by Mia Harlan
My heart leaps with fear. If I scream, I know Charles and Tate will come running, but I’m paralyzed.
The front door flies open.
All that comes out of my mouth is a squeak.
The fluorescent lights from the hall illuminate the tall, broad-shouldered figure standing in the doorway. I sag with relief because it’s definitely not Father. The burglar isn’t much older than I am and he’s handsome, too. His thick, reddish-brown hair frames a sun-kissed face with a square jawline, and full, sensual lips.
Wait. Why am I thinking about his lips at a time like this?
He half swaggers, half stumbles into the suite. His eyes are hooded. To an untrained observer, he might look tired, but I’ve spent enough time around Father to know better. The guy’s steps are unsteady, his motions uncertain. I should be relieved that he’s drunk and clearly not a burglar, but instead, I break out in a cold sweat.
This must be Tate and Charles’s roommate, JJ, I tell myself. He’s just going to go to his room and fall asleep. He’s got no reason to hurt me. Everything will be fine.
Except, everything’s not fine. JJ doesn’t go to his room. He closes the front door, plunging us into darkness, and then heads straight toward me. I dive under the blanket and close my eyes, praying that he doesn’t spot me. He crashes into the coffee table. I barely suppress a yelp.
“What the fuck?” JJ snaps and swears some more. He mutters something about the furniture having been moved. I’d chalk it up to his being drunk but I realize he’s right. When the cleaners vacuumed up my mess, they pushed the couch and coffee table aside. Now, they’re out of place, and his anger is entirely justified. It’s also entirely my fault.
I shudder with fear and peek from under the blanket. Maybe I can make a run for it?
Moonlight filters in through a gap in the curtains, casting JJ in shadow. My eyes adjust and I watch him rub his injured shin. My stomach tenses with fear. Surely, the moment he looks at the couch, he’ll see me.
He takes a few stumbling steps parallel to the coffee table and continues to swear. He’s actually got a nice voice that would complement Charles and Tate’s beautifully if he were singing, instead of cursing.
His gaze travels toward the couch, and I feel another wave of fear. I hold my breath. By some miracle, he doesn’t notice me. He mutters something about dirty laundry and continues to move around the coffee table. I smell his woodsy cologne, then the familiar reek of beer. My stomach roils and I think I might throw up.
Then, JJ reaches for the hem of his shirt and lifts it. He reveals a patch of skin above the waistband of his low-riding jeans, followed by a hint of muscle. I swallow as he lifts the shirt further and pulls it over his head. I’m scared of him, but I can’t help reveling in the bulging muscles of his rock hard chest. The moonlight caresses his skin as his biceps flex. Then his shirt lands on the living room floor in a messy heap and I barely contain a squeak.
There’s a half-naked guy in front of me! With his mussed reddish-brown hair and low-riding jeans, he looks like he stepped straight out of my fantasy. Except, shouldn’t my fantasies all be centered around Tate? Or Charles?
JJ reaches for the button keeping his jeans closed. Instantly, my heart lurches and my pulse quickens. He’s not going to…he can’t be…He is. He’s taking off his pants directly in front of my face.
What do I do? Should I say something? Maybe I could pretend I just woke up? Would he know I’m lying? Should I just close my eyes and pretend to be asleep?
I should do any one of those things, but I don’t. I can’t tear my eyes away as JJ fumbles with the button on his jeans and pulls the zipper down. The sound of metal against metal echoes loudly through the living room. When he starts to pull his jeans down his hips, I finally come to my senses and slam my eyes shut.
What if he’s commando under there? Or he decided to take everything off in one fell swoop?
I also come to another realization. There’s only one reason he’d be stripping right in front of my face…he plans to sleep on the couch. I barely have a split second to panic. Then he lands right on top of me.
The solid weight of him crushes me and sends all the air rushing out of my lungs with a whoosh. Agony slices through my injured ribs. My breath catches in my throat, threatening to turn into a scream, but evaporates before it can take form. Each inhale is a struggle. JJ’s weight is crushing, but slowly, the pain starts to dissipate. Maybe I’ve gotten used to it. Maybe I’m in shock. Maybe those painkillers Dr. MacAulay gave me work miracles.
