Boys Like Him

Hopeless

The hallway felt too quiet.

I exhaled slowly, tightening my grip on my bag strap as I pushed through the double doors.

The sun hit me full in the face.

And just like that, Everything else blurred.

Because he was there.

Leaning against his car, as he had nowhere else in the world to be.

But something was off.

Subtle.

Easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.

His jaw was tight.

His eyes found me immediately, scanning, locking in.

"There you are," he grinned, pushing off the car.

I slowed without meaning to.

"Detention?" he asked, tone light-but his gaze wasn't.

"Lecture," I replied, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

His mouth curved slightly. "Sounds worse."

"Felt worse," I muttered.

That earned a quiet huff of amusement, but it didn't reach his eyes.

He stepped closer.

"Get in," he instructed, already reaching for the passenger door.

I hesitated.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered quickly, sliding into the seat. "Just tired."

Lie.

Not entirely.

But not the truth either.

The car door shut with a soft thud.

I pulled my phone out before I could stop myself.

The screen lit up instantly with that message.

My chest tightened.

Run while you still can.

My thumb hovered over the screen.

Delete?

Ignore?

Ask?

My pulse picked up.

"What are you staring at?" Lloyd's voice cut in.

I flinched slightly, locking my phone and setting it face down on my thigh.

"Nothing."

His eyes flicked to me briefly before returning to the road.

"Didn't look like nothing."

I forced a small shrug. "Just Mariah being dramatic as usual."

Another lie.

This one tasted worse.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

Then loosened.

Then tightened again.

"Mm," he hummed, like he didn't believe me, but wasn't pushing.

Yet.

We drove for a few minutes in that quiet.

The kind that lets your thoughts get loud.

My eyes drifted back to him.

To the way his jaw flexed now and then.

To the tension still sitting in his shoulders.

To the faint crease between his brows that hadn't been there before.

He belongs in an asylum.

The words slid back into my head, uninvited.

I swallowed.

"You were arguing earlier," I said carefully.

His shoulders stiffened.

"Who?" he asked. Like he didn't already know what I meant.

"You know who," I replied, watching him now.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

"No one important."

I tilted my head slightly.

"You don't seem like the kind of person who gets worked up over 'no one.'"

That earned me a glance.

"You studying me now?" he murmured.

My pulse jumped.

I held his gaze.

"Maybe."

Something flickered in his eyes then.

He smirked faintly, but it didn't quite soften the edge.

"Careful, Nyelle," he drawled, voice dropping. "You might not like what you find."

A chill slid down my spine.

And yet, Heat followed right behind.

"Or maybe I already do."

The car slowed, then stopped.

I hadn't even realized we'd arrived.

My breath hitched softly.

His gaze dropped to my lips.

Then back to my eyes.

"You've been thinking too much today," he whispered.

I swallowed. "And you haven't?"

"No," he admitted.

His hand slid from the console to my thigh, fingers curling lightly, heat seeping through the fabric.

My breath stuttered.

"That's your problem," he continued, voice low, almost amused. "You think."

His thumb brushed once.

"And I..." his grip tightened just a fraction, pulling me slightly toward him, "I make you forget."

My pulse slammed against my ribs.

"Lloyd..." I started, but it came out softer than I meant it to.

"Yeah?" he murmured.

I should have asked.

About the warning.

Instead, I leaned in.

And that was all it took.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in, mouth crashing into mine with a heat that erased everything else in an instant.

My back hit the warm metal of his car, and the impact knocked a small, surprised sound out of me. Then he was there, crowding me in, one hand fisting the hair at my nape so tightly my scalp stung in the best way, the other slamming beside my head so hard the whole door rattled.

I opened for him instantly, couldn't help it. His tongue pushed in deep, claiming every corner. I moaned into it, loud and shameless, fingers twisting into the front of his shirt and yanking him flush against me until I could feel every hard inch of him pressed to my stomach. He tasted like coffee gone cold and the sharp edge of cinnamon, and I chased it, sucking on his tongue until he made this low, broken growl that vibrated straight down my spine and settled hot between my legs.

He pulled back to drag his teeth along my jaw in scrapes that made my breath hitch, then found that spot right under my ear and bit. My hips jerked forward on instinct, grinding against the thick thigh he'd shoved between mine. The seam of my jeans pressed right where I was already throbbing, and the friction was brutal, perfect, too much and not nearly enough all at once.

"f**k," I gasped against his mouth when he came back to kiss me again, sloppier this time. Every time I tried to pull in air, he chased me, catching my bottom lip between his teeth and tugging until it burned, then soothing it with another slow, dirty sweep of his tongue.

My hands were greedy, sliding up under his shirt to rake nails down the warm skin of his back, fisting his hair so I could angle him exactly how I wanted, then dropping lower to palm him through his jeans. God, he was so hard, so thick, straining against the denim. I squeezed, and he bucked into my hand with a ragged curse, "Christ, Nyelle," and the sound of my name in that wrecked voice made me clench around nothing.

He grabbed my wrist before I could do it again and pinned it above my head against the window. The glass was cool against my knuckles; his grip was iron. "Not yet," he rasped, voice as gravel dragged over silk. His thigh kept rocking against me in this steady, relentless rhythm, and I couldn't stop myself from rolling my hips to meet it, chasing more pressure, chasing the edge that was already building too fast.