Like A Predator
1371 Words
ROSE
“Hey, did I leave my phone at—”
My sentence trailed off the second I saw Drake standing frozen in front of the kitchen counter.
The atmosphere inside the loft had shifted completely. If just a few minutes ago the tension between us had been thick and heavy, now the air had instantly turned to ice. Drake’s untouchable, terrifying captain persona was back in full force.
His jaw was clenched so hard the veins in his neck were popping, and his eyes were locked onto my phone as if it had just committed an international crime.
I stepped closer, my hand reaching out hesitantly. “Morvane? You good?”
Drake didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his massive arms across his chest, looming over me with a judgmental gaze that was a hell of a lot more intense than usual. There was a strange, dangerous flash of anger burning behind his icy blue eyes.
“Who’s Leo?” he demanded. His voice was low, cold, and completely unyielding.
I furrowed my brow, my hand freezing mid-air. “What?”
“You heard me, Rose.” Drake took a sharp step forward, completely erasing the distance between us until I could feel the heat radiating off his body, a wild contrast to his freezing stare. “Your phone lit up. There was a text from some guy named Leo. Said he just landed in Toronto and asked if he could sleep in your bed tonight.”
I blinked. It took my brain a hot second to process what he was saying before reality smacked me in the face. He read my notifications? And he looks… pissed? Why the hell would he be pissed?
“How dare you read my private messages!” I snapped, my irritation instantly scorching away whatever awkwardness was left from the living room. I snatched my phone off the granite counter and clutched it to my chest like a shield. “And why are you interrogating me? It’s none of your business!”
“It becomes my business when some random guy tries to crash in my apartment,” Drake fired back, bracing his large hands on the kitchen island and leaning in until we were practically nose-to-nose. “We made a deal, Rose. No one on this campus can find out we’re living together. I am not letting you bring some guy from your past to stay here, mess with my peace, and spark a massive wave of campus gossip.”
I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. A guy from my past? Just some guy? Did he hear the ridiculous accusations flying out of his mouth right now?
“Yeah. So before he knocks on my door, tell him to go find a hotel,” Drake snapped, his eyes narrowing as if he were a predator guarding his territory.
I stared at his frustrated, rigid face, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He was restlessly waiting for my answer, his eyes darting all over my face. The next second, the corner of my mouth twitched. The anger in my chest evaporated, replaced by an unstoppable urge to laugh.
Drake Morvane, the grumpy hockey captain who claimed he didn’t care about my existence and viewed me as a literal computer glitch, was currently having a mini existential crisis over a text message.
“Why are you smiling?” Drake growled, clearly insulted by my reaction. “I’m being serious, Rose.”
“You know, Morvane…” I stepped even closer, meeting his glaring eyes at point-blank range, deliberately dropping my voice to a mocking whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous right now.”
Drake completely froze. His pupils dilated, and for a fraction of a second, his icy facade cracked wide open, revealing pure, unfiltered shock before he violently ripped his gaze away.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, You are."
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, a rare note of panic bleeding into his tone. “I’m not jealous. I’m just protecting my focus for Friday’s game.”
“Oh, really?” I chuckled, flipping my phone over and tapping the screen. “Too bad your little theory about the ‘dangerous stranger’ is dead wrong. Leo is my cousin. He’s in town for an internship interview, and he’s actually the i***t who accidentally messed up my housing application and caused this double-booking in the first place.”
I turned the screen around and shoved it right in front of his face. I’d just sent the reply: ‘Are you kidding me? Thanks to you, I’m currently sharing a loft with a polar bear. Find a hotel or you’re dead to me.’
Drake stared at the screen, then slowly looked back up at me. An incredibly loud, awkward silence swallowed the kitchen. Slowly, a faint, dark red flush began to creep up his neck, staining his ears. He cleared his throat softly, straightening his spine, and suddenly became profoundly interested in the tips of his own sneakers.
“Cousin,” he muttered, his rough voice softening. Was that... relief?
“Yes, my actual blood cousin,” I said, slipping the phone into my pocket. “So, Captain, do you still need to interrogate me about the security of your precious turf?”
Drake didn’t say another word. He turned stiffly on his heel, grabbed his hockey bag from the floor, and started walking toward his bedroom without a single backward glance. But just as his hand wrapped around his doorknob, he muttered something that made my heart do a violent, chaotic flip.
"There’s one more thing."
The sudden change in his tone sent a shiver straight down my spine. The heavy, protective warmth from a second ago vanished as his face went cold and rigid. He took a slow, deliberate step toward me, effortlessly erasing the remaining space between us.
"One thing I need to make sure of," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.
I glared up at him, trying to look defying, but my heart was throwing a literal tantrum against my ribs. Before I could even draw a breath to snap back, he moved. Fast. In one fluid, predatory motion, he guided me backward until my knees hit the cushions, crowding me right down onto the sofa. The sheer, towering weight of his massive frame was over me in an instant, pinning me beneath him.
"You shouldn't have drawn that, Rose," Drake growled, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrated straight through me.
His eyes locked onto my lips, and I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin. Whatever strict, rational walls he normally kept up had completely crumbled, leaving behind something raw, dark, and possessive.
"I already told you, I was just... admiring your proportions. For art," I choked out, trying to sound defensive, but my voice betrayed me, coming out in a breathless, uneven stammer. It was a pathetic excuse, and judging by the dark glint in his eyes, he knew it too.
"Art, huh?" A dark, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
He shifted his weight, pressing his heavy frame a fraction of an inch deeper against me, burying me into the plush cushions. It was pure, unadulterated torture.
The friction of my bare thighs against the rough denim of his jeans sent a jolt of liquid heat straight to my gut. His large hands, still securely anchored at my waist, slowly slid upward underneath the hem of my oversized shirt.
When his rough thumb brushed the sensitive skin along my ribs, a sharp gasp caught in my throat, my back arching instinctively into his touch.
"So, does this 'art project ' include the way you're looking at my mouth right now?" he murmured, leaning down until the tip of his nose brushed against mine. He smelled intoxicating, like melting ice, expensive cologne, and a sharp hit of pure adrenaline. "Like you want me to kiss you?"
- Writer
