by Kim Linwood
Claire
Who the hell is this musclehead?
I’m sure I don’t know him, because there’s no way I could forget anyone who looks like that. His black t-shirt is painted onto his huge, muscular torso, covering his chest but not hiding even one tiny ripple of muscle. Yum. I’m not quite sure how he got the shirt on in the first place, but I bet women would pay money to watch the process.
Colorful tattoos wind their way down both of his arms, a mish-mash of spiky abstract designs melding with demons, predatory animals and busty women. They disappear into his short sleeves, and I want to categorize and identify each one like I’m doing a special for National Geographic on North America and the great endangered male badass.
Broad-shouldered and easily a head taller than my worthless ex, he’s snarling like a biker god of vengeance, and he’s just stepped in to save me.
Michael totally forgotten, I let my gaze explore up towards his face until I find myself looking right into the deepest, darkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re staring right back at me with an intensity that makes my stomach flutter. I could lose myself in them and they would just swallow me up.
It’s probably only a moment, but a whole eternity seems to pass before he looks away and I can breathe again. His full lips are drawn into a straight, angry line, his jaw tense and his dark eyebrows knit below a nearly black shock of unruly hair. A shiver shoots down my spine, and something much hotter pools between my legs.
He looks freaking amazing.
“Get the fuck out of my way, man.” Somehow Michael has remained unimpressed. Even sloppy drunk, he has to realize he’s woefully outgunned. Right? This guy can crush him.
“I’m not the one in the way. You are.” My guardian angel flexes, his muscles rippling under his shirt and his tattoos dancing across his skin. “Obviously she doesn’t want to go with you, and I’m making sure the lady gets what she wants. Let go of her and fuck off.”
Michael’s normally a pretty sharp guy, but tonight, alcohol’s not doing him any favors. Instead of doing the sensible thing when a thug twice his weight and all muscle tells him to let go, Michael puts his hand on the guy’s chest and pushes. He might as well try to move a tree, or a building. “Move,” he says, like he’s Harry Potter and knows the right spell.
He’s not, and he doesn’t.
“You don’t seem to understand me.” Tattoo Guy’s hand drops onto Michael’s shoulder, thick fingers gripping him firmly. “I’m going to use small words, just to be sure your tiny pickled brain gets it. Let. Her. Go. I will hurt you.”
Somewhere deep inside Michael’s alcohol-muddled mind, a connection is finally made. He looks up and blanches, taking in the pure bulk of the man looming over him. His grip slackens around my arm, and I tear away with a sharp tug, freeing myself. His hand hangs in the air for a moment as if he hasn’t even noticed me gone. Maybe he hasn’t.
“Good boy.”
Tightening the grip on Michael’s shoulder until he whines in pain, Tattoo Guy leads him roughly towards the door. Michael’s feet only barely keep up, uncoordinated and unsteady. One of the frat brothers helpfully opens the door, and I shiver at the fresh blast of winter air. With a powerful shove, Tattoo Guy launches Michael through the door, where he blunders straight into a snow drift, white flurries exploding into a fine powdery cloud around him as he lands.
“And stay the fuck out.” My hero slams the door without waiting to see what happens.
For a short moment I can’t help feeling sorry for my ex, but then I remember why I threw him out in the first place. Any pity I have evaporates immediately. The jerk deserved it, and more. But unless he has a death wish, he’s no longer an issue. For now anyway.
My savior’s still facing away, giving me a moment to admire his back. It’s just as nice as the front. Clearly defined shoulder blades, and his torso tapers down to narrow hips and a really great ass. If there’s an ounce of fat on him, I don’t see it. I almost reach out to touch him, but while I’m far from sober, I’m not quite that drunk.
What’s with me tonight? I’m not usually impressed by the gym-rat types. I can’t remember the last time someone had me weak in the knees, especially from looks alone. He’s got to be a total ass to make up for that physique. Because no one’s that perfect, right?
I’m still gawking like an idiot when he turns. Perfect.
“Hi.” His perfect lips curl up at the corners.
