Unspoken (The Woodlands)

by Jen Frederick

  “Where’re your friends?” I looked pointedly at the empty tables and chairs.

  Gray looked at me, a twinkle in his eye, and answered for Howard. “We’re getting acquainted. This guy says that he’s been taken advantage of by some jackass with an ax to grind. You the jackass?”

  I nodded. Gray was having far too much fun tonight.

  “I’m here to make it up to you, though, Howard. We’re going to have some fun tonight.” But before we could do anything, his head dropped listlessly on the table and drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth.

  “This is disgusting,” I told Gray. “You were supposed to watch him.”

  Gray shrugged. “I was, but I couldn’t keep him from drinking without sitting on him, and I figured that defeated the purpose of me being the one to babysit.”

  “Fuck, okay, let me think.” I drummed my fingers on the table. I needed Noah, the plotter, because my plans all hinged on threatening Clay with bodily harm until he left. Hard to threaten a guy who was passed out face down in his own drool. Finally, I threw up my hands in disgust. “I can’t do anything to him while he’s drunk. It would make me no better than he is.”

  “Principles, schminciples,” Gray scoffed.

  “Don’t encourage me,” I said. “I’m trying to do the right thing. I have to be able to look AM in the face tonight. Let’s just take the asshat home. I’ll corner him tomorrow when he’s hungover but sober.”

  We hauled the drunk and drugged Howard out of his chair and half-carried, half-dragged him out of the bar. Gray handed me a pair of plastic gloves, and I snapped them on. “Jesus, what size did you get? Extra small? The rubber is cutting off my circulation.”

  “You want to touch him or complain about the plastic gloves, Bo Peep?”

  I shut up. Worried that Howard would get sick, Gray ran in and paid the bartender for a roll of plastic wrap. We lined his car and laid Howard in the backseat. Howard stayed unconscious even after we wrestled him out of the car and onto the porch of his house.

  The next morning, someone texted me several photos of Howard, still passed out with his hand on the business end of a wooden steer. I didn’t know if it was a sorority girl’s revenge or the work of someone in the theater arts program, as the steer looked like a prop for a play. He’d be unable to go a minute without someone mooing in his face.

  Mal and Gray took care of the drugs, and Ryan took care of the club decertification. I didn’t have to hit anyone once.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  BO

  I WAS WAITING IN THE library lounge for AM to appear after class. I’d stopped waiting for her outside of her classroom. She didn’t like that. She’d eventually told me it made her look weak, like she needed someone to escort her across campus. I just liked to spend the time with her, but I understood her need for independence. It was one of the things that had drawn me to her in the first place, so I really couldn’t complain. Instead, I waited in the lobby of the library. She’d meet me here and we’d study. Or AM would study, and I’d just drink her in, this miracle of a girl who saved me. All this time I thought I was saving her.

  She burst through the doors, noisily, unafraid of someone noticing her. The tension I’d once seen in her shoulders while she moved through campus was no longer present. I felt my mouth widening in response to her apparent happiness.

  “Finals canceled?” I asked.

  She shook her head, but her eyes were dancing wildly with some suppressed emotion. I thought it was glee. She executed a little hop over to me, looking five kinds of adorable. I wanted to scoop her up and lick her all over, but I restrained myself.

  She threw herself at me, and I was surprised. When I looked around, there were people milling about. I took advantage of her changed behavior and snugged her up close to my body. Her eyes widened as she felt my arousal hard against the swell of her belly, and her amusement turned to outright laughter.

  It only made me want her more.

  “What?” I asked her, rubbing my hands along her arms.

  “Clay Howard has left school.”

  “Really?” I tried to look surprised, but she caught something in my tone. Her amusement faded away and was replaced by a suspicious look. With an effort, I smiled as blandly as possible. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “It was all anyone could talk about in class,” AM informed me, but she was searching my eyes, my face, for some sign that I knew something. I employed some of the discipline that I was working on and tried to project innocent interest. It must have worked, because her suspicious look dropped away and was replaced by excitement once again.

