The College Bad Boy's Target
“Seriously, Ryder. Knock it off.”
But he only smirked wider, stepping closer. “I’m just curious. What do you even do for fun, Ollie? Crosswords? Knitting? Reading love poems to your cat?”
Laughter erupted. My ears burned.
“Funny,” I said tightly. “You must stay up all night rehearsing this stuff.”
“Oooh.” Ryder tilted his head, pretending to be impressed. “He’s got claws.”
One of his teammates, the blond guy with too much cologne, chuckled. “Careful, Ryder. He might write you a mean essay.”
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