The word is “skinny.”Small.Whatever.I’m five-five and about a hundred and twenty pounds, and that’s after putting effort into bulking up this past year.
“I’ve been making progress,” I insist.“Or I had been before the accident.”That’s what I’m calling it, because itwasan accident.“The problem is I need to eat, like, three thousand calories a day to maintain my weight, and I haven’t had as much of an appetite this last couple of weeks.”
“The smoothie will help.”Troy nods as if a liquefied salad is the answer to all my problems.After a few sips I decide it actually doesn’t taste as awful as I thought it would, and besides, I am starting to feel a little better.The dizziness is passing.
“Rav.Is this Liam guy honestly so awful that you feel like you need to leave town?”PJ asks.“I get it, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, but it’ll suck.This auction idea is a nightmare.Besides, we’d all miss you.”
They’re probably only being nice, but still.I don’t know if I’m touched or pissed.I love that they care.I hate how they’re treating me like a kid.
“I’m sorry.”I really, honestly am.Belle Argo is a nice place, and I’d rather not go.“I’m not sure about literally anything else in my life.But I’m sure about this.”
“Is there something we can do to help?”Mr.Monroe asks.He looks side to side then back to me.“I think I speak for everyone here when I say if you’re stuck in a difficult situation, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
Everyone is still looking at me as if I’ve announced that I’m dying.I don’t know how to answer these questions, and I don’t like the squirmy feelings they give me.So, instead, I change the subject.“So, I was researching fetishes again last night…”
Everyone starts moaning and groaning.Which I knew they would.I almost laugh to myself.I tend to overshare in a big way, and lately I’ve been researching kinks and stuff.But this time it works to my advantage.Everyone has stopped looking at me with pity and quit asking me about the auction.
“Seriously, though, this auction thing could be hella dangerous,” Troy says out of nowhere.“If a guy pays fifty grand or whatever to fuck you, what else are they going to think they have the right to do?”
Guess I spoke too soon.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Liam: If you don’t come the hell home after class, I will hunt you down.
Anger clogs my throat as I flip the screen to show it to everyone.“This is the kind of thing I’m talking about.This is what I live with.It’s why I have to do the auction, and it’s why I can’t stay in Belle Argo.”
Chapter Three
Ravi
I avoid makingeye contact as I walk into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge.After working out this morning and then a full day of lectures, I’m starving.Still, I can feel Liam’s presence, large and looming on the other side of the room.
“Your last class was over an hour ago.You’re late.”
Being around Liam raises my blood pressure.Given my recent hospitalization, it’s a bit of a problem.
Determined not to let him rattle me, I square my shoulders as I pull bread and jam from the refrigerator.
“Ravi, stop.”
It’s not a request.He says it the way he’d say it to the guys who work for him.When Liam Masters gives an order, my body responds before my brain.
I turn to face him, dropping my backpack, along with the bread and jam, on the kitchen counter with a sigh.Not that I’m good at staying still for long.When he doesn’t speak after a second, I swerve around where he’s seated at the kitchen counter to grab a plate and some peanut butter.
“You can’t live off peanut butter sandwiches, kid.”
Kid.I’m not a child.I turn twenty at the end of November.
“According to my research, peanut butter sandwiches can add approximately thirty-three minutes to your lifespan, Liam.”
“Fuck’s sake.”He nods to a paper takeout bag sitting on the granite counter.“I got chana masala.Your favorite.”
When I glance up he’s rigid in his seat, with his unfairly chiseled jaw clenched.His dirty blond hair looks messier than usual, as if he’s maybe run his hands through it a whole bunch.His blue-green eyes glow under the kitchen lights, sharp and assessing the way they always are.I’ve read too many fantasy novels.I keep expecting him to turn into something immortal that bites.
His hands are clasped on the counter in front of him, and I can see how tense he is by the way the muscles in his forearms sort of bulge.He’s got a tattoo there of a skull with a snake, and the words “memento mori.”Right now the snake looks as if it’s slithering.
Since I seem to be a constant source of tension for Liam, I pretend not to notice the way his hand slides over his stubble.It’s something he does when he’s frustrated.Most of all, I pretend I’m not thinking of him slicing open his palm on his razor-sharp features, which gives me a disturbing sense of satisfaction.