Unleashed (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (9 page)

“Politics?” he blurts, laughing. “God, you’re precious. The truth is, in this country, if you’re a woman who wants to go far in politics—”

“I’d be a woman who wants to make a
difference
.”

We pause, and I let my eyes fall closed. That was trite, groan-worthy.

“I get your point, Chance. That it’ll be tough, that it still mostly
is
a boy’s club. But I’m not afraid. I never have been.”

He sits back for a moment, licks his lips again. The expression on his face has changed. Now… now he looks impressed.

“And I can float between teaching and researching, or working in a more hands-on manner. The qualification would open doors to high-ranking, difference-making positions in social service agencies, NGOs, charities, think-tanks, even an advisory capacity. That sounds like a
lot
of options to me. What kind of prospects do
you
have? What happens when you sustain an injury? When you lose your edge in the ring or on the mat or wherever the hell it is you fight?”

“Your options won’t be broad. You’ll be encouraged to specialize over and over again. They will push you into a narrow corner, where you can be the master of all you can see – nothing. You will be a big fish in a tiny, brackish pond.”

“Like you would know anything about academics, Chance. You barely graduated from what I hear.”

He laughs. “Surprised me, too. I hardly went to class.”

“Did you make minimum attendance?”

“Of course I did,” he says. “My teachers were all women.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so gross and up yourself. That’s so much bullshit.” I frown and I’m sure my expression darkens. If he’s telling the truth, well then it isn’t fair.

“Don’t be so upset, Cass. Why does it matter to you what happens to me?”

“Don’t call me Cass.”

“Don’t tell me you never saw a girl hitch her skirt up just a little, pull those puppy-dog eyes to get out of trouble? Don’t tell me you once never saw Nicole Stansfeld or Alice Ortiz get away with not doing their homework? Or get caught smoking in the changing rooms only to be let off the hook because it was a male teacher that happened to walk by and smell the smoke? Those two got away with far more than
I
ever did.”

“That’s wrong, too. And I don’t care about your what-about-ism.”

“So what if you don’t get accepted into a master’s program?”

I fold my arms. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Cass, Cass, Cass,” he says, shaking his head. He adjusts his belt, and I can’t help but watch as he does it. For a fleeting moment, his t-shirt comes above his jeans, and I see the beginnings of his trimmed buzz of pubic hair.

I snap my eyes away, breathing a little quicker. God, when is this bus going to come?

“You think you’ve got it all figured out. Life isn’t like that.”

“How would
you
know what life is like?” I say, glaring into his eyes. I notice, then, that embedded in his hazel irises seem to be bits of silver pigmentation. It’s like his eyes are shining. He doesn’t even blink that much, he just meets my glare with a slightly-amused look.

“You spend all your time with your nose in textbooks, never once asking if what they are teaching you is accurate, or why it is accurate. You memorize the tests, rote learn, regurgitate paragraphs from books you read the night before. So what if you did well in school? How’s it going to prepare you? I mean, have you ever even had a job?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, feeling indignant. “I worked as a barista part time. And rote is a pretty complex word for an idiot like you,
Chance
.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I’m an idiot. But at least I’m enjoying myself.”

“You enjoy being a total dick to everyone? You enjoy getting all sweaty with another guy and beating him up?”

“I enjoy winning my fights, yes. And I’m not a dick to
everyone
.”

“Oh, I mean, except for your stupid group of friends who follow you around like dogs.”

“Hey, I don’t give a fuck about them. I was talking about the girls, actually.”

Groan!
His reputation is known in this school,
and
the one the next county over.

Chance Hudson has slept with more girls than ten men will in their lifetimes, they say.

Chance Hudson has slept with half the female staff, they say.

I doubt these rumors are even true. It’s just simply not possible.

And anyway, I don’t even care. It’s disgusting. He’s a dog.

“You’re a dog,” I say. “You’re disgusting.”

He grins. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You’re
proud
of it?”

He thinks for a moment, brown eyebrows pinching together like two caterpillars meeting.

“Never really thought about it that way. It’s just what I do. Come on,” he says, getting up off the bench. “Let’s go.”

“
Excuse me?
”

“I’ll give you a ride. You know you want one.” He doesn’t even smile, he just plays it straight.

“Wow,” I say, shaking my head. “Really? Seriously? No thanks.”

“The bus isn’t due for an hour. You know that right?”

“An hour?”

“Didn’t check the timetable?”

“Shut up.”

“Well I know you can either sit out here for an hour, or I can drive you home.”

“Why would I get into a car with you?”

“Come on, Cass, are you really asking me that question? Why does anybody get into a car with me?” He extends his arm, all lean and muscular, but I just ignore it. He really is such a pig.

“You’re so wrong, you know, with how you approach everything. You can’t talk to people this way. You’ve got a one-track mind.”

“This one-track mind is about to give you a free lift home.”

“No, this one-track mind is about to piss off.”

“Are you sure?” he says. “Don’t worry, I may be a dog, but I won’t bite.”

I don’t want to wait for an hour.

“Don’t try anything,” I say, pointing at him while I get to my feet.

He puts his hands up. “You’ve got a pretty inflated opinion of yourself.”

“Just shut up, okay? Just, try not to talk. Where’s your car?”

“So you
do
want a ride?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Where’s your car?”

“Alright, alright,” he says, falling into step with me. My shoulder rubs against his, but I pull away. Still, it leaves my heart beating quicker.

“Over here,” he says, and we walk a little ways down the street. There I see what looks like a sports car. Not just a sports car, but a real
boy’s
car, too. It’s ugly as hell.

“Mazda RX-8,” he says.

“I really don’t care about your car.”

“Well, to be fair, muscle was always my thing, but this was a prize. I can’t really complain.”

“You won a sports car?” I cry, flabbergasted. “How?”

“My under-eighteen amateur MMA tour through Asia.” He shrugs. “Corners well.”

“Your insurance must be insane.”

He unlocks the car, opens the door for me, and then puts out a hand.

“What?” I ask.

“Give me your shit.” When he sees my expression, he says, “I’m not going to fucking steal it, Cass. I’m just going to put it in the back seat.”

It’s not…
‘my shit
’.