“Fuck this. I’m gone,” he heard Jeff’s voice say moments later. Then, through a fog, he heard the front door open and close.
River closed his eyes with relief, grateful for the breath he was finally able to take. He gasped a few times, relishing the air that came in and went out. Eventually, he had recovered enough to lift himself gently off the floor onto his hands and then up onto his feet. He stared across the foyer at Bonita.
The vision was immediately blocked by a very irate Deirdre.
“What the fuck is going on here?!” Deirdre yelled, hands on hips as she surveyed the room.
Bonita couldn’t blame her. It was a disaster area. In one corner of the ring you had Jeff, who had just made his hasty escape. In the other corner you had River, just coming to his feet in recovery. In the middle of it all, you had a girl in a yellow dress drenched in wine and a shattered glass on the floor.
This was obviously where Deirdre directed her attention.
“What the fuck? Is that my parents’ wine glass? That was crystal! They cost $200 a piece!”
Bonita’s mouth fell open. She wasn’t even sure how to respond to that. $200 for a glass?
“I don’t even know who you are. What are you even doing here?”
If Bonita’s mouth hadn’t already been hanging open, it would have popped open right now. Instead it clamped shut in anger. Before she could respond Marianne stepped into the picture.
“Calm your tits, Deirdre,” Marianne said, sliding out from behind someone in the crowd. “It was an accident; I’m pretty sure the C-E-O of Titan Mutual Funds won’t miss one stupid wine glass.”
Deirdre spun around and glared at Marianne. “Do you have any friends that can manage to not be a complete nuisance?” she spat.
Brad stepped over next to Marianne almost protectively. “Now just a second Deirdre—”
“No!” she said. She pointed a finger at Marianne. “You need to take your friend home. Now!”
“It’s my fault,” growled a voice from the other side of the room.
Every head spun around to see River, still holding his gut and glaring at Deirdre. “Marianne, I can take Bonita home. I was just about to leave anyway.”
Bonita blinked at him in surprise. Who did he think he was?
There was a tiny squeak of outrage and Bonita turned to see Tiffany shooting daggers in her direction. That was a complication she really didn’t need.
“Nonsense, I brought her here,” Marianne said then looked at Bonita. “I can take you home.”
“Well, someone better fucking take her—”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, shut up!”
Once again the entire room was silent, every eye now on Bonita. Deirdre gaped at her. Marianne had one eyebrow raised in surprised admiration. River just stared in a curiously brooding manner. Deirdre’s eyes goggled and her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“Deirdre,” Bonita said in a terse tone. “I’m sorry about the glass.”
She glared at River as she said it. He just stared back with those intense eyes. Then she turned back to the girl. “I’ll—I’ll find a way to pay for it.”
She had to keep her eyes from rolling as she said it. Deirdre’s father probably earned $200 from one second of work. On the other hand, it would put a hefty dent in Bonita’s meager funds.
Before Deirdre could respond, Bonita continued.
“Marianne, thank you for the invite,” she said with sincerity, turning to her friend. “It has indeed been…interesting. But you stay here.” Her eyes shot to Brad standing behind Marianne. “Enjoy yourself.”
“I’m going to see myself home now.” She stepped over the broken glass, not really caring that she was leaving a mess, just wanting to get out. It was incredibly rude, but no more than Deirdre had been toward her. After all, it had been an accident and Bonita had offered to pay for the glass. As she walked through the front door she could hear Deirdre’s shrill voice following her.
“Who the fuck is going to clean up this mess?” she screeched. “Hello?”
Deirdre’s voice wasn’t the only thing Bonita heard following her out. There were deliberate footsteps and she spun around knowing exactly whose they were.
8
“What in the world do you think you’re doing?” she asked incredulously.
“Making sure you get back to your room safely,” River said.
“I’m fine,” she said curtly quickening her pace to keep him from catching up to her.
“All the same, I feel a bit responsible for—”
“Well, don’t,” she said, cutting him off. It came out a little harsher than she intended. She felt bad until she looked down and saw the front of her dress that should have been yellow but was now a plum colored splotch.
That got her walking quickly again.
“Bonita, I know you’re pissed, but you aren’t doing me any favors with that pace of yours.”
“So go back to your party,” she shouted over her shoulder, not slowing down.
“Seriously, just wait a sec—ooof!”
She stopped when she heard the grunt of pain. Closing her eyes at her own gullibility, she spun around.
River was holding his left side. When he saw that she had stopped, he awkwardly jogged the final stretch to catch up with her, still clutching his ribs.
“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER?” she asked with concern. She noticed the left eye was faring no better, practically half shut already.
“Nah,” he said with a smile that looked more like a grimace. His eyes wandered down the front of her dress and she was just about to regret stopping to turn around, when he spoke. “It looks like you’re the one that got the worst of it tonight.”
Bonita looked at the front of her dress again, frowning. “It was my favorite.”
“It did fit you quite nicely.”