I look up at those deep blue eyes and fall right into them.
I might be in trouble.
Claire
An hour later, and there’s no might about it. I’m definitely in trouble.
I mean, not like naked-hanging-from-the-ceiling trouble, but I’ve reached the chatty stage of drunk and even though he’s being nice about it, I’m waiting for this guy to wise up and ditch me for someone with less baggage.
Because, whoa nelly, do I have baggage right now and he’s getting to hear all about it.
“Right there, in our freaking bed. She was bouncing up and down on Michael’s dick, and I swear to God he sounded like a constipated caveman.” I bury my face in my hands. “I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Did you know we were going to get married? I almost got married to a guy whose O-noise sounds like a cave man who doesn’t eat enough fiber!”
The alcohol rushes through my bloodstream, and the world feels just a little bit too small, a little too dark at the edges. I never drink. Looking at my half-empty beer cup, I guess I have to amend that. Almost never. I don’t even like it, but do you know what you get if you ask for Sprite at a frat party? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not all Sprite. Beer is safer.
I tell myself it’s just for tonight, and then I’m back to classes, hard work and making sure I earn my spot in law school.
“You were getting married, and he fucked around on you? In your goddamn bed?” Tattoo Guy still doesn’t have a name, but it hasn’t really come up. Or maybe he told me and I don’t remember. By now I’m too embarrassed to ask, anyway.
“Yeah, can you believe it? I guess I’m glad I found out before, rather than after.”
“What a fucking loser.”
I agree with him wholeheartedly, nodding at his words.
It feels good to unload on someone. With a little luck he’s drunk enough that he won’t remember a thing in the morning anyway.
I’m really not at my best.
Crap, I should be cramming for my Comparative Politics test tomorrow, not getting drunk at some skeevy frat party. Like having dropped to a 3.9 GPA wasn’t bad enough, I’m only going to make it worse if I don’t get over Michael and get back to normal.
A bunch of people have left their empty beer cups on the table in front of me, and I absentmindedly sort and stack them by color. He raises an eyebrow at me, but I decide I don’t mind. If he isn’t going to remember me tomorrow, adding one more thing to his list of why I’m crazy won’t hurt.
The love seat we’re sharing shifts as Tattoo Guy does, and I use the term sharing loosely. His broad shoulders and powerful frame have me crowded up against one side, and I’m half draped over one of his very solid thighs. I’m not sure if he minds, but I sure as hell don’t.
Not for the first time tonight, I look him up and down, appreciating the definition of his chiseled abs and how his jeans are pulled tight over his muscular legs. I feel a little bad that I’ve wasted a night with such a hot guy on blubbering about a man who is totally not worth it.
Dragging my gaze up past his powerful neck to his rugged features, my face flushes when our eyes lock. He sees right into me, those gorgeous eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement. He knows I’m checking him out, and his crooked smirk shows it.
In the back of my mind I’m amazed that it doesn’t bother me, because I always care. Just not tonight. I’m all out of fucks to give for the moment. Instead, I study his face, trying not to make it too obvious that I’m rubbing against his bulky quad.
His features are almost perfectly symmetr
ical, but his nose looks like it’s been broken at some point. I don’t have the impulse control to stop myself from stroking it softly with my fingertip. He doesn’t stop me, but I notice his hand grips his cup hard enough to make the cheap plastic crackle.
Usually asymmetry bugs me, but he gets a pass for the nose. He’s only human. A day or two’s worth of dark stubble covers his hard jaw, broken only by a faint scar along the left side. I trace that too.
And those lips, full and kissable.
He grabs my hand before I can touch them. “If you keep that up we’re going to have to take this someplace else, and I think privacy is a relative term here tonight.”
I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned. “Sorry.”
“Not that I’m not glad you came, but what the fuck is a girl like you doing at a party like this?” He takes a drink, but his eyes watch me closely. So blue.
Was that a compliment? I’m not quite sure. I was already figuring I’m not his type, but am I really that out of place? Maybe I am. The frat house is crawling with hot girls who look ready to go. Some of whom I’m pretty sure have already gone a time or two.
