He plops down next to me, close enough that we’re almost touching, but far enough away that we aren’t. “So, onto fun topics. Where did you go to college?”
“Slippery Rock University, in western PA.”
His eyes light up as he sits back up. His knee brushes mine. I almost jump fifty feet in the air. He doesn’t seem to notice though because he inches closer. “Well, that’s a coincidence. I went to Grove City.”
“That’s the next town over! My roommate’s brother went to Grove City. We used to visit all the time. I wonder if we were at any parties together.”
A dark shadow crosses his face but vanishes so fast I wonder if it was a reflection from the disco ball spinning over the dance floor. “We might have…, but I only spent two years there. I left to backpack through Europe, Asia, South America, Africa, Alaska. Pretty much the world,” he says. “A while back, I started writing articles for travel magazines. It’s a pretty good gig, and most of my travel expenses are paid for.”
Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “I’m a writer too, or at least I want to be. I haven’t written anything yet.” My eyes open wide as I realize I just revealed this embarrassing truth about myself. I am not a writer. Writers write. Damn that red wine. I manage to choke back the remainder of the useless details I’m about to babble on about. “What magazines do you write for? Maybe I’ve read an article.”
The disco ball lights across his face again, casting him in blue, purple, and orange. “Backpacker, Outside, Runner’s World, National Geographic, you name it, I probably had an article or photo published in it.”
“Photography too? Just call me, boring and dull. I haven’t been outside Wellsboro, since I graduated from Slippery Rock.” There I go again. Damn those shots.
His expression remains fixed after the humiliating backstory I regurgitated about myself. To my surprise, he doesn’t disappear into the crowd in search of someone less needy. Instead, he leans toward me, as if I’m the most interesting person in the room. “Where do you work?”
And cheeks to ‘oh my sweet Jesus, get this girl to the hospital.’ I suppose it’s fitting that the most exciting, worldly person in the room asks me the one question I’ve managed to avoid all night. My answer destined to be the ultimate deal breaker. “Ahhh…,” I say. He leans closer, making it all the more difficult to concentrate. Breathing’s a bit of an issue too. “Ahhh…,” oh god, I don’t want to tell him, I don’t want to tell him. “I’m a waitress at a diner.” A full on, scarlet L emblazes across my forehead. “I want to write and travel, definitely travel, but I have crazy student loans and other bills.” Painful truth revealed, now redirect. “What about you? Where are you going next?”
Sympathy lines etch his forehead and the sides of his mouth. His reaction does nothing to help my self-esteem. I search the room for someone, anyone to save me from myself. Hell, I even consider my chances of ducking and running to my room—I’d never see Jeb again and Cassie would find me eventually. Thankfully, he takes mercy on me. “I’m leading a tour into Tibet next week,” he says.
That got my attention. “Tour guide too?”
He lounges back against the sofa, far more comfortable in his surroundings than I could ever be, even after a lion’s share of alcohol. “Who better than someone who travels the world for a living? I’ll spend five weeks there, and then I leave for a dig in Egypt.”
“You’re an archaeologist?”
He drums his fingers on the sofa. “Two years of college remember?”
I nod my head up and down. At least I bobble well. “I have a friend who’s heading the dig. She lets me hang out and play with the dirt.”
SHE. He has a She. Damn. No, that’s good. No pressure. Besides, I have Drew. I love Drew. Jeb and I are old classmates catching up with each other. Innocent and harmless, completely harmless.
Someone grabs my knee. My knees have gotten more action in the last hour than I normally get in a month. I look up to see who else is groping me. Light brown hair in a sloppy up do, minimal makeup, and doe brown eyes—Kinsley Myers, my high school running buddy, could be my twin, except for the eyes. Mine are green. “Hey Tiff, we didn’t get to talk on the dance floor. What’s new?” Her eyes dart to Jeb.
“Kinsley, this is Jeb Rolles. He went to Elkmont his freshmen and sophomore year,” I tell him.
No flicker of recognition registers in her eyes as she reaches out to shake his hand. “Jeb, I don’t remember you, but it’s nice to meet you.”
