Heart Stopper: Rebels of Rushmore Book One

by Hercules, Michelle

  “My room is a fucking mess! There’s shit and feathers everywhere,” he screams, invading my personal space.

  I’ve never experienced this kind of wrath aimed at me from this close, but all I can think about is how delicious Troy’s aftershave smells.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “That’s payback for the party, my ruined costumes, and Poop Boy in my bathroom. Now you know how it feels.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? I said I was sorry.”

  “Well, excuse me for not taking your apologies to heart. Now, get out of my way. You’re smothering me.” I press my palms against his chest and push back. He barely moves. “Troy, I’m fucking serious. Do you want me to crush your balls again?”

  He narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare. Besides, you won’t catch me by surprise this time.”

  “Try me.”

  He watches me for a couple more seconds before he finally moves away. I let out a breath of relief when he turns his back to me, but it’s too soon. A second later, he whirls around, can of whipped cream in hand, and the next thing I know, I have white foam all over my face.

  I let out a shriek and then blindly try to find a towel near the sink to clean my eyes. They burn. Behind me, Troy laughs, making my blood boil. I finally find a dish towel and quickly wipe my face. I still have whipped cream everywhere, but at least now I can open my eyes.

  Troy is doubled over, cackling like a madman. Him laughing at my expense snaps something in me. I see he no longer has the can in his hand, so I lunge for it. Before he can stop me, I squirt what’s left of the whipped cream on his face.

  Take that, sucker!

  His amusement ceases immediately. He wipes his face with the back of his forearm, but I don’t wait for him to attack again. I bolt for the stairs.

  “Oh no. You’re not escaping now. It’s on.”

  He tackles me, wrapping his steely arms around my body and keeping me from moving.

  “Let go of me.” I struggle against his hold, though I know I won’t be able to break from his boa constrictor embrace.

  “No. I won’t let you go until you apologize for all the headaches you’ve caused me since we met.”

  “You’re crazy! You’re the one who’s acted like a jackass from the beginning.”

  I try to stomp on his instep, missing it. However, my effort makes Troy lose his balance, and we both end up on the floor. The fall would have hurt me if Troy hadn’t taken the brunt of it.

  “Fuck,” he grits out.

  His hold slackens, allowing me to slide away from him. It’s not until I’m on my knees, ready to get back onto my feet, that I see he’s clutching his right arm and his face is twisted in agony.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No. I think I dislocated my shoulder.”

  Shit. His shoulder does look weird now.

  “Can you get up?”

  He opens his eyes and peers at me. “Yeah. Can you call Andreas? I probably need to go to the emergency room.”

  “What? Are you crazy? We’re not waiting for your friend to pick you up. I’ll take you.”

  “You?” His surprised tone is obvious.

  “I’m not a heartless bitch.” I crawl to his left side and help him to a sitting position.

  He winces when I move him, making me feel horrible. I’m responsible for his pain. I wanted to make him suffer but not like this.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “How bad does it hurt?”

  “Not too bad. It’s not the first time it’s happened.”

  Our eyes lock. His are bloodshot thanks to the whipped cream. We don’t speak for several beats. The air between us seems to be charged with electricity despite our situation. His gaze drops to my lips, making my breath catch. My heart drums a staccato beat in my chest, the sound so loud, I’m afraid he can hear it.

  “We should go. I’ll help you up.” I clutch his left arm, then drag him up with me as I rise from the messy floor.

  He steps closer to me, which sets my face aflame. My entire body is humming thanks to his proximity. He’s like a beacon and I’m a moth, drawn to his light. I keep my eyes glued to his chest, but I don’t step back.

  Good grief. What the hell is happening to me? Troy is the enemy, and our war probably just took him out of commission. If he didn’t hate me before, he does now.

  “Charlie? You can let go.” His voice is low, strained, sexy.

  Not sexy, you fool. He’s in pain.