  Stepping back, she pulled me toward the exit door. “Let’s go home instead of studying here,” she said. I went along benignly.

  “Tell me,” I urged her again. I wanted to hear what this end of the telephone chain sounded like.

  “I heard he dropped out. And I heard some gossip that the lacrosse club was being disbanded, but I didn’t figure that was accurate.”

  I only hmmmed. AM tried a couple more theories out on me.

  When we arrived at the apartment, Ellie was there to greet us. “Guess what I heard!” she cried, throwing her arms wide as if throwing us the news.

  “Is it about Clay Howard?” AM said, turning to shut the door behind me.

  “Yes.” Ellie’s arms came down with a flap. “Already heard?”

  AM nodded, but then she began jumping up and down and the two clasped wrists and hopped around the room like they had pogo sticks attached to their legs. I leaned against the hallway wall, not too far from where I had punched a hole, not too far from where my world fell apart and AM and I stitched it back together.

  Someday I’d tell AM what I did and why. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of her smiling face. I’d show her this picture and tell her I’d do anything to make her look this happy.

  I wanted to bask in that glow. She and Ellie pogoed their way over to me. I drew her into my arms and said, “See ya later, Ellie.” I steered AM down the hall into her bedroom.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, all coy and shit.

  “Oh, I have a few ideas about how to extend your happiness at this moment.” I smiled down at her.

  “Did you have something to do with this?” she asked me, her suspicious look back. I couldn’t lie to her, so instead I kissed her cheek and then her ear and then ran my tongue down the side of her neck until I hit that sweet spot on her shoulder that made her shiver. I bit down and felt a corresponding shake of her body.

  “I love you,” I whispered against her shoulder, pulling the collar of her t-shirt aside to gain access to more creamy skin. I mouthed the bone and skin and muscle until I felt her collapse into me.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  AM

  “AN A,” I CROWED, TURNING the pages of the report we had just picked up from Professor Godwin’s office. Bo and I had had the entire thing bound at the copy center, and it looked so professional with its glued edge and clear acrylic cover. “Is it incredibly nerdy of me to love this binding?”

  “Yes.” Bo smirked.

  “Whatever.” I stuck my tongue out at him. Bo grabbed my hand and yanked me tightly to him.

  “Stick that tongue in my mouth, why don’t you?” he teased. Who could resist that invitation? I pushed up on my tiptoes and gave him a wet, loud kiss. The unexpected nature of my public display of affection caught him off guard, and he didn’t immediately respond. I was still a little reserved in public, and Bo had generally limited himself to handholding.

  But then a wide slow grin spread across his face, until the bracket on the left side appeared, a sign of his true happiness. He leaned down and returned my kiss with a wet and hot one of his own. He gripped my ass with one hand and pressed me tight against his growing arousal, and he tangled the other hand in my hair, angling my head for an all-out assault on my mouth. In the distance, I heard some hoots, but this time, I hoped that they would gossip about me. That they’d go home and say
that they saw Bo and AnnMarie making out in front of the Admin building. That they’d talk about how we always looked like we were one step away from tearing each other’s clothes off. That they wished that someone would look at them like Bo looks at me, with unrestrained love and pride.

  Realizing this was going nowhere, though, Bo pulled away. His face was flushed and his heavy lidded eyes were navy with desire. My entire body tingled in response. I gave him a little smile and waggled the project report between us.

  “Good thing you didn’t crush it.” I dusted it off. “I’m keeping this.”

  Bo shook his head at me. “What’s the point?”

  I gasped with faux shock. “It’s our first project together. I expect us to celebrate our important reportaversary.”

  He dropped his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “Reportaversary?”

  “The anniversary of our report,” I said solemnly.

  “Is that the anniversary of the start of the project or end of the report or when we got the grade? Because I need to mark that shit down in my phone.” Bo’s response was just as mockingly serious.

