Christian.
Adam poured him another shot. Christian looked glassy-eyed and unstable, his already pale complexion taking on a twinge of green. He licked his lips and picked up the glass with a shaky hand. Her brow furrowed. Someone had to stop this frat-boy nonsense.
She whirled around and gestured with her glass of wine, causing it to slosh over her hand. “Hey, cut him some slack, Adam. You guys are already shit-faced enough. The last thing I need is all three of you puking your guts out in the bathroom tonight.”
Her heart skipped as Adam leaned forward, muscled arms resting on the edge of the table. Black hat tipped down over his eyes. He looked like every woman’s fantasy. “Don’t listen to her, she wimped out a long time ago,” he said with a deep, manly voice that sent red-hot signals to all her female parts. “Are you going to be a sissy, Christian, or are going to man up and take that shot?”
The men were having a pissing contest, trying to see who could drink each other under the table first. She’d joined them, but then quickly wimped out because throwing up in the toilet wasn’t her idea of fun.
Christian’s eyes darkened with resolve. He cut her a glance. She shook her head vigorously. Don’t do it! she mouthed. Christian ignored her, picked up the glass and gulped down the liquid with a loud gasp. “Ten,” he shouted and slammed his glass on the table. “Take that, you rat bastards.”
Adam threw back his head and laughed. Deep belly laughs.
It looked good on him.
Trevor sat up and rejoined the conversation. “Ah, shit. Now we’re all even. Fuck, Christian. I thought it was going to be a hell of a lot easier to drink you under the table.”
Christian shrugged. “It’s well known that Armenians can hold their liquor.”
“You’re Armenian?” The words rolled off Rachel’s tongue before she could stop them. “I didn’t know that. I mean, you don’t look Armenian.” Like she was an expert on all things Armenian? She wanted to kick herself.
“I was born in Armenia, my last name’s Torossian and I look like I could hang out with the Kardashians. You can’t get much more Armenian than that.” He grinned at her.
She smiled at Christian, happy to see him relax, even if it was the alcohol talking. She studied him then, analyzed his dark hair, hawk-like nose, large brown eyes, pale skin with a hint of olive tone, and thought about it for a second… “Oh my gosh, you do look like a Kardashian. Like you could be their older brother.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. “So I’ve heard.”
Adam crossed his arms over his chest. “Armenians can’t hold their liquor any better than Mexicans, or Russians for that matter. I’ve drank with British, German and Russian soldiers, and I’m telling you, no one can out-drink a Russian.”
“Hey, my ancestors survived the Armenian Genocide, and I survived the damn apocalypse.” Christian threw an arm out. “After that, drinking amateurs like you two under the table should be a snap.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“Is that so?” Adam growled. “Well, my last name’s Sanchez, so I’m throwing one down for the Hispanics of the world. Armenians vs. Mexicans. May the best man win.”
Trevor managed to push himself off his chair and stand up straight, a lock of long blond hair falling in his face. “Oh, hell no. Christian did not just say that. Hand me the bottle. I’m throwing down too. We’ll see who’s an amateur. I’m representing all the white guys who ever lived. I’m not Russian, but Okies can kick your ass.”
“And I’m representing all the women from right over here with my little bottle of wine,” Rachel yelled out and saluted them with her glass.
“You do that, honey.” Trevor winked at her.
Rachel smiled back. She pushed a CD into the Bose system, reclined on the leather couch that lined the wall opposite from the men and smiled indulgently. Maybe living with Christian and Trevor wouldn’t be so bad.
Rachel looked up and her gaze collided with Adam’s. Again. He’d been watching her all night. There were two other men on the bus, but Adam was the only man she saw. Really saw. His eyes darkened, and he gave her a slow, suggestive smile that caused her nipples to harden and warmth to pool between her thighs.
Oh, yeah, she was getting some tonight.
