Chapter 7 Like A Predator

ROSE

“Hey, did I leave my phone at—”

My sentence trailed off the second I saw Drake standing frozen at the kitchen counter.

The atmosphere inside the loft had shifted completely. If just a few minutes ago the tension between us had been thick and heavy, now the air had instantly turned to ice. Drake’s untouchable, terrifying captain persona was back in full force.

His jaw was clenched so hard the veins in his neck bulged, and his eyes were locked on my phone as if it had just committed an international crime.

I stepped closer, my hand reaching out hesitantly. “Morvane? You good?”

Drake didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his massive arms across his chest, looming over me with a far more intense, judgmental gaze than usual—a strange, dangerous flash of anger burned in his icy-blue eyes.

“Who’s Leo?” he demanded. His voice was low, cold, and completely unyielding.

I furrowed my brow, my hand freezing mid-air. “What?”

“You heard me, Rose.” Drake stepped forward, closing the distance until I could feel the heat radiating off him, a wild contrast to his freezing stare. “Your phone lit up. There was a text from some guy named Leo. Said he just landed in Toronto and asked if he could sleep in your bed tonight.”

I blinked. My brain took a hot second to process what he was saying before reality smacked me in the face. He read my notifications? And he looks… pissed? Why the hell would he be pissed?

“How dare you read my private messages!” I snapped, my irritation instantly scorching away whatever awkwardness was left from the living room. I snatched my phone off the granite counter and clutched it to my chest like a shield. “And why are you interrogating me? It’s none of your business!”

“It becomes my business when some random guy tries to crash in my apartment,” Drake fired back, bracing his large hands on the kitchen island and leaning in until we were practically nose-to-nose. “We made a deal, Rose. No one on this campus can find out we’re living together. I am not letting you bring some guy from your past to stay here, mess with my peace, and spark a massive wave of campus gossip.”

I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. A guy from my past? Just some guy? Did he hear the ridiculous accusations flying out of his mouth?

“Yeah. So before he knocks on my door, tell him to go find a hotel,” Drake snapped, his eyes narrowing as if he were a predator guarding his territory.

I stared at his frustrated, rigid face, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He waited restlessly for my answer, his eyes darting over my face. The next second, the corner of my mouth twitched. The anger in my chest evaporated, replaced by an unstoppable urge to laugh.

Drake Morvane, the grumpy hockey captain who claimed he didn’t care about my existence and viewed me as a literal computer glitch, was currently having a mini existential crisis over a text message.

“Why are you smiling?” Drake growled, clearly insulted by my reaction. “I’m being serious, Rose.”

“You know, Morvane…” I stepped even closer, meeting his glaring eyes at point-blank range, deliberately dropping my voice to a mocking whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous right now.”

Drake completely froze. His pupils dilated, and for a fraction of a second, his icy facade cracked wide open, revealing pure, unfiltered shock before he violently ripped his gaze away.

"No, I don't."

"Yes, You are."

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped, a rare note of panic bleeding into his tone. “I’m not jealous. I’m just protecting my focus for Friday’s game.”

“Oh, really?” I chuckled, flipped my phone over, and tapped the screen. “Too bad your little theory about the ‘dangerous stranger’ is dead wrong. Leo is my cousin. He’s in town for an internship interview, and he’s actually the idiot who accidentally messed up my housing application and caused this double-booking in the first place.”

I turned the screen around and shoved it right in front of his face. I’d just sent the reply: ‘Are you kidding me? Thanks to you, I’m currently sharing a loft with a polar bear. Find a hotel, or you’re dead to me.’

Drake stared at the screen, then slowly looked back up at me. An incredibly loud, awkward silence swallowed the kitchen. Slowly, a faint, dark-red flush crept up his neck, staining his ears. He cleared his throat softly, straightened his spine, and suddenly became profoundly interested in the tips of his own sneakers.

“Cousin,” he muttered, his rough voice softening. Was that... relief?

“Yes, my actual blood cousin,” I said, slipping the phone into my pocket. “So, Captain, do you still need to interrogate me about the security of your precious turf?”

Drake turned stiffly, grabbed his hockey bag, and walked to his bedroom without looking back. Just before he closed the door, he muttered something that made my heart flip.

"There’s one more thing."

The sudden change in his tone sent a shiver straight down my spine. The warmth vanished, leaving his face cold and rigid. He stepped slowly toward me, closing the distance effortlessly. His face went cold and rigid. He stepped slowly toward me, closing the distance effortlessly.

"One thing I need to make sure of," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

I glared at him, trying to look defiant, but my heart was racing. Before I could respond, he moved quickly, pushing me back until my knees hit the cushions, pinning me on the sofa beneath his massive frame.

"You shouldn't have drawn that, Rose," Drake growled, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrated straight through me.

His eyes locked onto my lips, and I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin. Whatever strict, rational walls he normally kept up had crumbled, leaving something raw, dark, and possessive in their place.

"I already told you, I was just... admiring your proportions. For art," I choked out, trying to sound defensive, but my voice betrayed me, coming out in a breathless, uneven stammer. It was a pathetic excuse, and judging by the dark glint in his eyes, he knew it too.

"Art, huh?" A dark, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

He shifted his weight, pressing his heavy frame a fraction of an inch deeper against me, burying me into the plush cushions. It was pure, unadulterated torture.

The friction of my bare thighs against the rough denim of his jeans sent a jolt of liquid heat straight to my gut. His large hands, still anchored at my waist, slowly slid up under the hem of my oversized shirt.

When his rough thumb brushed the sensitive skin along my ribs, I gasped, my back arching instinctively into his touch.

"So, does this 'art project' include how you're staring at my mouth?" he murmured, leaning in until his nose touched mine. He smelled intoxicating—like melting ice and expensive cologne. "Like you want me to kiss you?"