He studies her unfortunate, oversized boney hand. The hot pink nail polish doesn’t begin to hide her gnawed fingernails. His lips curl down, as his hand hovers in his personal air space. His eyes flick to me, before he swallows and shakes it. “Nice to meet you, Kinsley.”
Kinsley sits down on the edge of the sofa across from us. She cracks her fingers as if preparing for battle. Jeb recoils into his seat. I don’t blame him, because even though the finger cracking is a nasty habit, her interrogation techniques are downright brutal. “So Jeb,” she begins, “did you come to the reunion for business or pleasure?”
He glances over at me and smiles. “Both.”
And for more time than I care to count, Kinsley launches question after question. “Did you find your experience at private school different than public school? Would you care to elaborate? Do feel that your varying high school experiences helped shape your college years? Did you participate in the marching band in high school? Did you enjoy music class? Were you classically trained?”
Jeb answers her in short, clipped, one or two word responses. Each time he fails to answer a question to her satisfaction, she redirects him. Somehow he manages to avoid providing any detailed accounts of his whereabouts after Elkmont. I should take lessons from him because as soon as his testimony draws to a close, she launches her Tiffani Watson Inquisition.
With her attention shifted elsewhere, Jeb runs his hand up and down his leg, as if to remove any trace of her.
As for Kinsley, I’m sure her tenacious nature earns her top marks in the courtroom, but I find her persistence annoying and inconvenient. I want Jeb to tell me all about the far off lands he’s traveled to. I want him to describe the foods he’s eaten and the cultures he’s experienced. I want to discover destinations that I’ve never even dreamed of visiting.
When my brain reaches its limit and I’m about to tell Kinsley to shove off, Cassie crashes into the sofa. “Sorry, sorry,” she giggles. She stumbles over Kinsley’s leg and shoves her ass into the nonexistent space between Jeb and I. She wraps an arm around me and kisses my cheek. “Miss me?”
“Of course,” I reply.
“I’m Cassie,” she says. She reaches over to squeeze his thigh. Her boobs just about pop out the top of her black hoochie mama dress.
“Jeb,” he replies without even blinking at her overexposed chest. He glares at her French manicured tentacles clutching his leg. He blinks and his face rearranges into a mask of control. He shifts away from her as he stands up. “Drink?”
I nod in confirmation and try to go with him, but my hips are pinned between Cassie’s and the arm of the sofa. His hand caresses my shoulder. Tingles run down my arm. He leans down to my ear. “Stay,” he orders just above a whisper. “I’ll bring you something.”
His breath sends scorching tingles up and down my neck. As he walks away, I resist the urge to run my fingers through my hair to check if it’s smoldering. What am I getting myself into?
Chapter Seven
Allie plops down in his spot. “What’s up with this one and the singer? Is she drunk?”
“Leave her be,” Cassie warns. “The girl deserves some fun once in a while, and if she doesn’t, I most certainly will.”
“That, I don’t doubt,” Allie laughs.
Seconds feel like minutes. Minutes like hours. Time stopped with Jeb’s departure and I can’t wait for someone to hit the play button. Sudden shifts and adjustments of dresses on the sofas announce his return, as if his pheromone levels alone aren’t
enough to alert everyone within a five hundred yard radius of his approach. Every organ south of my panty line tightens.
“My lady,” he says, handing me a glass of red wine. My inner goddess jumps up and down that he knew my favorite drink without asking. To this day, Drew brings me white zinfandel, even though I stopped drinking it my sophomore year of college.
He doesn’t offer the second glass to Kinsley or Cassie, although they both reach for it. Instead he leans against the arm of the other sofa and takes a long, deliberate sip. Suddenly parched, I down half the glass before I remember it’s wine, not water. I pull the glass away from my lips, but it takes every ounce of my strength.
“Did I take your seat?” Allie asks him. The shit eating grin on her face sends sniggers up and down both sofas. Then, she winks at me. “I’m off to visit anyway. She’s all yours.” She yanks Cassie and Kinsley with her, and they disappear into the crowds.
He steps toward our sofa, but unfortunately, he doesn’t move fast enough. Chaniqua Tine slides into his spot instead. He’s forced to sit on the other sofa because he’s far too much of a gentleman to squeeze between us like Cassie did.