Adam turned away to answer a question, and she watched the men reload their drinks, arranging three full shots on their small table, laughing and joking with each other. She loved their male-bonding vibe. The cold war had ended, and Trevor and Adam had reached some sort of détente. Trevor had seemed scary when she’d first met him, but he was growing on her too. So having her men—she laughed to herself, her men? Since when were they her men? Having all three of her men happy and together, enjoying each other and getting along…this was good, very good.
And then Trevor suddenly flopped onto the couch. Right next to her.
Her breath caught in her throat.
What the hell? She cut him a sharp glance. Nothing good would come from this. Her eyes darted to Adam, waiting for his reaction. Adam’s gaze slid over them both and lingered on Trevor. He paused, as if he were making some sort of important decision, gave Trevor a curt nod and looked away.
She tensed. What was that, some kind of secret guy code?
Trevor had hit it hard that first day, trying his best to lure her away from Adam. But she’d shot him down. Since then, he’d flirted, he’d charmed, but he hadn’t crossed the line. But now he was sitting next to her, leaning into her, all man, all handsome and all bad-boy dangerous.
Yikes.
Since Adam had been no help whatsoever, she took a sip of wine and looked away, trying to pretend Trevor wasn’t there.
“Rachel.” He placed a hand on her thigh.
She sighed. How was she going to break this to him, again, without being rude? “Trevor, I don’t think…” She flicked a glance at Adam again, hoping for some support, but he was talking to Christian, and the two of them were casual, relaxed, as if nothing strange was going on over here. How could he possibly be okay with another man hitting on her, right in front of him? What happened to what’s mine is mine? Why wasn’t he already up in Trevor’s face?
This was crazy.
She turned back toward Trevor, gazed into his fantastic blue eyes and got stuck. They pulled her in like a tractor beam. He grinned and she was gone, unable to shake his extreme magnetism. What woman would be able to? Trevor was certainly swoon-worthy material in his own right, a movie star in the making.
Oh wow, how insane was this new world? Men rarely hit on her like this in her old life, and certainly not men who looked like Trevor or Adam. Yeah, she’d weighed an additional sixty pounds back then, but still…
Trevor’s gaze took her in, concentrating on her chest and sliding up to her hair where his eyes seemed to soften. “You’re beautiful, Rachel.”
She blinked. What? He didn’t just say… “Beautiful? Thank you, that’s nice, but I—”
“And sexy.” His arm went behind her shoulders.
“Sexy?” She snorted into her glass of wine. “Now I know you’re really drunk.”
He leaned close, not touching her, but she was hyper aware of his gaze, which was glued to her tits. “Um, hello? My face is up here.”
His head lifted and his eyes glinted. “Your tits are stunning.”
She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine. “Oh gosh, not you too. Adam says the same thing.”
A smile flashed across Trevor’s face. “Great minds think alike.”
“It’s just the tank top.”
He crooked an eyebrow. “The tank top?”
“I know you think I’m sexy, but I’m really not.” She turned toward him. “Let me explain.” Uh oh. The poor guy had no idea what he was in for. She always talked too much when she drank. No one would ever need to waterboard her to reveal state secrets. All they’d have to do was get her drunk.
“You see, Trevor, just before the outbreak, I lost sixty pounds. Then I was taking care of my parents, my sister, freaking out over everyone dying, the world ending, you know? So I was going around in a lot of my old clothes, and they were all baggy, which is how I used to like my clothes anyway when I was heavier, so it didn’t bug me. But yesterday, I picked up this awesome sequined tank—” she plucked at her magnificent shirt, “—in the juniors section at Macy’s.” She leaned in close. “The juniors section. Kinda cool. Anyway, Adam threw out my old clothes, and he’s making me wear things that fit now, so I wore this tonight. And…and…this is form fitting and it’s just so pretty, isn’t it? It’s like magic. It makes me look better than I really am. So you see, it’s not me, it’s the tank top. Tomorrow, I could throw on another over-sized T-shirt and you’d never know the difference.”
