Four Years Later
Page 8

And no way am I doing this to spend a little extra time with my tutor, either. She was the last person I expected to see standing out in front of my work, fighting off some jackass with grabby hands. I’d just ended my shift, totally exhausted and ready to go home and crawl into bed, when there she appeared, gorgeous in those jeans that fit her like a second skin, showing off those long legs and that …
Grimacing, I shake my head. I need to get over my fixation with her ass.
“Fine. Take me home, then.” She sounds completely irritated. “Now give me my phone.”
“Not until you thank me for the ride.” I’m playing games with her and actually enjoying myself. I haven’t enjoyed … anything for a while. I’m too stressed out. Everyone wants something from me and I keep f**king up. I can’t seem to get my shit together.
She rests her hands on her hips, scowling at me. “You haven’t even given me the ride yet.”
“I know.” I grin and her scowl deepens. I wonder if she hates me specifically, or does she hate all guys in general? “You’re not going to like this, but we have to walk back to my place first, pick up my car, and then I can drive you home.”
“Wait a minute. Your car’s not here?”
“I live ridiculously close. I walk to work.” I shrug. Everyone thinks I’m freaking crazy. They all know who I’m tied to at The District, especially since my sister used to work there. That I walk to work and try to keep everything low key when I could let everyone know the NFL’s newest superstar, Drew Callahan, is my brother-in-law blows their minds.
I’m not about that kind of shit, though. Being obvious only causes trouble. I can just imagine how much greedier my mom would be if I got all flashy like that.
When Chelsea doesn’t say anything, I take that to mean she’s being agreeable. “Ready to go?” I start walking and she falls into step beside me, both of us quiet as we head toward my house. I live right downtown, among the older homes and the frat and sorority houses, not too far from campus. I like being so close, in the midst of everything. Fable thinks I’m crazy, but she got nothing but grief from all of those college types—specifically the type of guys I hang out with now.
Drew put a stop to all that. He’s Fable’s freaking hero. At times, he’s been mine, too.
I glance down at Chelsea, who’s taking about five steps to keep up with one of mine. Her head is bent against the wind that’s blowing over us and she has her arms wrapped around herself like she’s cold.
I’m tempted to slip my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me to warm her up, because I’m hot as hell after working a busy night, but I restrain myself. First, I probably smell, not that I’m trying to impress her or anything. Second, she’d probably punch me in the gonads if I tried to touch her. She’s on edge and I can’t blame her. That stupid loser was trying to manhandle her. What would have happened if I hadn’t been there to stop it?
“Thank you for helping me get rid of Tad,” she says, her voice soft.
She’s a mind reader. “No problem.”
“I didn’t want to be there tonight. At The District,” she goes on. “It was all Kari’s idea. She set me up with Tad and he turned out to be a total jerk.”
Weak statement. The guy was more like a total asshole. “Maybe you shouldn’t let your friend set you up with guys you don’t know.”
“No kidding,” she mutters. “Though it’s really the only way I meet guys.”
“What about the ones you tutor?” Hell, listen to me. I sound like a wimp trying to figure out how she meets guys. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t be attracted to her. I need to find some hot chick with an amazing ass and f**k her brains out. Fuck Chelsea right out of my head so I won’t think about her anymore.
I don’t know if that would work, though. The thought of finding some random chick and getting laid doesn’t appeal whatsoever.
“The ones I tutor … I consider it—them—work.” She looks up at me and our gazes meet. I don’t look away. Neither does she. “Usually,” she adds, sinking her teeth into her lower lip.
Okay. I need to pretend she never said that. Because my body is reacting all over the place as if she just whispered, Fuck me, Owen.
“What do you mean, ‘usually’?” There I go, not pretending at all.
Shrugging, she tears her gaze away from mine, looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t know.”
I let it go, hoping that she’s talking about me. Why, I’m not sure. I shove my hands in my pockets and slow my pace, contemplating her. I can see her skin through the lace of her shirt, though she’s wearing a skimpy tank top that covers most of her. The jeans—I’m not even going to bother going on about her legs and ass yet again because, damn.
