The Boy in the Black Hoodie

4

"Where are you going?" he asks in a husky voice.

His dark eyes and his hold on me forces me to answer. "I don't know," I say honestly. "Anywhere off campus that's away from you."

I inch back against the wall as close as I can. He moves closer to remove the space. That's when I notice his exposed arms. He isn't wearing his usual black hoodie. Instead, he has a black shirt on over black skinny jeans with holes in the knees. Around his forehead is a black bandana.

"You shouldn't be wandering the city alone." He pauses for a second, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "There are guys worse than Logan out there."

"I can handle myself," I say through gritted teeth.

"This is London. The guys on the streets aren't friendly to innocent girls wandering the streets alone."

"I don't need your protection," I spat, literally on his face. He doesn't bother to remove a hand to wipe his face.

"I am not letting you leave the campus alone." He lowers his forehead to mine, gently hovering over mine. I bend my knees a little to put space between us.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

He finally straightens, but doesn't remove his caging arms. "What do you mean?"

"You keep stalking me," I raise my voice. "Everywhere I am, you're there."

"Coincidence," he says. It sounds more like a question than an answer.

"You were standing outside the classroom." I try to sound tough, but his shaking arms in the corner of my eyes are making me lose hope of getting away.

"I already explained that."

"And the skating rink," I add. "Even though you caught me, you could barely stand." I was going to bring it up this morning, but I knew it would be a loss for me.

Ashton lowers his arms and takes three steps back. I can take this opportunity to run, but what good will it do. His legs are longer than mine and I am not athletic. On top of that, there isn't anywhere to go. With my luck, I'd trip down the stairs and he'd catch me before someone opened their door. My chances of escaping are tiny. I make a mental note to start working out. With him stalking me, I need to be able to move faster.

"You got me with that one," he says with a smirk and raises his hands in defeat.

I don't understand what he means. I got him where? "What?"

"I wasn't at the rink to ice skate." He lowers his arms back down and takes two steps towards me.

"Then why were you there?" I ask, even though I don't want to know. My heart beats faster as his eyes rake my body and land on my eyes.

"I could tell you," he says. He takes another step to me and the tips of his shoes tap my feet. "But you already how the saying goes," he says in a low deep voice. Goosebumps rise on my arms and I'm thankful I'm wearing a jumper so he can't see the effect he has on me.

His cinnamon breath is making it impossible to comprehend what he means. I do know the rest of the saying, but for some reason, it doesn't scare me. From this angle, I notice a slight stubble under his chin. I want to reach up and feel the roughness of it under my fingertips. I want to taste the cinnamon on my lips, as his brush against mine. Wait. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away. He was just talking about killing me.

I press my palms against his chest to push him away. This corridor is getting hot and I'm thirsty. But when my palms press against his hard abs, I freeze. They feel really strong and defined under my touch. Exactly like I imagined he would look like under that thick jumper he always wears. I rub my palms over the spot. His chest heavily rises and falls, making his muscles press harder against my palms. His breathing comes out in thick puffs. That cinnamon is playing tricks on me. His eyes are softening when my palms move and darkening when I stop. A loud crash down the corridor makes me jump. Ashton steps back quickly.