“Stop.” He held a hand up. “You’re telling me you don’t think you’re sexy and you think I’m just mesmerized by your shirt?”
“Yes.” She nodded solemnly. “Oh, and you think I might be the last woman on Earth, so I’m looking pretty darn good to you, and on top of that, you’ve got your beer goggles on, so I look all sparkly and shiny. Believe me, a few months ago, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s fucked up.”
“Trevor,” Christian said, cutting into their conversation. “Get your ass over here and take your shot.”
Trevor leaned in close. Close enough for her to notice how his eyes were a curious blend of electric blue mixed with hints of navy.
Wow.
“Rachel, you’ve got great fucking tits, ass and hair. Men die for that shit. Learn how to work it.” She watched him, slack jawed, as he stood up and rejoined the others.
Her shaky hand reached for the bottle and poured the last bit of wine into her glass. Trevor wasn’t right. She was…sexy and beautiful? Come on. She’d lost some weight and now her breasts were suddenly the topic of conversation? She glanced down at her chest, wondering what all the commotion was about. She lifted her gaze and locked eyes with Adam.
Heat rushed up her neck and face. Great. He’d seen her checking out her own chest. She was such a nerd.
And why had Adam allowed Trevor to make a move on her, had almost seemed to condone it?
Rachel bit her lip and closed her eyes, avoiding Adam, avoiding everything.
She couldn’t deal with this. Seduction and flirtation were foreign concepts to her. While at college, after Justin had dumped her, she’d always partied with girlfriends and their boyfriends, gay-guy friends and guys who were friends of friends and safe. So she was a complete novice when it came to flirting and sexual innuendo. Not that that was bad, right?
The darkness behind her eyes swirled around her, drowning out her environment. God, it felt good to let it go, let it all go. All the weight, the responsibility of being amongst the last survivors on Earth and trying to start a new life. All the gut-twisting uncertainty, the despair and loss of hope.
She let go of the anguish over whether Adam really wanted her or was just settling because she was the only woman available, and whether he would drop her like a hot potato the moment he met someone better. Someone older and more experienced.
She just let that go.
It was all leaving, floating away. She felt light, weightless.
Marvin Gaye played and the men’s voices were a low, relaxing hum in the background…
Rachel blinked, surprised and disoriented. She sat up fast and put a hand to her fuzzy head. Where was she? What had happened? Had she drifted off for a second? An empty wineglass rolled off her lap and thumped to the floor. She ignored it.
Whoa. No more alcohol for her.
The room was quiet as a tomb, except for—wait, what song was that? The Bose music system still played “Sexual Healing” by Marvin Gaye? Her lips curved. God, she loved that song.
She glanced around the lounge area and found her three handsome men in varying degrees of disarray: Adam passed out, cowboy hat gone, face planted on the table, snoring. Trevor sprawled out, asleep on the floor. Christian dry heaving on the couch next to her.
Her shoulders slumped. Guess she wasn’t getting any tonight.
Christian stood up, swayed and fell back down, hand over his mouth. “I need—I have to—”
She blew air out between her lips and stood up. It figured. Of course this would happen. “Here, let me help you to the bathroom,” she said, resigned to her fate. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She knew exactly what to do.
Rachel efficiently slid her arm around Christian’s firm waist and helped him step over Trevor. He leaned into her as she led him down the hall and into the bedroom in the back of the bus.
Christian winced as she flicked on the blinding white light of the master bath. She let go and he slumped to the floor, immediately crawled over to the toilet and became violently ill. She closed the door and sat behind him, both of them barely fitting together in the tiny space. Wave after wave of nausea racked his body. Woozy and lightheaded, her mouth as dry as the Sahara, Rachel still managed to hold it together and absently rub his back with one hand. The poor guy sounded miserable.
Finally, he moaned and lifted his head, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“All done?” she whispered.