I sigh. “It’s stupid. A couple of friends said I should come. They promised Michael wouldn’t be here. It was a terrible idea.” I trace the worn fabric on the couch arm with a finger. “Not to mention that I think one of them told Michael I was here. I guess when push comes to shove they’re more his friends than mine. Bros before hos and all that.”
That stung more than I wanted it to.
“They brothers?”
I nod. “Well, Michael’s not. He pledged but didn’t go through with it.”
“Jackasses. They must be letting anyone in these days.” He rolls his eyes.
“Are you a brother?”
“I used to be, but I graduated five years ago.” He glares around the room with disgust. “The place has gone to shit since then. I’m pretty sure I was the last one who knew how to run the dishwasher.”
“So you were never like them?” I tease.
The smoldering gaze I get as a reply makes me squirm in my seat. He smirks, noticing my hips wriggling. “Never. I was upstanding, conscientious and quiet.”
I glance at his tattoos, the wild hair and his broken nose. “Of course you were.”
He shrugs. “So you’re done with that fuckup now? Kicked him to the fucking curb?” He drains his cup, but his eyes never leave mine.
Heat floods me in a way I haven’t felt in, well, forever. I’m confused about how attracted to this guy I am. I just got rid of Michael, and I am not ready for another relationship. Not even close. Then again, when I look at Tattoo Guy’s hungry eyes, I don’t think it’s a relationship he’s after.
Self-consciously, I straighten my top. It’s lower cut than I usually wear, and I had to dig pretty deep in my closet to find it. After Michael’s betrayal, I wanted to prove I was still attractive. That his infidelity wasn’t about me, even if I’m not hard bodied and model-thin. It worked too. At least until this guy pounded his chest and all the other males ran off.
Still, if all men are dogs, it’s nice to be sitting with the alpha.
Who says we’ve evolved since the Stone Age?
I sigh and let all my regrets go. The failure of my three-year relationship. Spending three years with such a jerk to begin with. Not just grabbing this guy and dragging him off to one of the much used bedrooms before I opened my mouth in the first place...
Mostly that last one.
“Yeah. Out on his ass. Luckily, the lease on our place is in my name.” I snort, dainty like an angry bull. “My place,” I correct. “I grabbed one of his golf clubs from the bag in the hall and chased him and his slut girlfriend out, then threw their clothes after them and slammed the door.”
He laughs, throwing his head back. It’s loud and honest. “Now that’s a sight I’d love to have fucking seen. Holy shit.” He laughs again, and this time the corners of my lips curl up despite myself.
It was actually pretty funny.
A little chirp of laughter escapes me and I cover my mouth with my hand in surprise. I think this is the first time I’ve smiled since I chased Michael out with his three iron. It feels good.
“That’s kinda crazy, isn’t it?” I grin.
“My fucking kind of crazy, babe.” He laughs again before trying to drink from his empty cup. He scowls at it, then tosses it aside, making me cringe. He’s making a mess. Besides, I could’ve used that color to make my cup stacks even. “Whatever piss they pour in these cups, it’s closer to water than beer.”
I nod, even if my opinion of beer is that it’s all just degrees of bad. Maybe I haven’t had “the good stuff” yet.
At twenty-one and nearing the end of my political science degree, I might be the only one in the room old enough to be drinking legally. I glance at my couch companion. No, not the only one. I take another sip, swallowing the bitter liquid down before I get a chance to sober up too much.
He leans in closer, and the spicy musk of his aftershave tickles my senses. “The fucker deserved it. He’s lucky you didn’t bash his head in.” His grin widens. “Now me? I’d never do that to you.”
“You’d always be faithful?” I eye him critically.
Top to toe, everything about him screams player. With his bad boy looks, all those tattoos and the wild, black hair, nah, I’d never peg him for the settling-down type. Which is fine, because he’s been fun to hang out with.
But boyfriend material? No way.
