9. Dangerous Moves

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Darius

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Darius

   A bolt of pain shoots through my right arm as I hit the punching bag crookedly. I clench my teeth and curse under my breath.

   I can't seem to get the sight of Grae who is gritting his teeth so hard they might break whilst storming out of class, leaving a very frustrated Briar behind, out of my mind. Her hair was put up in one of those messy buns, and every time she moved her head it bounced. Her brown eyes were narrowed, and her pink lips pursed.

   Dammit, stop thinking about her. It's fucking you up, making you off-balanced and unfocused.

   My breaths are heavy as I take another swing at the bag. The impact of my fist hitting the hard sandbag jolts through my arm. Sweat is forming by my hairline and across my chest. My upper body is numb from working out. Even my quads and glutes are starting to feel it.

   It's been tense between us guys ever since that diner incident, but things had finally started to loosen up. Until three days ago, when everything was turned upside down, again.

   I don't get why I am surprised. Briar continues to show up in our lives no matter what we do to make her stay away. Nothing fucking works. I'm blaming it on the fact that she's a psychology student and probably knows us better than we do ourselves. Yeah, I did some digging about her. It wasn't that hard since Elias' father is the chancellor.

   My mind races as I punch at the punching bag. Muscles clench from the collision impact, and the bag sways away from me.

   Thoughts of what we could have done differently, or things we might have done wrong circle through my head. Self-blame is a reoccurring problem of mine. The only difference is, now it might be deserved.

I've never kept a secret from the guys before. Until now.

   I don't know what I was thinking last weekend. Bringing her into our home? I could just go ahead and invite us into our lives.

It was reckless...

Punch.

Careless...

Punch.

Stupid...

Punch.

Dangerous.

Punch.

   I take a break to catch my breath. It comes out my nose like staggered, rapid huffs. I lay a hand on the bag, stopping it from swinging back and forth.

   Being around her does something to me. I don't know what, and it scares me. I can't figure her out. It's impossible to anticipate her next move but at the same time, she anticipates every one of mine.

   I don't trust her, and I don't particularly like her either. As the situation is, I can't afford to like her either way. She doesn't like me, that's for sure. Why do we always end up entangled in each other's lives?

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