Love Letters From Hell

14 | locker room talk

Their laughter ceases.

The one with the bottle of water pauses, lowering his bottle, blinking water from his eyes and shaking his slick hair as Cinna shakes water off after a bath. Parker, I recognise. His already flushed skin flushes even more at the sight of me.

Aryan looks surprised to see me. His friends look wary. I think they're closing in on him a little, as if to protect him from the wrath of the crazy, coffee-throwing bitch who had dared raise her voice at Aryan fucking Shankar. Except for Herrera, stood at Aryan's left shoulder. Rafael looks like he might push Shankar forward if given the chance, his tatted arms crossed over his chest boredly.

Aryan's surprise wears off easily. He's wearing a shirt, I note. Well, it's cut off at the arms, more of a vest than anything, biceps still very visible. But at least that's less surface area for my eyes to wander around. He lifts a single curious brow at me.

"Emira?"

On cue, my blood boils.

Through gritted teeth, I find myself saying, "Charlie asked me to send you a message."

His lifted brow lifts even higher now. Even Rafael blinks my way at that, his bored expression shifting slightly.

I'd used the nickname again. His nickname for his friend.

He doesn't comment though, crossing his arms over his chest. They're shining with sweat. I don't drift any closer to the boys. They must fucking stink.

"Hm," hums Aryan, arms still crossed. I feel small next to these stupid tall, muscled boys and I want to single-handed my punch them all for it. But mostly, I want to punch Aryan and his dark, glinting eyes on my face. The light from the field behind them wreathes him, casting about his dark hair like a halo. The small smirk he delivers me is nothing angelic as he says, "Give me a moment."

"Wha—,"

But he's walking away, sweaty boys in tow and I blink, whirling.

Parker throws me a look over his shoulder as he goes but my glare is specifically for Aryan's retreating back. His vest is cut thinly at the back, granting me the view I hadn't gotten earlier. The smooth, slender muscles of his back flex as he laughs softly to himself, drifting away from me. "Just a second, Zahed. Wait for me," he calls, without turning around.

Hell no.

I charge forward but he's already ducked into the side of a building. I blink into the fairy dim hallway and the little bench that faces a wall in the small space. Aryan and his boys dip into a doorway against that wall and that's where I stop trying to follow, wrinkling my nose in quiet disgust. Boy's Locker Room.

Hell no 2.0.

The door swings shut behind them, and I stand still outside, irate. Herrera is the last to fall through and he tosses me a smirk over his shoulder as the door brackets me from him. When it shuts, I'm left glaring at nothing but blue paint.

I huff into the space.

There's no way I'm stepping in there. With all of them there. Eight sweaty shirtless boys in a shower sounds like something from a disgustingly bad porno.  Hell, from the way they'd looked at me all warily, maybe they'd pull out their cans of Axe body spray and point them at me in an attempt to defend their lord and saviour, Aryan Shankar.