“What the fuck?” JJ slurs. His face is right on top of mine and he sends a wave of beer-laced breath into my face.
“Get off.” I whimper as I inhale my worst nightmare.
“Oh, I plan to.” He smirks down at me, lacing me with another round of beer breath.
The smell is a stark reminder of how much danger I’m in. There’s a drunk guy on top of me. A drunk, naked guy and I want him gone!
I start to struggle in earnest, despite how much my ribs protest. I want to shove him, but he keeps my arms pinned at my sides. I try to roll off the couch, but his hard, muscular body holds me in place.
No matter what I do, I can’t throw him off and the pain is almost too much to bear. The once-dull bruises revive with searing agony. I inhale in slow motion. Everything around me comes to a standstill. Then, JJ lets out a loud snore and I let out an even louder scream.
Chapter 18
“Roonie?!” Charles shouts as a door crashes open.
The throbbing pain makes it impossible to reply. The dead weight on top of me doesn’t budge and its owner lets out another loud, rumbling snore. His chest vibrates against mine. It reminds me that he’s half-naked, possibly even fully naked, and I flash back to all the hard muscle I saw while he stripped.
“What happened?” Tate bursts out of his room and runs toward me, footsteps echoing through the apartment. “Roonie? Are you alright?”
JJ doesn’t react. Apparently, he’s so drunk that screams and shouts have zero effect on him. He even sleeps through the suddenly blinding overhead lights.
“JJ!” Charles snaps from the light switch.
“What the hell, man? Get up!” Tate snaps from right next to me. He’s not wearing a shirt, but I only get a glimpse of his beautifully sculpted chest before he starts shaking JJ.
My ribs burn in protest and I slam my eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of pain.
“What? Huh?” JJ mutters, completely oblivious. He makes absolutely no move to stand. To make matters worse, he blows a gust of beer breath all over my face, and an instinctive wave of fear courses through me. Logically, I know I’m not in any danger. The pain will stop the moment JJ gets off of me. The beer and the flood of painful memories will, too. Plus, Tate and Charles are both sober. They’ll protect me, and they may not even have to. Not every drunk person gets angry like Father.
Then I remember JJ’s angry cursing when he crashed into the coffee table—a coffee table that was out of place because of me—and I forget all logic and reason. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
I’m barely even aware of Charles towering over me, shirtless, biceps flexing. He lifts JJ as though he weighs nothing. When he sets him down next to the couch, JJ stumbles, while I inhale lungfuls of air.
“Took your breath away?” JJ slurs, staring at me as he leans into Charles.
In my panic, my gaze lands on his crotch. Luckily, he’s wearing briefs. Unfortunately, they’re thin, tight and leave little to the imagination. His package starts to visibly grow under my intent stare, and I scramble back with a yelp.
“Who are you?” JJ demands, talking to my cleavage.
I glance down, too. My breasts are fully hidden under the delicate fabric of my pajama top, but when I look back up, I find all three guys staring intently at my chest. Feeling exposed, I grab my blanket and pull it tightly against my breasts. A blush covers my cheeks and I try to look anywhere but at the three roommates.
“JJ, this is Roonie,�
�� Tate says. “Roonie, this drunk idiot is JJ.”
I finally look back up. Tate’s wearing grey boxers and his hair is all mussed, like he just rolled out of bed. Charles’s hair is rumpled too, and his tight black boxers cup a growing package. The sight of it, of them—all three of them—half naked and towering over me makes my throat go dry.
They look like underwear models, all muscle and bare, exposed skin. I’ve gone swimming before, obviously, so it’s not like I haven’t seen shirtless guys. They’ve just never been this attractive and anyway, there is something way more intimate about being alone in a room with three half-naked guys.
“Why’s she here?” JJ gestures in my direction, though he’s off by a couple of inches. “Shouldn’t she be in your bed?” He looks at Tate, then reconsiders and turns to Charles. “Or yours?”
“No.” I squeak.
“Roonie’s our guest,” Charles says.
“How about you stay in my bed then?” JJ smirks at me.