  At once, I let go of him and step back. Still not making eye contact, I return to the kitchen sink to wash my face properly. The small hairs on the back of my neck stand on end when I sense Troy’s approach. I reach for a towel, stepping aside to let him use the sink as well.

  “Can you help me?”

  I freeze mid-motion, then slowly lower the towel from my face. He’s watching me expectantly, but I also notice the tension around his mouth. He’s trying to hide his discomfort.

  “Sure.”

  I grab a clean towel from the drawer, and after dampening it with lukewarm water, I offer it to him.

  He glances at the offering, then back at me. “Do you mind? It hurts when I move.”

  “Oh, okay. Sure.”

  I try my best to focus on the task and not on the fact that Troy’s eyes are glued to my face. Neither of us speaks as I drag the towel across his cheeks, nose, chin, and forehead. When I’m done, I move away quickly, afraid my body will betray me further and I’ll do something stupid, like lick his damn lips. I bet they taste sweet now.

  Gee, Charlie, get your mind out of the gutter already.

  “I should change,” I say.

  “Oh no. If I have to wear a whipped-creamed T-shirt to the ER, so do you.”

  “Really, Troy? Are you that petty?”

  “Petty?” He arches both eyebrows. “There are a dozen chickens in my bedroom, and I have a dislocated shoulder.”

  Remorse sneaks into my chest, making me lose my misplaced annoyance. “I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

  13

  CHARLIE

  After three hours in the ER, we’re finally home. The doctor gave Troy a strong painkiller, and he’s now a little out of it. I have to help him out of the car and hold on to him as we walk into the house for fear he’ll stumble and fall again.

  I haven’t stopped feeling awkward thanks to my proximity to him. My heartbeat is still accelerated, and radioactive butterflies are having a rave in my stomach.

  “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” he asks.

  “Yeah, sure. Let’s get you to bed, and I’ll make us a couple of sandwiches.”

  “Oh shit. We can’t get to bed. My room is now a chicken coop.” He chuckles.

  Damn it. I had completely forgotten about those stupid birds.

  “Ugh. Karma is indeed a bitch,” I mumble.

  “Sure is. Look at me. Coach is going to skin me alive.”

  “It was an accident. I’m sure he’ll understand that.”

  “Are you coming to my defense? The journalist who roasted me for not caring about football anymore?”

  I sigh. “I thought you were supposed to be loopy.”

  “I am or I wouldn’t be so nice to you.”

  There’s nothing I can say to that. He has every reason to be furious with me.

  Clamping my jaw shut, I veer for the stairs, my hand firmly clasped around Troy’s bicep.

  “Where did you find them?”

  “What? The chickens?”

  “No, the alien babies doing the cha-cha in my room. Yes, the chickens.”

  I ignore his remark. “Someone I know owns a farm.”

  “Man, aren’t you resourceful?”

  I steer Troy to my bedroom because he needs to lie down and rest. “Okay, it’s time for you to take it easy.”

  He smirks lazily. “Charlie, if you wanted to get me into your bed, you didn’t have to go through all that trouble.”

  “Ha-ha. The doctor said you need to sleep, and thanks to me, you can’t use yo
ur own bed.”

  “And where are you going to sleep? With me?” He grins.

  “Not in this lifetime, pal. The couch will do.”

  I let go of him to pull the duvet out of the way. Troy crawls onto the mattress, shoes still on and everything.

  “Hold on. Let me take off your dirty sneakers first, dummy.” I drop into a crouch to get to them.

  He laughs again. “You called me dummy. That’s cute.”

  No, you are. Fucker. Even acting like a moron thanks to the drugs, he manages to be irresistible. Maybe it’s because he’s not acting like an ass now.

  “You should take my jeans off too.”

  Heat spreads through my cheeks. “Not going to happen.”

  I unfurl from my crouch, meeting Troy’s gaze. He has a lopsided grin on his face, which matches his up-to-no-good stare.

  “Are you afraid you won’t be able to resist me once you see what I’m packing?”

  “Please. You think too much of yourself.”

