HORNS (BoyXBoy)

Chapter 189

Chapter One Hundred and Eighty-Nine

The Second Floor of the Benson University Center stank to high hell.

Maybe it was because of all the people milling around the food courts, or maybe it was because the entire place felt cramped, or maybe it was the variety mixture of unhealthy foods all being cooked in cheap ways for students to eat quickly and efficiently--I had no fucking idea.

"Smells like rotting beef in here," I muttered, setting my chin on my palm and slumping on the edge of the cafeteria table I'd chosen to sit at. Nearly every other table was full, butt after butt crammed onto the little round black-plaster stools built into the equally round tables. I studied all the kids standing in lines waiting to get food at all the different restaurants.

Lunch rush and all that, I figured.

It was like a mall food court, but more chaotic, with scuffed white tile floors and lots of different restaurants ranging from McDonalds to Burger King to Starbucks and another Panera Bread. I took a deep breath that nearly made me gag and swiveled my head to the left to cast a look at Meo, who was sitting beside me, stiffly, refusing to move or look around.

His shoulders were literally above his ears.

"How you holding up?" I asked pleasantly, giving him a fake, shit-eating grin; he didn't move an inch, though his pale pink eyes did dart in my direction. I could barely see them behind the pair of tinted glasses I'd given him, which was good, since the vibrant color was way too strange and noticeable for someone with features reminiscent of an Arab, illusory or not.

To be honest, I'd done well with replicating the ogre's overall human guise, though unlike Rahn I still didn't know how to apply glamour to someone's eyes without them looking like the person in question had gone blind, and the surly fae had threatened to break my hand into splinters if I tried to make him wear contacts after I'd explained to him what they were.

Hence why his were still pink and why I'd asked him to wear the sunglasses.

I waited for him to answer me, raising an eyebrow as the seconds dragged on. His burly shoulders twitched when I moved, reflexively.

"You look scared shitless," I snorted, raising an irritated eyebrow at him. "Take a deep breath and lower your shoulders, you look like I'm holding you hostage or something."

"If I take a deep breath," he said in a very low, rumbly growl, "your clothing will rip."

I made a face, but he did have a point: my biggest t-shirt was visibly straining against his bulky shoulders and chest, stretched to the point of no return. I'd also been forced to give him some stretchy checkered pajama pants because nothing else I owned fit his body type, and worse, I'd caught other people staring openly at his crotch when we'd gone out because, hello, having no underwear on meant his junk was free to do whatever it wanted beneath the fabric while he walked. He was literally too damn hung for his own good.

I can't believe he smirked at me when I saw his dick earlier, I silently muttered, still a little angry and put off by the superior twist that had warped the ogre's thin lips. I cringed and shuddered, shaking my head free of the searing mental images. Cocky son of a bitch.

Literally and figuratively. Bastard.

"Sorry," I dryly apologized, irritably drumming my claws against the table surface. "It was the best I could do, and anyway, I'm just glad you're wearing clothes in general since I'm still a little peeved about how you flashed me as I was coming out of the bathroom."