“How about you go to bed alone?” Tate glares at him.
“I was going to sleep on the couch,” JJ grumbles.
“Because you locked yourself out of your room again?” Tate shakes his head. “Come on.”
JJ starts to protest, but Tate wraps an arm around JJ’s shoulder and guides his staggering form toward one of the bedrooms.
“Ooh, look at mister fancy sobriety,” JJ mocks as the doorknob rattles. I grimace at his angry tone.
The couch next to me shifts as Charles lowers his huge form onto it, and I jump and scramble back to make room.
“You okay?” Charles asks gruffly.
“Fine,” I say the word even though I know it’s a lie. I no longer feel safe here, not with JJ around. This castle of a dorm room was supposed to be my escape but now it fills me with fear.
Why is it that in all the time that I’ve dreamt of going to college—especially here at LUV Academy—I never thought about all the drinking that goes on campus? It’s the biggest part of the whole college experience. Keggers and frat parties and getting wasted and staggering home at all hours. How could I ever think I’d feel safe here?
“What happened to your arm?” Charles grabs my arm and examines some old bruises. He’s gentle, but I still yelp. My body’s too keyed up after my run-in with JJ and Charles is too close for comfort.
“I fell,” I lie, trying to pull my arm away, but Charles holds me in place. His grip is strong, yet gentle. He lifts his other hand and grazes the green, faded marks with large fingers. They don’t look like they could have been caused by a fall, especially not the one that happened today.
The bruises are almost a week old and could have easily been avoided. I’d been humming again, even though Father ordered me to stop multiple times. He’d been drunk at the time, but the only reason he grabbed my arm was to make me stop. If I’d just stayed quiet like he’d asked, it never would have happened.
My memories and the knowledge that JJ could come back into the living room at any moment make me tense. Charles watches me, concern evident in his eyes. He caresses my arm, his dark, piercing gaze traveling after his fingers. He slides them up my shoulder and neck, making me shiver, and gently cups my face.
His gaze shifts to my lips and the thought of him kissing me again makes me tremble. His earlier kiss seared me like fire, but this time he’s gentle with me. He leans in slowly, giving me a chance to pull away. I don’t. I lean toward him, wanting this—wanting him—when footsteps enter the living room.
I jerk away from Charles and turn to face Tate. It’s too late. He’s already halfway across the living room, which means he’s definitely seen us. He knows I was about to kiss Charles, but he doesn’t look upset or even surprised. He just gives me this knowing look that makes me blush from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
“I hope JJ didn’t freak you out too much,” he says casually, like what just happened wasn’t a big deal.
“I’m fine.” The response is automatic, but honestly, what am I supposed to say? That I’m not fine? That I can’t be around JJ and I want him gone?
“Great.” Tate smiles, completely oblivious. “We should get back to bed. Try to get some sleep before class tomorrow.”
“You have class on a Saturday?” I frown.
Tate nods. “Sessions with our vocal coach.”
Charles grunts in agreement and the couch shifts as he moves to stand. He goes to turn off the lights and Tate heads toward his bedroom.
“Wait!” I cry after them. I can’t stay here. Not when JJ could stumble out into the living room and find me. This is worse than living at home. At least there, I had a bedroom I could lock.
“Yeah?” The guys turn to face me, questioning looks mirrored on both their faces.
“I think I should go,” I whisper, getting to my feet. I grab the pink bag, which now holds my jeans and sweater, and hug it to my chest. “I’ll just go to the bathroom and change.”
“Go?” Charles frowns.
“Why, Roonie?” Tate stares at me intently. “And where would you go?”
I shrug and stare down at my feet. Anywhere is safer than here. It’s not like I have a choice, anyway. JJ lives here and I don’t. I’ve only been here a few hours so it’s obvious which one of us belongs.
“Roonie?” Tate presses. “What is it?”
“It’s JJ,” Charles tells him, his voice gruff.
“JJ?” Tate frowns. “He’s not a bad guy, Roonie. He’s just wasted.”