  Before he can see the truth in my eyes, I escape to the kitchen. Hopefully, he’ll fall asleep after his belly is full and stop tormenting me with his flirtatious comments.

  My appetite is gone thanks to the knots of worry in my belly. Troy is acting carefree now because he’s as high as a kite, but tomorrow will be another story. Maybe he’ll kick me out, and I’ll have no one to blame but me.

  Knowing I can’t eat right this second, I only make one sandwich. When I return to my bedroom, Troy is fast asleep. Okay then. I set the plate on my nightstand, then go take care of the chickens that are still loose in his room.

  The place reeks of bird shit, making me wrinkle my nose. I’m definitely not eating anything tonight.

  Getting the chickens back into their cages takes forever, but the worst part is definitely the cleanup.

  Why did I agree to Ben’s idea?

  Since I’m not calling Fred to collect the birds now, I bring them all to the living room. We never made arrangements for after the prank, but the chickens have to be returned to the farm, obviously.

  I feel disgusting, so I head back to my room to shower. Troy is still out to the world, but I don’t want to risk waking him up. I cross my room on my tiptoes and then turn on the bathroom light, keeping the door open only a sliver. In the semidarkness, I quickly grab a change of clothes, then lock myself in the bathroom.

  A quick glimpse at the mirror makes me wince. I look dreadful. My hair is hard and matted thanks to the dried whipped cream, and today’s stress has given me dark circles under my eyes. I take my time in the shower, washing my hair twice. A sweet strawberry scent wafts from the bottle, and yet I can still smell chicken poop. Yuck.

  I’ve almost reached pruny state when I finally step out of the stall. The bathroom is warm and foggy like a sauna. I brush my hair and teeth first before I put on my clothes.

  “Wait. Where are the pajama bottoms?” I glance at the clothes I grabbed.

  Crap. I took two T-shirts instead of a T-shirt and a pair of pants. At least I didn’t forget my underwear.

  The T-shirt is long enough and covers my butt, so I head back into my room like that.

  “Charlie?” Troy calls from the bed.

  Ugh. Of course he would wake up to witness me prancing around without pants on.

  “What are you doing up? Go back to sleep.”

  He sits up instead, turning on the nightstand light. “What are you doing, skulking in the dark?”

  “I wasn’t skulking,” I grit out.

  “I’m really uncomfortable. Can you please help me out of my jeans?”

  With a sigh, I head over to the bed. I wouldn’t want to sleep wearing jeans either. “Fine. Just promise you won’t make stupid comments.”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please.” Focusing on my irritation and not that I’m about to see Troy in his underwear, I unzip his jeans and try to get them off. “You have to help me. Lift your butt.”

  He does as I said, but even so, it’s hard to remove someone’s pants when they’re sitting down. I force my gaze away from his crotch, but my eyes have a will of their own. They stray, giving me a glimpse of his package.

  Shit. It’s as big as I suspected.

  “See something you like?” he asks in a dangerous tone.

  “You wish.”

  I finally get his jeans off, but Troy doesn’t do anything to cover himself. I fold his pants and set them on the chair by my desk, knowing I have to escape soon.

  “Charlie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you fix my pillow, please?”

  With a groan, I glance at the ceiling. “Really, Troy? Now you’re just milking it.”

  “I’m not. I’m in agony, and it’s your fault. The least you can do is—”

  “Cater to all your whims?” I quirk an eyebrow.

  He smirks. “I wouldn’t call them whims.”

  “Fine.” I stomp back to his side.

  As I lean closer to adjust the pillows behind his back, Troy’s good arm snakes around me, pulling me in bed with him.

  “What the hell, Troy? What do you think you’re doing?”

  He reaches for the back of my head, tangling his fingers in my hair. Damn, it feels good.

  Too good.

  “You smell like strawberries, Charlie. Do you taste sweet too?”