She brought her eyes back up to him, only to find his, or at least the one-and-a-half that were fully functional, ogling the top part as it clung to her chest, a grin plastered on his face.
“For Pete’s sake, do you ever stop?”
She turned back around. He was close enough to reach out and grab her arm.
“Wait,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, okay. I really am. But I do want to make sure you get home safely.”
“We’re two blocks from campus. This is the safest part of the city. I think I’ll manage.”
“All the same, you look a mess.”
Bonita should have been upset, but all she could do was snort out a laugh. “Well it is partially your fault.”
“Exactly,” he conceded. “In which case, I’d feel guilty if I let you walk home like that.”
What happened next caused Bonita’s mouth to fall open.
River pulled his t-shirt off over his head. She couldn’t help herself; her eyes wandered over every sleek, hard line and ripple of muscle. His broad, round shoulders did a little dance as he pulled his arms out of the arm holes exposing large biceps. His forearms were covered in pronounced veins and fine black hair.
As he worked the shirt right-side-out in front of him, his hard pecs, also sporting a coat of fine black hair, rippled and flexed. The one area of his body that seemed to be completely static, most likely from the distinct lack of body fat, was the six-pack above his jeans. In fact, it was actually an eight-pack, which Bonita took far too much notice of. She couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering down to the area right above where it formed a perfectly defined arrow leading straight down to….
Oh, no. No, no, no.
She blinked and brought her eyes up as far as possible. That’s where she found River grinning back at her as though he knew exactly where her mind had gone. It irked her even more. Why the heck had he followed her out? And more importantly, why the heck was he shirtless in the middle of the night on a New York street?
“Here you go,” he said with that stupid smirk. “I think this should cover you well enough.”
“Have you lost your
mind?” she said, deliberately avoiding looking at him below the neck. It was nearly impossible since he had almost a foot on her.
“What do you mean?” he asked, the epitome of innocence.
“You know exactly what I mean,” she hissed. “Put your shirt back on. It’s—it’s…indecent,” she whispered the last bit as though saying it a normal voice would cause the residents of the neighborhood to come pouring out of their homes, clutching their pearls.
“It’s perfectly legal to go topless in this city,” he said, then leaned in toward her, “that goes for the ladies as well, in case you want to join me.”
Bonita gasped.
“It’s true. If you think I’m lying—”
“We’re done here. Put your shirt back on!” With that she began walking away again. She heard him laughing behind her as he jogged to catch up to her.
She could hear him closing the distance, his legs being longer than hers. He soon reached her, once again grabbing her arm lightly.
“Wait a second, please,” he urged.
She refused to look at him, but didn’t move.
“Really, I am just trying to save you the embarrassment of walking back to your dorm like this.”
She wanted to point out that she wouldn’t look any less silly wearing his t-shirt and made the point of turning around. They were under a streetlight now so she had a better view of his body, specifically the large red area that would soon be a nasty bruise on the six-pack, correction, eight-pack she had admired earlier.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed—a stellar night for taking the Lord’s name in vain—and without thinking her fingers reached out to touch it.
The feel of his body struck her like a bolt of electricity. The fine hairs tickling her fingers. The unyielding flesh that her fingertips slid over. The heat radiating from him. The turmoil that it created in her core, sending waves of…something through her body; something that caused her to instantly clamp her thighs together.
Bonita immediately pulled her hand away. She didn’t want to look at his face, knowing full well what she’d find. She did it anyway, and wasn’t surprised to find that annoyingly wicked grin staring right back at her. He knew exactly the effect he was having on her looking like this.
“Here,” he said, his face taking on a serious expression. “You shouldn’t have to make the trek back to your place in the walk of shame. I feel responsible for your dress. The least I can do is let you wear my shirt.”
Bonita sighed and shook her head. “No, I’d look just as ridiculous in that and you know it. Just go. I’m fine walking back alone.”
She took off, but she irritatingly heard his footsteps following her. It occurred to her that she barely knew the boy.
“If anything you should be the person I should be worried about,” she pointed out. “After all, you’ve already started undressing yourself.”
She heard him chuckle behind her at that and she felt her face get warm with embarrassment. Why in the world had she put it like that?
“Okay, how about stay at least 10 feet behind you? Would that make you feel better?”
“Honestly, that’s even creepier.”
“Okay fine then.” She heard him running to catch up with her, the soft sigh of pain accompanying it. Unbelievably, she felt herself slowing down to accommodate him.
What in the world am I doing?
Now he was beside her, tempting her eyes and mind with his chiseled chest and stomach. In her periphery her eyes wandered down, thinking about what he might look like without jeans on—
Stop it, Bonita!
They went on like this, River keeping his pace with her, and Bonita avoiding looking at him, until they reached the edge of campus where her dorm was.
Bonita closed her eyes, bracing herself for the Adonis-like presentation that awaited her when she turned around. One deep breath and she turned to face him.
