In the Open

"N-Nick Simmons is staring at you."

*** Chris Wood as Nick Simmons. I know they have different eyes but just ignore it please ***

I hear footsteps approaching, but I don't let my attention stray from the text that I'm currently annotating. I've made it through the first page of the short story, and just as I'm about to begin on the second, two hands connect to my desk roughly, creating a bang that bounces off every wall in the soundless room.

My gaze lingers on the hands that grip the edge of my desk with broken, scratched up knuckles, before moving up ever so slowly, until my cautious blue eyes connect with blazing green ones. My mouth parts involuntarily as I stare at the person that I've never been within five feet of, staring at me with burning eyes.

Nick Simmons, in the flesh.

I can't help but gape at the brooding figure currently towering over my desk, a seething anger present in his eyes.

His dark chestnut hair is a messy array atop his head, yet it still manages to look perfect. His lightly tanned skin is smoother than butter, and his eyes. Oh, his eyes. My eyes drop to his lips, but I instantly look away, not wanting him to notice my subtle eye-raping.

He leans over my desk until we're nearly nose to nose. I force my eyes to stay focused on his, not letting him know that I'm actually frightened by his possible reaction.

"Do you know where you're sitting?" He asks, pushing more anger and irritation into his glare, which I didn't think was possible considering how agitated his stare already was.

"Yes," I say firmly, lifting my chin slightly and raising an eyebrow, "I always sit by the window. You may sit beside me if you'd like. But I'm not moving, so don't even try."

His glare recedes, and I see surprise overtake his features. I'm guessing people don't speak to him like that.

As soon as he realizes that he let up on his intimidation, his glare is replaced and is once again trying to burn a hole through me.

"I'm sure you don't want to get on my bad side. So either you move, or I'll make your life a living hell." He sneers lowly, trying not to let prying ears into the conversation.

Anger flares within me from his words. He doesn't even know me, yet he is acting like he deserves to be treated like a God. The nerve of this arrogant jerk.

"Do you always talk to people like you're above them?" I inquire, staring attentively at him as he ponders my question.

An emotion flashes though his features, but it's gone before I can properly identify it.

"I am, if you think about it. I say jump, and people jump. And if they don't, then I will make them. Like I'll make you if you don't move." His eyes gleam with challenge, while mine gleam with defiance.

"I will admit that you using your words to get what you want shows power. However, you threatening a girl just shows your lack of masculinity." I deadpan, knowing that insulting his ego would partially reign in his cockiness.

Now I can feel the whole room's gaze peering at us from all sides, watching the exchange with drama-hungry eyes.

I once again see the hidden emotion take over his hard features, and it seems to be... amusement? I don't see anything amusing in this situation though, so maybe he is just a maniac, or my people-reading skills are depleting.

"I think you just insulted me." He sneers angrily. He then leans in extremely close, his warm breath fanning over my ear, and whispers, "You'll regret that."

He then walks around my desk and plants himself in the seat directly next to me. People around the room try to conceal it, but fail as the audible gasps bounce throughout the open air.