  Grabbing a fistful of my hair, he pulls me to him and covers my lips with his. I should resist, but the moment we touch, a current of electricity spreads through my veins, sending tingles down my spine. His tongue teases my lips, prying them open. I don’t fight, just completely surrender to the moment, to the fire that ignites in the pit of my stomach. I’m kissing the enemy, the bane of my existence, and it feels fucking amazing. It’s a toe-curling, knee-buckling, panty-melting kind of kiss, and it’s short-circuiting my brain.

  A needy moan escapes my mouth, eliciting a throaty chuckle from Troy. My mind finally snaps into action, reminding me that this is a mistake of epic proportions. I pull back, ending the kiss abruptly, and jump off the bed as if I’d been electrocuted. My lips tingle, and my entire body is humming with desire.

  Damn everything to hell. I can’t believe I let this happen.

  “You taste delicious, Charlie,” he says lazily, right before he lies back down and closes his eyes.

  I don’t move from my spot, too stunned about what just happened. Troy kissed me, and I let him. Even though the kiss was a product of his medication, I still loved it. What does that say about my sanity? We don’t like each other, we don’t get along, and worse, we’re roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.

  He’s high on drugs, but what was my excuse?

  You have none, Charlie.

  All I can do now is pray he doesn’t remember a thing about tonight.

  14

  TROY

  I wake up early thanks to my burning shoulder. My head feels like it’s filled with cotton candy though, and I don’t recognize where I am right away. This is definitely not my bedroom. When my nose catches the faint scent of strawberries, I remember that I slept in Charlie’s room. Then the memories begin to trickle down.

  Son of a bitch. I kissed Charlie last night.

  Groaning, I press a closed fist to my forehead. I had to go and do something stupid besides getting my shoulder dislocated. I can’t believe she let me get near her. Maybe she doesn’t hate me as much as I thought.

  A plate on the nightstand catches my attention. Instead of finding the sandwich I didn’t eat last night, there are pieces of oranges and grapes on it. My prescribed painkillers and a bottle of water are next to it. A strange warmness spreads through my chest. It seems I like the fact that Charlie is taking care of me. I must be the stupidest moron on campus.

  The ping of an incoming text sounds in the quiet room. I try to pinpoint its location, but it’s only after a second text comes in that I discover where it’s coming from. My phone is on Charlie’s desk. I’m not sure how it ended up
there. It’s not until I get out of bed and come closer that I see it’s connected to a charger. She must have done that since I have zero recollection of doing it last night.

  The texts are from Andreas and Danny, asking if I’m meeting them at the gym. I said I would yesterday, but that was before my accident. I have to call the coach and tell him what happened. He’s not going to be happy about it, but Danny is ready to take my place. I won’t be letting the team down, only myself. I can’t go back in time and not dislocate my shoulder though, so there’s no sense in worrying about it now.

  I take another pill and then eat a couple grapes before I head to my room. Bracing for the stench of chicken poop, I’m surprised when I smell vanilla instead. There’s a scented candle burning on my dresser. Charlie cleaned the whole place, and she opened the windows to let fresh air in as well. Once again, a fuzzy feeling spreads through my chest, though I’m not sure why I’m so pleased that she cleaned her own mess.

  I put on a pair of sweatpants and then head downstairs. The couch is empty, and the only signs that she slept there last night are the pillow and folded blanket.

  Sitting on a stool, I bite the bullet and call Coach Clarkson.

  He answers on the second ring in his usual grumpy voice. “Troy, if you’re calling me this early, it means you have bad news for me.”

  “You know me too well, Coach.”

  “Out with it already.”

  “I dislocated my shoulder last night.”

  “What the hell did you do, son?”

  “I fell in my living room.”

  “You fell, huh? That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You expect me to believe that an elite athlete like yourself simply lost his balance over nothing?”

  Ah shit. Yeah, that’d be pretty hard to believe.

  “Actually, my roommate was mopping the floor, and I didn’t notice. It was one of those stupid moments of distraction.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, realizing too late that I should have thought of a better story before I called the coach.

  “Right. There’s nothing for it now. I want you to come in and see the team’s physician anyway.”