  “It’s all three,” I grinned.

  “If you say so.” But I knew he was delighted that I cared so much about this. I flipped through the pages to admire the notes and drawings. When I got to the one showing the fully grafted plants, I noticed a small detail that I had missed previously. Bo had penciled our names, “AnnMarie” and “Beauregard,” into the stems of the plant.

  “Hey,” I nudged him with an elbow, “this is really neat. Am I the stevia plant and you’re the soybean?”

  “Hell, no,” Bo protested. “I’m the sugar. You’re the substance.” I peered closely at the plant, but I couldn’t tell where the root of one plant started and the other stopped—which, I realized, was the point. Together, Bo and I were stronger, better people despite our differences. I felt tears pricking my eyes at his thoughtfulness and his beautiful vision of us as a couple. Lord, I loved him. I loved him so much. Now and forever.

  <<<<>>>>

  *Author’s note: There is no 1ST Battalion 10 TH Marines, but because I’m telling a fictional story about fictional guys who never fought, I didn’t want to diminish the bravery of the actual Marines. Instead, I made up my own Battalion, which could accommodate a couple thousand military heroes, although I’ll never write that many.

  <<<<>>>>

  If you enjoyed this book, feel free to leave a review at your favorite retailer. Other readers really benefit from your reviews.

  I love to hear from readers. You can email me at jen@jenfrederick.com; tweet me at @JensFred or visit my Facebook page at http://Facebook.com/AuthorJenFrederick.

  My website has the tentative release schedule for all the books in The Woodlands series. http://jenfrederick.com

  Undeclared, the first in the series, is available now at Amazon .

  Look for Book 3 in The Woodland series coming to your favorite retailer on January 20, 2014.

  Like books about fighters? Continue reading for a special excerpt from Jessica Clare’s Ice Games.

  Acknowledgements

  It’s hard for me to believe that this is my second book. I think people who know me are just as surprised, and I couldn’t have accomplished this achievement without the help of so many people.

  There are amazing bloggers who supported Undeclared such as Karen from BookCrushReviews who coordinated the first blog tour, Ena from SwoonWorthyBooks who championed my debut, and Lisa and Milasy from The RockStars of Romance who are ceaseless supporters of romance novelists, particularly indie authors. I will always treasure the first reviews I received from bloggers like Sharon at Obsession with Books and Karina at Nocturnal Book Reviews.

  I have two really core beta readers - Brie Clementine and Kati Dancy - without you two I don’t think I’d get a word written. To the authors who inspire me and encourage me, I want to thank you for sharing your knowledge, spurring me to write, and commiserating with me when I’m feeling discouraged. Meljean Brook, Jessica Clare, Katy Evans, and Elyssa Patrick, thank you for holding my hand through this journey.

  For AW, you are kind of an idiot savant at the editing gig, aren’t you? I’m so lucky to have you as a friend and a professional colleague.

  Daphne, our weekly talks really mean the world to me and you continually help me get better as a writer.

  Special thanks to klinkit for her service to her country and her willingness to share her challenge coin story with me.

  Finally, thank you to all the readers out there who have taken a chance on this newbie author. You will never know how much I appreciate your facebook posts, your emails, and your tweets.

  Ice Games

  By

  Jill Myles writing as Jessica Clare

  Copyright © 2013 by Jill Myles

  All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in

  any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Chapter One

  Ice Dancing with the Stars? You’re fucking kidding me, right? — Ty Randall, MMA Fighter, a.k.a. “Ty the MMA Biter,” to his manager

  ~~ * ~~

  I REALLY HATED FAMILY REUNIONS. You know, those shindigs where a variety of people that would otherwise barely like each other get together and pretend to be affectionate all because of a common bond? And you’re forced to sit there and endure for hours while someone goes on and on about the weather while you know they’re just dying to ask you about that horribly embarrassing incident in your past but that they just haven’t worked up to it yet?