He nodded and leaned forward to flush the toilet. Then he flopped back against the tile wall, breathing heavily. Christian put a hand to his forehead and looked at her with bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know if I can do this. Why the hell do I even bother?” He dropped his hand, tilted his head back and gazed up at the ceiling, a single tear trailing down his cheek.
Her chest constricted. He’d lost his wife and children in the outbreak. God, how that must feel. She couldn’t even touch it. The idea of it burned a hole in her heart.
“Why do we bother going on when they’re all gone? Everyone’s gone.” He lowered his chin and pegged her with a tortured stare, as if he expected her to say something perfect, something profound that would fix everything.
Her throat tightened. She had nothing.
“My wife, my children,” he choked. “They all died, right in front of me. My children were bleeding, terrified, screaming for me to help them. But I couldn’t.”
Tears burned behind her eyes. “Oh my God, Christian.” She’d watched her parents die, her sister, her family. But she knew that was nothing compared to watching your small children die in front of you.
“They died, just like everyone else, hurting, bleeding out. They were so small. My daughter, Julia, was only six. Benjamin was eight. And there was nowhere left in any graveyard to bury them when they were gone, and no one alive to come to their funerals. I buried my wife and children in the backyard of our own house. In the backyard, next to the damn family pets. Trevor found me there, on the porch. I was trying to decide how to kill myself when he drove up.” More tears ran down his cheeks.
She scooted over next to him. There was no way she could watch this man crack wide open and sit at a distance. He allowed her to wrap her arms around him. He turned his face and burrowed it in her hair, his shoulders shaking as he wept. His arms came up and tightened around her, his fingers digging into the fabric at the back of her tank.
He was heavy but she took his weight, holding on. “I’m so sorry, Christian. I’m so sorry,” she cried.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, crying together. His pain was her pain. He’d lost everyone he’d loved, and so had she. But she understood his grief was greater, debilitating, and she had to help him through, help him out to the other side. Somehow.
Please God, let him find hope. She’d found hope with Adam, with this home they all shared, why couldn’t Christian find it too?
Finally, they remained still, all the violent emotions from earlier seeming to have drained away, leaving exhaustion in its wake.
She wiped her face with the back of her hand. Christian sat cross-legged, quiet, head bowed. She spied a small glass next to the sink, got up, filled it with water and handed it to him. He held it with trembling hands and gulped it down. She took it back and caught sight of a tube of toothpaste. Maybe he’d like something to chase away the bad taste? She squeezed out a dollop on the tip of her finger and sat back down next to him.
“Here, eat this.”
“What?” He opened his mouth slightly and she swiped her finger against his lips. He grimaced and licked.
“There, all done,” she said briskly. Just like taking care of a kid. She stood up and washed her hands, splashed some water on her face. “Okay, Christian, time to get up.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled.
“Uh, huh. Come on, let me help you.”
After a few false starts, she finally got him up and out the door. They took a few steps together into the master bedroom, and as soon as they hit the edge of the mattress, Christian fell onto the king-size bed and passed out.
“Well,” she whispered, “the other guys are spending the night passed out too in the front room. Guess my plans have changed.” Hot sex with Adam back in their room in the main house was out. A rush of dizziness passed over her and she sat, anchoring her body to the bed.
She glanced around the dark, shadowy space. The bed dominated the whole room. Not even a couch or a chair. Christian was already snoring. She frowned. “I could sleep in one of the bunks in the hall, but what if you wake up and get sick again?” She tapped a finger against her cheek. “That’s an awfully big bed you’re hogging there, Christian. How about I sleep next to you so I can keep an eye on you? You probably won’t even notice.” She smiled. “Or remember any of this tomorrow.”
He looked so peaceful. A grown man in a child-like state. Eyes closed, dark lashes brushing against his cheeks, short black hair spiked up in the front, a few days’ worth of stubble on his jaw. Her heart broke. He’d been someone’s son, brother, husband and father. And he’d been through so much. So much. She needed to take care of him.
Die for You Page 15