There’s nothing else I can say about that.
Her long, dark hair tumbles down her back, straight as can be. It looks soft. I want to touch it. Wrap those silky strands around my fingers and give it a tug while I lock my lips with hers. Tilt her head back farther so I can lick my way down her throat and feel her pulse thrumming beneath my mouth …
“Do we go straight?”
Her sweet voice knocks me from my lusty thoughts and I blink, realizing that I’ve stopped at a cross street. “Turn left,” I say gruffly. “My place is three houses down on the left side.”
She doesn’t say a word, merely does what I tell her to, and I let her take the lead, admiring her from behind. I need to face facts: I’m hot for the tutor. She’s not my type. I hardly know her. But my body sure as hell wants to get to know her. And this is stupid because I’m asking for nothing but trouble, thinking like this.
As we draw closer to my house, dread sinks over me. Every window is lit up, and I can hear music and loud voices. Fucking Wade is having a party.
Just great.
“Um.” Chelsea stops and turns to look at me. “Is that your place?” She points at my house, where I can see Des and some chick I don’t know sitting on the couch on the front porch, passing a joint back and forth.
Shit.
“Yeah,” I say, my jaw tight. “Looks like my roommate is having a get-together.”
“Some get-together,” Chelsea mumbles, bouncing from one foot to the other. She looks nervous.
“Come on.” I flick my head toward my house. “I’ll just grab my keys and we’ll get out of here.”
My car is parked in front of the house on the street. We don’t have a garage, and the house is old and small, but I fixed it up inside pretty well when I first moved in and automatically had Wade move in with me. We’ve been friends forever. I couldn’t ditch him. I don’t even make him pay rent.
Drew takes care of it all—he bought the place. Paid cash for it and everything. Someday, I’d like to have that sort of power, that kind of comfort.
Smoking weed with Mom, drinking too much beer, and partying most of the week is not going to get me there anytime soon.
“Um, I’ll wait outside,” Chelsea says, shuffling her feet. She looks uncomfortable and I hate that.
“Are you sure?” I’m not going to push her into any sort of situation she doesn’t want to be in. Bad enough what I saw earlier with that as**ole grabbing her. I won’t put myself in the same league.
She nods, lifting her head so she meets my gaze. “It’ll probably be—”
“Yo, Maguire! Who’s the hottie?” Des calls from his perch on the couch.
A sigh escapes me and I try my best to send her an apologetic look before I say, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Motherfucker, don’t be all mysterious on me. Bring your new girl up here and introduce her to us properly,” Des yells, a goofy-ass grin on his face.
“Hell.” I run a hand through my hair, then let my arm drop. “Do you mind? Des is harmless, though I don’t know the girl.”
“Kinda like he doesn’t know me, right?” She flashes me a tentative smile and shrugs. “How are you going to introduce me?”
“How do you want to be introduced?” I toss back at her.
She grimaces. “I don’t know. Your friend?”
I stare at her for a long moment. “They’re going to think I’m f**king you.”
Chelsea gapes, her mouth dropping open. “Are you serious?”
“They think I f**k every girl I bring around the house.” I give them good reason to think that, too.
She actually flinches. “Do you have to keep saying that?”
“Saying what? ‘Fuck’?”
“Yes.” Her expression is pained. “It’s so …”
“Fucking vulgar? Yeah.” I laugh when she glares. I can’t help it. “Sorry. Come on, let’s get this over with. And be prepared. Plug your ears or something, because Des curses like a motherfucker.”
CHAPTER 6
Chelsea
Funny how I was at a bar with my best friend yet still felt incredibly uncomfortable. Powerless. Out of control.
Here I stand with a guy I barely know at a house I’ve never been to, with a crowd of rowdy people, total and complete strangers who are partying inside and are either drunk or high or both. And I’m not scared at all.
It’s because I’m with Owen. He makes me feel safe.