Before I can blink, Chaniqua fires question after question. “What have you been up to? How’s Drew? How long have you two been dating? I heard you and Drew live together. What degree did you end up with? Can you believe the decorations? When are you and Drew getting married?”
Each time she mentions Drew, I wince inside. Jeb knows my boyfriend gave me a promise ring. I know he goes on digs with a She, but that’s the extent of our love life conversation. I know it shouldn’t bother me when she asks about Drew. He’s an integral part of my life and everyone loves him. Jeb and I are just old classmates catching up. Nothing more. Although, I’d much rather ask him if its customary to eat Tom Kha Gai with a spoon or with chopsticks because I still haven’t figure out whether it’s a soup or a dish, than hear about her Uncle Bob’s disturbing encounter with a weedwacker.
I steal a glance in his direction and roll my eyes. The corners of his lips turn up, but he doesn’t smile. He’s all alone on the sofa. Poor Jeb. He suffers from the unfortunate effect of rock star status syndrome: adoring fans, no friends. I’m tempted to hop over to talk to him, but I’ve never been so bold. Haley and Lara take the spots on either side of him instead.
In no time, Haley is running her hand up and down his thigh and whispering in his ear. Not wanting to go unnoticed, she flashes me a cruel smile, as if she’s won the grand prize she knew I wanted. Lara’s left hand paws his chest, just below his nipples. Her right arm snakes around his neck. As the seconds tick past, her hand sinks lower, traveling across the six packs I remember so well.
My foot taps a loud, fast rhythm on the hard floor. I shift in my seat to avoid looking at what Haley and Lara are doing. It’s none of my business anyway. As a singer, girls throw themselves at him all the time, but for some unknown reason, I thought he was above base debauchery. It’s none of my business anyway. I have Drew. I love Drew.
I twist and pull and tug on my promise ring.
“Everything alright, Tiff?” Chaniqua asks.
I snap my head around. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Why?”
She twirls a long black curl around her finger. “You seem a little tense.”
I cross my arms. “I’m fine.” I do my best not to peek over at Jeb, but the temptation’s too great. The corner of his lip pulls back in a half smile as he leans into Lara. I shake my head and turn away. My entire leg vibrates as my foot tapping shifts into hyper drive. I don’t care about Jeb. I have Drew. I love Drew.
My eyes blink in quick succession as I try to ignore the giggles and what is that, moans, fucking moans. Why the fuck are they moaning?
I don’t what to know.
I want to know.
I have to know.
Just as Medusa in all her rage and fury prepares to turn those two bitches to stone, Cassie barrels into the sitting area. She paws at my hand, misses, paws again, misses. Finally, on her third try she manages to catch it and yank me from the sofa. “Shot time!”
Desperate for a drink and a distraction, I allow Cassie to bunny hop me to the bar. Midway, someone captures my freehand. As soon as she feels resistance, she releases my other one. The incessant drive to drink stops for no friend.
Intense amber eyes burn into mine. “We didn’t finish our conversation.”
“You were busy with your little whores,” I snap. “I mean classmates.”
I hear Allie’s loud, “READY?” in the background. Shots don’t wait for friends, either.
Jeb reaches for my other hand. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you jealous Miss Watson?”
“Jealous? Jealous of what?” I try to back away from him but his grasp is too firm and my efforts half-assed. “You can talk to anyone you want to. If you chose to spend your time with brainless bimbos, that’s your decision.”
He slides closer to me. The room shrinks to contain only the two of us. “The only person I’m interested in talking to, is you, Miss Watson.” A back flip, followed by a front round off leaves me with an overwhelming need to pee.
“Would you excuse me for a moment?”
He tightens his grip, grounding me to this tiny sliver of space. “I just got you back.”
Embarrassment colors my cheeks. Damn my pale complexion. “I need to use the ladies room.”
He inches closer to me, eliminating the remaining space between us, our lips separated by a single wisp of breath. The pressure on my bladder becomes unbearable. I do my best not to squirm in a drunk pee-pee dance, but his proximity makes it impossible. He murmurs in his gravelly voice, “Would you like me to walk you there?”
