Savage Royals (Boys of Oak Park Prep 1)

“Dude. Mason. Calm down.”

“You calm the fuck down! What are we going to do about this shit? It’s unacceptable.”

Yeah. Whatever the hell these guys were arguing about—or not arguing, I really couldn’t quite tell what the second guy thought about any of it—I didn’t want to get in the middle. Another thing my dad had taught me was how to recognize the hint of danger in someone’s tone, and both of these boys made all my red flags go off.

I pulled open the door to slip back outside, but as I yanked on it, the first voice called over the railing one flight up.

“Hey!”

Fuck. They better not accuse me of eavesdropping. It’s not my damn fault they decided to have their little confab in a public stairwell.

Reluctantly, I turned around—

And stopped short.

It was two of the guys I’d seen in the convertible the other day.

The one with chocolate-brown hair was taller than I’d realized, and his aristocratic brows drew together as he stared down at me, just like they had when he’d seen me checking him out through the back window of the town car.

His friend was the one with hair so black it almost looked blue in the fluorescent light. It was cut close on the sides and longer on top, the straight strands messy and spiky. He had a strong nose, a defined jaw, and his shoulders were broad as fuck. They were wearing the male version of the uniform I was, but he’d taken off his blue jacket, and his ripped shoulders and biceps filled out the fabric of his dress shirt like they might split the seams at any moment. His ice-blue eyes were kind of blank, almost a little scary, as he joined the other boy in staring down at me.

I realized belatedly that I was staring too, gaping at t

hem like I’d done in the car with Jacqueline. What was it about these guys that knocked me back on my heels like this? I was usually pretty quick on the draw, especially when it came to self-preservation, which for some reason, this moment seemed to.

It felt like I needed to get out of here as fast as I could.

As though sharing a small, confined space with these two boys, however gorgeous they might be, was hazardous to my health.

Slowly, I reached for the door handle, but the brown-haired boy’s voice whipped out again.

“What are you doing?”

I turned back toward him, releasing the door so it fell shut with a thud. “I’m looking for my classroom. I don’t want to be late.”

He was the first one I’d heard speak—the one the other boy had called Mason. I was sure of it. There was still a hint of anger in his expression, and he narrowed his eyes at me like I’d personally affronted him somehow by trying to use the fucking stairs. Then he stepped back from the railing, holding out his hand.

“Let me see.”

I could’ve just slipped back out into the hallway I’d come from, but the first kid I’d asked had told me I needed to go up these stairs—and I still didn’t know where to go after that. It was either deal with this guy or be late to class for sure.

So I walked up the steps toward him, clutching my schedule so hard I wrinkled the paper. His buddy leaned back against the wall, watching my approach with half-hooded eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets.

The stairs were broad, and there was plenty of space for all three of us on the landing, but as soon as my feet cleared the last step, I felt like all the oxygen had evaporated from my lungs.

Maybe it was because the tall guy who was too beautiful for his own good hadn’t moved back to make room for me, and we stood only a few feet apart. He smelled like cedar and spice, and I found myself licking my lips, as if I could capture a little of that delicious aroma on my tongue.

He didn’t miss it either. His gaze tracked the movement, and his eyes sparked with something like satisfaction, even though the anger in them still burned hot and dark, like a fire behind his irises.

“What class?”

His voice was low, and I had to blink and shake my head before I could get my mouth to work well enough to answer him.

“US History.”

“Let’s see.”

He held his hand out again, and I extended the schedule toward him. I expected him to take it from me, but instead, his large hand clamped around my wrist, pulling me even closer to him. I stumbled in surprise, and my heart slammed in my chest as everything about him invaded the bubble of my space—his breath, his scent, his tall form. The slightly crumpled schedule filled the small space between us, as if the two of us had our heads bent over a treasure map.