I follow him as he approaches the front porch, my gaze going to his friend Des. Owen’s right. The guy looks perfectly harmless, with a stupid smile on his face and a can of beer clutched in his hand like it’s his precious lifeline. The girl with him is plastered to his side as best as she can be, all voluptuous curves and bottle-blond hair, with blood-red lips and blinding white teeth. She gives me a withering stare, dismissing me on sight.
Great. She hates me. I’m not a fan either.
“Des, what the hell are all of these people doing here?” Owen asks as he stops right in front of the couch. I come up behind him, then step to the side so I don’t look like I’m hiding. I refuse to let the girl with the scary red lips intimidate me.
“I don’t know, but I’m drinking a f**king beer and smoking a J,” Des says as if he has zero cares in the world—which is probably pretty close to the truth. I recognize him. He was with Owen the night I saw them at the diner. “You should join me, bro. You look a little tense. Wade invited me over earlier and we decided to call a few friends. Figured you wouldn’t f**king mind. I mean, look—you brought a guest and everything.” Des waves his beer can at me.
“Yeah. Great.” Owen runs a hand through his hair, something I notice he does when he’s irritated. It’s all messy and sexy and I want to grab hold of it, yank his head down to mine, and kiss him.
Yikes. What in the world is wrong with me, thinking like this?
“So who’s your guest to our fancy party? She’s pretty.” Des smiles brilliantly at me. He’s cute. Dark hair cropped close to his head, warm brown eyes that are rimmed with red from the joint-smoking.
Probably that cloud of smoke that still hovers above him is why he doesn’t recognize me.
“Uh, this is Chelsea.” That’s all Owen says. Waves a hand at me like I don’t matter, which hurts a little, but I push past it. I guess he’s trying to not make this a big deal and I can’t blame him. I’m just his tutor. I’m not important to him.
“Hi.” I smile at Des, then cast a more wary smile in the blonde’s direction.
“This is Marcy.” Des shoots the blonde a lusty gaze, which she returns with gusto. “We just met. But we’re already old f**king friends, right, Marcy?” She doesn’t respond.
“Awesome,” Owen mutters with a jerky shake of his head. “We just stopped by to get my keys. I need to take Chelsea home.”
“Don’t go home, not yet! The party just started. Have a beer, smoke a bowl, f**king relax. Or maybe get relaxed by f**king around for a little bit. Whatever.” Des laughs when Owen shoots him a disgusted look. “Man, since when did you turn into such a downer?”
Owen doesn’t reply. I feel like things are being said without words and I’m not catching on. Not that I would. I don’t know anything about Owen beyond his school file and what little information I’ve gleaned since meeting him.
We leave the porch and head into the house, which is filled with smoke, lots of people, and loud music. The kitchen is especially packed as they all drink beer either from cans or the infamous red cups. There’s a keg on the dining room table, and I wonder just how spontaneous this party was.
Considering I have zero experience with keggers, I have no idea how easy it is to obtain kegs of beer.
Everyone in the room seems to look at me like they wonder where I came from, not that I can blame them. They don’t know me. I’m sure they all know Owen. They’re in his house, after all. And I’m just some silly girl pretending that she knows what it’s like to be young and easy and carefree.
The girls glare. The guys stare. I feel like I’m on display, that Owen is lord and master of the house and if they could, they’d all bow to him and thank him for finally coming home.
Heaving out a big sigh, I push past my dramatic thoughts and keep close to Owen, not wanting to lose him since the deeper we get into the house, the more crowded it becomes. When he grabs hold of my hand and yanks me close, I literally gasp, surprised that he’s actually touching me. His fingers curl around mine and I try to ignore the reaction that pulses through me from his touch, but I can’t. I swear my knees just went weak.
He pulls me closer and I feel as though I’m going to die. I can smell him, autumn and sweat and the slightly stale scent of working in a restaurant for hours on end. “My keys are in my room,” he yells into my ear. The music in the house is deafening. “Just keep close—we’ll grab them and then we’re out of here.”