our little math queen?"

"He's not a quarterback," I said quickly, though my smile betrayed me. "He just—he was being nice."

"Nice?" Mark scoffed. "That guy is never just nice. I've seen him turn down half the cheer squad without blinking. If he's talking to you, Eve, it's because he's interested."

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "Stop. It was one compliment."

"One compliment that made you blush like a strawberry," Hannah sing-songed.

I shoved her playfully, laughing despite myself. "Okay, fine. He's... cute. But it doesn't mean anything."

The truth was, I wasn't used to guys like Daniel paying attention to me. I was used to being the girl with her head in books, the girl who competed too fiercely, who cared too much about grades. Daniel noticing me felt... different.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly the distraction I needed from the nightmare named Adrian.