Dakota’s POV
‘Tank?’ I croaked, looking into the flushed face of the guy who I thought had been my friend as he dropped a bag he was carrying by the door.
The basketball player flinched, ‘I hate it when you call me Tank’ he mumbled as he sat down on the bed, placing a hand on my ankle as I flinched, making his eyes narrow. ‘My friends call me Tank, but you, you are more than my friend, you know that’ he continued, leaving his hand by my foot, though he didn’t try to touch my skin again.
‘Tank’ I started again
‘Greg’ the teenager ground out, anger flashing in his eyes, ‘call me Greg.’
‘Greg’ I repeated hurriedly, ‘where are we?’
Tank smiled widely at my question, ‘don’t worry Kota’ he said softly, ‘no-one will find us here, we are in one of my father’s old buildings. No-one comes here