  Yeah. The figure skating community is kind of like that—a big family that can barely hold itself together, yet all forced to interact because of a commonality. And walking into the 7:00 AM meeting at JNO Studios and seeing a lineup of familiar skating faces? Yep. Family reunion time. And as if on cue, my stomach gave an unhappy twist. If this was a family, I was definitely the black sheep.

  “Right this way, Miss Pritchard,” the assistant at my elbow said, and led me to the far end of the long table where the other skaters were already seated. I was the last one there. Bad luck. My juju was already off to a bad start. I took a sip of the iced latte clutched in my hand and tried to play it casual, though internally I was sizing up the others. I thumped into my seat—last one on the right, also bad luck, but I wasn’t in a position to complain, and I certainly wasn’t going to demand a new seat.

  My days of demanding things? Pretty much over. Now I was lucky to get scraps.

  The others were dressed in business suits or designer clothing. No one had given me that memo. I’d thought from the phone call yesterday that this would just be a quick overview session, nothing more. Lovely. I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, a tank top, and leggings, because, well, that was what I always wore. My dark hair was pulled into my normal tight bun and I wasn’t wearing makeup. Everyone else looked like they were heading to a Hollywood party.

  Discomfort made my skin prickle, but I pretended to not care in the slightest, giving my latte a long, noisy slurp in response as continued to size up everyone in the room. Five other skaters, and they were all giving me wide, too-fake smiles.

  “Zara, it is so good to see you getting back on your feet,” exclaimed Emma Rawley, seated at the far end of the table. “Did you just come straight from the ice?”

  Mentally, I ran down her list of accomplishments. Two-time Olympian, one-time bronze medalist. She’d come in first at Nationals only once. She was good, technically, but uninspired. I slurped my drink. “No.”

  Next to her sat Tatiana Bezrukov, a Russian champion with a bigger pedigree than anyone else. She simply watched me, saying nothing. Tatiana was never much of a talker. She kind of let her accomplishments speak for themselves. I was surprised they got as big of a name as her, though. She was a big deal in her home country.

  The three men were Serge Volodin, Toby Bell, and Jon Jon Miller. I didn’t know them nearly as well as the women, bu
t they were all very familiar to me. Very familiar and very skilled. But none of them were nearly as notorious as me.

  Goody.

  Jon Jon sat next to me. He leaned closer, skipping all pretense. “So…just so you know. The executives really frown on it if you walk off of the ice while on the show. I hear you’re bad at that.”

  I shot him the bird.

  “Now that’s a familiar gesture.” Jon Jon winked. “Nice to see Zara Pritchard hasn’t changed that much.”

  Dickhead.

  The others chuckled, except for Emma, who frowned unhappily at the table and then turned to me, beaming a smile that seemed sincere. “It is really great that you’re here, Zara. We heard you’d been teaching out in Ohio?” Her brows went up, encouraging me to answer.

  “Tutoring,” I said, hoping they’d leave it at that.

  “Anyone we know?” asked Toby.

  “Nope.”

  He gave me an impossible-to-read look. “So an up-and-comer?”

  You could say that. Most of the kids I tutored at the mall ice rink were four- to six-year-olds. I was sure they’d be up and coming at something at some point. So I merely sipped my drink and tried to look mysterious. Let them wonder.

  No one had to know that Zara Pritchard had fallen so far. No one but me. This was my chance to redeem myself, anyhow.

  Before they could question me more, four men and a woman, all dressed in business suits, entered the meeting room. Immediately, all of the skaters stood and straightened, and I could practically see them putting on their performance faces. Whoever had just walked in was important, which meant I needed to impress them. I slid my cup under the table and stood as well, wishing that I hadn’t brought it with me. I didn’t care about impressing the other skaters, but management? Management was important. They were the ones that had brought me here, and they were the ones that could boot me back to obscurity again.