YES! YES! No. NO. Unable to breathe, let alone think, I step away from him and release his hands. A rush of cool air returns my senses. “Stay, I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t take long Miss Watson,” he warns. His threat, both a warning and a promise.
Chapter Eight
Glancing in the mirror, I don’t recognize the girl, the woman, smiling back at me. Her green eyes sparkle from either the alcohol or the soft glow of the fluorescent bathroom lights. Her cheeks are flushed enough for everyone to assume it’s her natural healthy glow. I laugh at the reflection. It’s hilarious to think that a person working twelve hour shifts in a diner has time for sunbathing. I reapply more red lipstick—glad I went with the sexy shade instead of my favorite clear lip gloss.
Straightening up, I smooth down my dress. The cut flatters my figure, showing off my hips and waist in all the right places, but there’s nowhere near enough cleavage showing. When Cassie and I went shopping, I thought the dress was a good compromise between the smart navy blue wrap I picked out and the ‘gentlemen start your engines’ number Cassie thought I should buy, but now, I realize it’s more “Downton Abbey” and less “American Top Model.” I glance around the bathroom to make sure I’m alone before I push up my boobs to expose just enough mounded flesh for men’s imagination to take over. Finally satisfied, I wave at my intoxicated sexy self and saunter out of the bathroom.
In the silent hallway, the hair on the back of my neck stands up, empty except for one lone individual. Isaac, the bartender from earlier, leans against the deep red wall that leads to the banquet room. He pushes off when I’m a few yards away. “Happy to see me?”
I allow him one small smile to acknowledge his presence. I’m a little tipsy but I pretend I’m sober or nearly. The edge of his mouth turns up. A hint of danger dances across his deep brown eyes. He isn’t fooled by my half-assed performance—he’s a seasoned professional. He knows exactly how drunk I am. He steps toward me, eliminating the socially acceptable outer circle of personal space. “I came to rescue you. Are you ready for that other shot?”
Without another soul in the hallway, I feel weak and vulnerable. I sidestep away from him. “That’s sweet of you to offer, but I’m having a great time. My friends finally showed, and I’m catching up with old classmates.” I fail
to mention that I’ve spent the most time with a classmate I don’t even remember.
“Come on,” he says, grabbing my elbow. He tries to pull me. “Just one shot.”
I plant my feet and stand firm. Between the heels and the wine, that’s not much. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m heading back to the reunion.”
“Come on, just one shot, or,” he pauses and turns back to me. “I can make your night very memorable.” He edges closer. His hot alcohol-laced breath curls my hair.
“Get off me, right now.”
“Or what,” he purrs. He grips my back with his right hand. His left clutches my shoulder. “You know you want it.”
Before I can respond, a blur of movement smashes him against the opposite wall. He stands dazed while Jeb tenderizes his face. Wads of spit and blood spray all over the wall, the gold carpeting, the ceiling. When Isaac’s face resembles Quasimodo, Jeb rams his right elbow into his throat. His left hand pins Isaac’s right shoulder to the wall. “The lady asked you to leave her ALONE,” he growls, baring his teeth. I wouldn’t be the least surprised if sharp fangs protruded from the corners of his perfectly lined teeth.
Blood seeps from Isaac’s split lip. He doesn’t answer Jeb, but it might be because Jeb is crushing his larynx. “If I catch you bothering this woman again, you WILL regret it. Understand?”
Isaac nods, and Jeb releases him. He crumbles to the floor, with his hands clutching his throat. Large black orbs have replaced Jeb’s golden ones. His lips curl into a ferocious snarl. He pulls back his leg, the movement clearly defining his intention. Isaac cowers in the corner.
I can’t let Jeb, my savior, reduce himself to violence just to protect my honor. It’s too much to ask of him. It’s too much to ask of anyone. I reach for his arm. “Jeb, don’t,” I beg, “please don’t hurt him.”
He steps back, shuffling sideways to regain his footing. He doesn’t take his eyes off Isaac. A vein in his forehead pulses in an angry rhythm. “But he touched you without your permission. He wanted to do things to you. Horrible things. He ought to be punished.”
And Then He: A Rogue Mountain Billionaire Novel Page 3