“Thank you for escorting me home, River,” she said. It was the least she could do. In all fairness, no one in their right mind would have approached the two of them, her being half covered in wine and River shirtless with nothing but muscles to offer any attacker.
He came up closer to her, too close. She pressed her body against the wall of Clark Hall to maintain her personal space. He brazenly invaded it. She could smell the intoxicatingly masculine scent of him, mixed with the lingering hint of whatever aftershave he had put on earlier.
“Don’t,” she whispered, unconvincingly.
“I’m just making sure you get in fully protected,” he teased.
Seriously?
“I—I have to get my card,” she said.
River looked down at her in confusion, noting that she had neither pockets nor a purse. It was one of the well-known tricks for all females going out who didn’t want to lug a purse with them. A $20 bill and her room key were safely secured in the depths of her bra. Her student ID was secured in a plastic packet, pinned underneath the skirt of her dress.
“You have to move back,” she insisted. She wasn’t about to start lifting up the skirt to her dress while his half-naked body was only inches away from her.
He grinned, then used one hand to push himself away from her only to swivel around so that he was leaning on that hand against the wall. Now he was right next to her completely shirtless.
The side of her dress where her ID was pinned was on the opposite side, so she felt secure enough inching her skirt up her bare thigh to reach it yet still keep him from seeing too much. One full leg was scandalously exposed as she had difficulty unclasping the safety pin underneath the bunched up hem.
Oh what a picture they must have presented.
“Hello, Bonita.”
Her eyes shot up at the sound of her name from a familiar voice.
“Darryl!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”
9
Despite Bonita’s attempt at shielding herself from view, River was able to see just enough smooth, brown thigh to whet his appetite. Then his eyes had caught the man approaching in his periphery. River’s body had instinctively gone into red alert mode, his muscles tensing, his senses sharpening.
He was wary, but not suspicious. This was a university campus after all, and Clark Hall housed a large number of students. River didn’t want to punch the guy out if he was just some poor sap coming back from a night of studying.
Then the man had said Bonita’s name.
Rather than put River at ease, it had caused his alert level to go up a few degrees. There was just something in the way the man had said her name.
“Darryl!” Bonita had said, the tone in her voice giving River no reason to relax. “What are you doing here?”
“Darryl’s” eyes were focused on River. He couldn’t blame the guy. River was fully aware of what an imposing figure he presented, especially when shirtless.
“I was on my way back up to Harvard,” emphasis on Harvard as he raised an eyebrow toward River. “I thought I’d stop by to see you.”
“See me, or check up on me?” asked Bonita, slightly irritated.
That was when River all but absorbed the tension between the two of them. Instinctively, he inched his body closer to hers protectively. It wasn’t lost on the other man.
An unspoken rivalry had developed between the two of them in the one minute it took for Bonita to acknowledge the man’s sudden appearance. River’s muscles flexed; Darryl’s posture straightened.
Bonita was oblivious.
There was a final stare in River’s direction, one second too long; enough to let River know that the fight was on. Then the man turned his attention back to Bonita.
It gave River a chance to assess his new nemesis more thoroughly. Older than Bonita by about 3-5 years. “Harvard” no doubt meant law school or medical school, certainly nothing as cerebral as a PhD for this shark. Suit and tie, well-groomed, smooth voice. Polished, maybe a bit too much. Completely self-assured, as though he had been prepped all his life for something bigger.
; That’s when it hit River. “Darryl” was one of his own. Daddy must be a CEO or politician, powerful at the very least. And like all powerful dads, prepping his offspring to rise even higher.
Well, let’s rumble then, Darryl.
“I’m not spying for your parents, if that’s your concern,” he said. There was a deliberate glance toward River before continuing. “Though I’m sure they might have their concerns, considering….”
Darryl then made a point of casting his eyes up and down Bonita’s dress. River took a look for himself and had to admit that it didn’t present the most flattering picture.
Bonita seemed to suddenly realize that her skirt was hitched up high, revealing a little too much thigh. She instantly let the hem drop, her face taking on a warm glow of shame, as her eyes fell to the ground in embarrassment. It made River want to punch the man’s lights out.
There was little she could do about the wine stain. Something Darryl was quick to point out.
“Is that wine?” he asked, inching closer. Bonita’s hands instinctively crossed over her chest.
River moved in closer to her. There was no way he was leaving her here alone with this guy, no matter how well they knew each other.
Bonita had been so surprised by Darryl West’s appearance out of the blue that she hadn’t noticed how close River was getting to her.
In a small way, it was comforting. Darryl’s appearance was an unwelcome shock, especially under the circumstances.
Then she saw the situation through Darryl’s eyes, or rather, the eyes that he would be reporting back to home base with: A shirtless boy hovering over her while she had her skirt hitched up well past the point of propriety. All right outside of her dorm. Hopefully Darryl wouldn’t recognize that River was also the son of Richard Wright.
Her parents would be hauling her butt right back down to Washington D.C. faster than she was now pushing her skirt down her leg.
So Wrong Page 5