“I know.” I nod, because I get it. Father’s not a bad person either, deep down. He loved Mom, in his own way, and he never hurts me when he’s sober. JJ might be a decent guy, too, but it doesn’t mean it’s safe for me to stay.
“Look, if it makes you feel better, you can sleep in my room,” Tate suggests.
“Or mine,” Charles adds gruffly.
“I meant she could take my bed and I’ll take the couch,” Tate tells Charles with a frown.
Charles grunts.
“I can’t ask you guys to do that,” I whisper, even though I want to say yes. Tate’s done so much for me already—rescuing me, taking me to the doctor, giving me a place to stay. Charles has too. There are the clothes and the food and the fact that neither guy kicked me out after the bathroom flood.
I can’t pay them back for what they’ve done, and I definitely can’t keep taking. “I have to go.”
“No,” Charles snaps as I head for the door. He pushes past Tate and scoops me up like I weigh nothing.
“Charles?” I gasp as he cradles me gently against his bare chest, careful not to hurt me.
He doesn’t respond. He carries me across the living room, like a repeat of earlier, when he pulled me wordlessly across the apartment. The only difference this time, aside from him carrying me, is that he’s heading toward his bedroom.
He doesn’t stop until we’re both inside. I expect him to leave in a repeat of earlier, but he sets me down gently and closes the door behind us. We’re both plunged into darkness and my heart pounds in my chest.
My breath catches as he takes a step closer, until I can practically feel the heat radiating from his bare skin. His huge form is bathed in moonlight, a beastly silhouette against the partially curtained window.
He reaches forward, but instead of touching me, he flips on the lights. I become even more aware of him. He’s close—too close. We’re alone in his bedroom and all I’m wearing are the silk shorts and tank top Tate got me.
The thin material grazes my suddenly taut nipples and I yank the bag of clothes I’m holding against my breasts to hide my response. Then, my gaze lands on Charles’s bed. His huge, king-sized bed. The grey silk sheets are thrown back from when Charles scrambled out of bed to come to my rescue. I picture spending the night in that bed, with him, and my knees wobble.
“The door locks,” Charles tells me, turning it. My eyes widen.
Then he unlocks the door and twists the doorknob. A second later, he’s gone, leaving me in his bedroom.
&
nbsp; “Lock the door, Roonie,” he orders from the other side, and I do.
Chapter 19
I wake up smelling like Charles. That sounds a lot more exciting than it really is, since Charles isn’t actually here with me. He’s probably sound asleep on the living room couch while I’m stretched out diagonally in his huge bed.
Generously oversized sheets drape over me like a sensual embrace and I luxuriate in their silky smoothness. Music plays in the background, providing a dramatic instrumental backdrop to my morning. Charles’s phone, which he left charging on the nightstand, vibrates in time with the drums. It’s such a strange way to wake up, compared to my usual beeping alarm, but not in a bad way. It makes me feel like I’ve left the real world and entered a fairy tale.
In the dim morning light, the room looks like a fancy hotel. Not that I’ve ever been to one in real life.
Charles’s space is classic and sophisticated. It’s decorated in cool, masculine grays, from the silky sheets to the plush-looking rug and the thick drapes partially covering the window.
Over on the nightstand, the classical march continues. I reach for it and my ribs throb in protest. Nothing new there. I give it a few seconds and try again. Charles’s phone is sleek and expensive. I carefully tap to turn off the alarm.
As soon as the music stops, I become aware of the pouring rain outside. It drums against the window and for once I am glad not to be a student. I wouldn’t want to go out in that but luckily, I don’t have to. There’s no kitchen to clean, no breakfast to cook, and no laundry to do. For the first time in my life, I can stay in bed and sleep in. I snuggle into the pillow, inhaling Charles’s scent. Charles…who said he has class this morning!
I scramble out of bed, wincing in pain. How could I just turn off his alarm and go back to sleep when he’s going to be late because of me? What if Tate forgot to set an alarm? Or doesn’t wake him in time?
I rush for the door only to freeze when my fingers graze the doorknob. I don’t stop because I’m afraid of the roommate, JJ. Yeah, he might still be out there, still drunk from last night, but I know Charles will protect me. No, the reason I stop is my current outfit.