Uncaged (An MMA Stepbrother Romance) (84 page)

“Yes,” I say, nodding.

“What do you think of Dunham?”

“He’s my history teacher. He’s—”

“A fucking idiot.”

“No he’s not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He’s got a doctorate, he’s written books on the first and second dynasties of Chin—”

“And
this
is where he is! Why do you suppose that is, if he’s so accomplished?”

“No shame in teaching in a good school.”

“Why don’t you ask him if he wanted to teach a bunch of stuck-up teenagers all day?”

“You’re in this school too, you know.”

“Not by choice.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you even know the point you’re trying to make,
Chance?
We happen to go to a very good school. You’re kind of undercutting yourself here.”

“He doesn’t know anything about anything useful. Is that what you want to be? In some stupid little corner, some narrow field of study, that nobody else gives a shit about? You want to go into academics? You want to live and die by what you publish? Have your work peer-reviewed by a bunch of cliquey circle-jerkers? You know they all just suck off their friends, don’t you? You know it’s all one big boy’s club.”

“Can you not be so vulgar? And, anyway, political science is not a narrow field, and my options will be open. I could go into academia, or I could go into, shock horror,
politics!
”

“Politics?” he blurts, laughing. “God, you’re precious.”

“And I can float between the two. I can always go back into academics anytime I want. What kind of prospects do
you
have?”

“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.”

“I thought you got caught for cutting last year.”

“I did,” he says. “But this year most of my teachers were women, so of course I made attendance minimums.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re so gross and up yourself.”

“Hey, I ain’t lying. Apparently I’ve attended the minimum number of classes required this year. That’s how I could graduate, but I know for a fact that I didn’t.”

“That’s so much bullshit.” I frown and I’m sure my expression darkens. 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.”

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

I fold my arms. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

“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.

“Trust me, I know much more about life than you do. 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 for real life? I mean, have you ever even had a job?”

“Yes, actually,” I say, feeling indignant. “I worked as a barista. 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.”

Don't start
, I think to myself. 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 don’t care. It’s disgusting. He’s a dog.

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

He grins, eyebrows flashing up. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You’re
proud
of it?”

He thinks for a moment, pushing his lips together, and brown eyebrows pinching together like two caterpillars meeting.

“Never really thought about it that way. It’s just what I do.” He smirks at me again, before getting up off the bench. “Come on,” he says.

“
Excuse me?
”

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

“Yuck. You’re gross,” I say, shaking my head. “No thanks.”

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

“An hour?”

“What, you didn’t check the timetable? I thought you knew everything.”

“I thought you knew nothing.”

“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 snap the book I was reading shut, and get up, sighing. I don’t want to wait for an hour.

“Don’t try anything.”

He laughs, and puts his hands up. “You’ve got a pretty inflated opinion of yourself, don’t you?”

“Just shut up, okay?” I say, irritated. “Just, don’t talk to me. Where’s your car?”

“So you
do
want a ride?”

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

“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 to the street. There I see what looks like a sports car. “Mazda RX-8,” he informs me.

“I don’t care about your car.”

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

“Someone gifted you a Mazda?” I cry, flabbergasted. I realize it’s not exactly uncommon around this area, but still, it looks expensive, and who would like Chance enough to give him a car?

Who would trust him enough to give him a sports car?

He unlocks the car and walks around to the driver’s side. “Well, get in!” he says. “You don’t think I’m going to open the door for you, do you?”

“Piss off, Chance. Just don’t talk, okay?” I snarl, climbing into the car.