Would You Rather: A College Romance (Campus Games Book 3)

I could be so nice

“What was that for?” I turn my head to face him. He’s so close, his face right in front of mine, our bodies pressed together, the heat of his encompassing me.

His brows lift, and a slight frown appears on his lips. “Are you kidding?”

“I said no touching.” I take a step back from him, his arm dropping from my waist. My skin heats from the lost contact, wanting it back. Get it together.

His eyes narrow. “Respectfully, princesa, I don’t give a fuck if you like what I just did or not. It was necessary.”

“Stop calling me that.” I scowl at him, hating how it sounds like such an insult coming from his lips. “And how was that necessary?” I ask.

He scoffs, irritated, and shakes his head. “With the way he was flirting with you right in front of me? Very.”

“He was not flirting with me.”

“How can you be so blind?”

My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You are fucking blind if you can’t tell he was flirting with you.”

The intensity of his glare makes my cheeks flush with heat. and I want to go back to last week. When he made me soup and opened up to me, it actually felt like we were becoming something close to being friends. I turn around with a huff and walk away, heading toward the exit.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asks.

“Away from you,” I say, looking behind my shoulder to see him right on my tail, his brows bunched as he follows.

“Mother—” he murmurs, aggravated. His steps get louder the closer he approaches me.

“Stop following me,” I call out, not bothering to turn around as I push past the crowd, wanting to get away from him.

“Stop running away,” he says. I’m aware of people looking our way, clearly noticing we’re in a fight, but I’m too pissed off to care.

“I need space.”

I hear his scoff as I move past the crowd, heading into a quieter area. “You don’t need space. Not from me.”

“I need space, especially from you.” After what happened back there when I was sitting on his lap and when he pulled me into him when Connor was there, I can’t think straight. I hate thinking about how the only thing I could focus on was Lucas’ hands on me, his thumb brushing against the fabric of my dress. I need to figure out why I wanted more.

“Goddamn it.” That’s all I hear before his hand encloses around my elbow, and he spins me around. I gasp at the quick movement, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling us into an empty room and closing the door.

“Let me go,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes at him.

His eyes meet mine, fire burning in them. “You’re making a scene,” he says. “Did you forget we’re supposed to be happy and in love? Or do you want our breakup to come sooner?” His eyes scan mine, making my breathing speed up. He’s all I see, all I smell, all I feel. All over my body. “Do you want everyone to know we were lying? That our entire relationship is all fake? That it’s nothing more than a contract you have to fulfill?” he asks, shaking his head when a scoff escapes his lips. “Maybe you want me to call your boyfriend back. Get him to flirt with you some more.”

“Oh my god.” I throw my hands up. “He was not flirting. He was just having a conversation with me. He’s a nice guy as opposed to you.”

His eyes harden. “Oh, I’m not nice?”

My mind flashes back to when he took care of me when I was sick, and he made me soup; he even folded my damn clothes. He’s so much more than just nice, but after annoying me about Connor, I can’t let him know that. I cross my arms and breathe out a heavy sigh instead.

His eyes narrow, and he leans in until he’s right in front of me. My arms drop, and my lips part from his proximity. His eyes drop to my lips, licking his own. “Trust me, princesa. You don’t know me.” His voice has gone deeper, huskier, and I’m struggling to remember my own name. “I could be so nice,” he says, his thumb lifting my chin to make me look up at him. “So fucking nice to you.”

I hear a soft noise, a whimper of some sort, and I’m horrified to find out it came from me. I know he heard it too, with the way his eyes darken. I see the lust swirling in them, the want, the battling with himself over this, and I think he’s going to kiss me. My heart starts to race faster than ever before, anticipating it. Wanting it.

But he steps away from me and squeezes his eyes shut, cursing under his breath in what I assume is Portuguese. When his eyes open again, he looks away from me, tugging at the strands of his hair. “You should leave,” he says.

“Lucas—”

“Leave, Madeline.” He takes another step away from me again and snaps his head back to me. “You were trying to run away from me, weren’t you? Well then, go.”

I stare back at him, my chest rising and falling. Why does he make me feel things I don’t want to feel? I shake my head, wanting to say something, anything, but when his eyes meet mine, I see the uncertainty swimming in them. He turns around and buries his head in his hands, and I do what he told me to.

I press my lips together and turn around, opening the door. My shoulder hits someone on the way out, but I don’t stop to look, racing back to the party. It’s not until I leave, that I realize we were shut in a dark closet, and I didn’t freak out. I didn’t cry or break down like I did in the elevator. I didn’t even notice where we were.

And even now, all I can think of is, I wish he would have kissed me.