Shaking his head, he can probably read the look on my face for exactly what it is—skepticism. “I never make promises I can’t keep, sweet thing. No promises, no betrayal.”
“No promises? None?” It sounds a little lonely to me, even if he said it like it was a good thing.
He’s so close our noses are almost touching. He puts a thick finger under my chin to make sure I don’t look away. “Only one.” His eyes are dark, the calm before the storm. “The best fucking night of your life.”
It’s probably not the reaction he was looking for, but I laugh. “God, you’re pretty full of yourself, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t seem to mind. “Probably, but wouldn’t you rather be full of me?”
Oh. My. God.
I want to laugh again, but it catches in my throat. Something about him draws me like a moth to a flame. He’s completely unlike anyone I’ve ever been with—not that my list is very long—and a part of me wonders if I’ve been missing out.
Letting this conversation continue would be a sucktastic, horrible, absolutely terribad idea. He will eat me alive and leave my heart on the road for the vultures when he goes.
But holy crap, what a way to go.
He leans in and his whisper is hot in my ear. “Do you live nearby?”
Not really thinking, I nod. That’s breaking the first rule of hookups right? Don’t bring them home. I haven’t even agreed to anything and I’m already messing it up.
“I bet you go to sleep at night imagining them in your bed.” He strokes his fingers up my neck and over my jaw. “I’ll make you one more promise. One night with me and it won’t be them you see. All you’ll remember will be the sounds of the screams you’ll make while I fuck you in ways he’s never even imagined.”
That is quite possibly the most over the top thing he’s said all night. I shiver, vaguely aware of my nipples hardening into pebbles. I bet he can see them right through my shirt.
I’m so hot I’m melting. I don’t want to admit it, but my body has no problem acknowledging it—I want him, and his promises that aren’t promises.
No commitment, no betrayal.
Shit.
I’m going to regret this, but probably not tonight.
“Let’s go.”
Claire
The cab ride is a total blur. I’m fumbling through my purse for my keys in the hall outside my apartment when he grabs me in his strong hands and presses my back right up against the wall. We haven’t even made it in the fron
t door.
Covering my mouth with his, he’s so close that the rigid line of his cock presses against my stomach. I can feel everything, like his jeans are barely there. I try to push him away, but only for a second. God, he’s a good kisser.
I close my eyes and let it happen.
It’s not until his hand slips in underneath the hem of my top, sliding skin against skin along my side, that I remember where we are. There are a lot of apartments on this hallway, and someone could come out any second. I push harder this time, and he lets up, if only for a moment. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“Someone’s going to see us.” I dropped my purse when he kissed me, so I pick it up and rummage through it. Where the heck are my keys?
“So what?” He laughs softly, a rumble in his throat, while his fingers slide softly and teasingly up and down my bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You ashamed to be seen with me?”
“What? No. Not really. No! But I’ve got to live with these people and Dave in 4C is already a little creepy.” Finally, I find the key and turn my back to him so I can fumble at the lock. God, my hands are shaking. I look up to find him eyeing Dave’s door and grab his arm before he can go pound his chest at someone again. “Down boy, you’re here to ruin me for all other men, not defend my honor. Remember?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say ruin exactly.” He steps right up behind me, nuzzling into my neck, leaving soft kisses and sharp nibbles on the sensitive skin. Prickling me with his rough stubble. I stop turning the key halfway, distracted. His hands slide from my hips and up to cup me, my breasts filling his palms. “Destroy, ravage, devastate,” he mumbles.
“Less talk, more ravage.” It’s with a lot of effort that I twist the key the final quarter turn to make the door unlock. We tumble in, following it. With a kick, he closes it behind us. The click of the latch sounds so final. I pray I haven’t just made a huge mistake.
At the sound of the door, he tugs roughly at my shirt, pulling it up over my head. I take a deep breath, then raise my arms to help him. He throws it aside before clasping my breasts again. His talented fingers find my nipples through the thin fabric of my bra and roll them roughly. God, it feels so good. I moan, pressing my body back towards him.