by Cindy Miles
I didn’t get three steps before the box was lifted out of my arms. The guy gave me a crooked grin, and it made the scar at his eye pucker. “Least I can do for slamming into you. Least you can do for charging my nuts with your knee.” Chahgin’.
My gaze slammed into his and held steady. “Look. I don’t need or want your help, and you don’t have to make anything up to me. It’s no big deal.” I wasn't too sure about him, but apparently he liked to fight. And he was a major flirt. Or he was a lunatic. Either way, he was trouble. It was so obvious. “Your nuts will survive.”
“I’m taking the box to your room, Sunshine, and that’s that. No need for hostility. So lead the way.”
Godalmighty, he wasn’t giving up. I could kick him again, but that’d just cause another scene. The last thing I wanted to do was draw more attention. I’d just gotten here! With a final hard glare, I turned and started toward the dorm.
He followed. Whistling.
I thought the best thing to do was ignore him, pretend he didn’t bother me, so that’s what I did. I walked the remaining few feet to the dorm entrance, fished my key card out of my pocket and pushed it through the slide. His big tattooed arm held the door open for me. I shook my head and passed him. We walked in together, hit the stairwell, and started climbing. My boots scruffed against the old concrete steps; his Nikes made no sound at all. I slid a guarded glance toward him, just to make sure he didn't shank me or something. I pretended he wasn’t there. Kind of hard since all I could think about was that stupid kiss.
“So you got a name, Sunshine?” he asked.
He was one step below me, and I glanced over my shoulder, pushing open the door to the second floor. “Yes.”
A few yards down the corridor, he chuckled, throaty and full-on male. “So you gonna tell me what it is?” His accent was unique and sharp. “Let me guess? Ballbuster?”
I spotted dorm room twenty-one and, digging the key from my pocket, unlocked the door. I shook my head. Everything about him screamed player. Well, actually, had he not been wearing a WU Silverbacks jersey, everything would’ve screamed thug. That thought was going against what Mom had always taught me—not to judge by looks alone. Kelsy Evans had proved that theory our senior year when he’d slipped what Jilly had referred to as sex poison into my drink. Never would his all-American good looks, family upbringing and incredible charm have raised suspicion that he was really a perverted asshole. Not until it was too late. Jilly hadn’t liked him from the moment I’d first brought him to the ranch, and he’d never missed an opportunity to remind us all about that. This guy? Open book. He wasn’t trying to pretend he was anything other than a badass heart-breaking flirt. There could be something said for honesty, anyway.
Still. I was in a new place, with new people, away from the safety of my very familiar home and protective brothers. I was on my own and needed to be careful. My brothers and grandfather had already threatened to drag me home at the first sign of trouble—which was something I avoided at all costs. Until now, apparently. I'd noticed a haunted glint in this guy’s unusual eyes when he'd looked at me, though, and it had unnerved me. Big time.
“You’re killin’ me here, Sunshine. What’s your name?”
But now his pushiness was making me want to retreat. Making me on edge. I really just wanted to be alone and get settled without any problems, scenes, or incidents. Having been sprawled across Oliver Hall’s lawn was bad enough. Heaving a big sigh, I met his startling stare with a bored one, and relieved him of my box. Surprisingly, he allowed it. “Apparently, Sunshine,” I answered. Leaving him standing in the hall, I shut the door. A breath of relief eased from me, and only then did I realize I’d been shaking a little. Had he really unnerved me that much? Of course he had. He’d kissed me, for God’s sake. There was no way he knew what kind of line he’d crossed with me. Good Lord, I hoped he couldn’t tell. With another cleansing exhale, I stared at my new living space.
The room was empty, except for the double occupancy school-issued beds, dressers, and desks. I set my box down on the far side of the room, closest to the window, and glanced around.
The now-familiar male laugh sounded from the other side of the closed door. “Um, pardon me, sweetheart, I’m not leaving until you tell me your name. You’ve made it an issue now, see?” The way he said sweetheart came out like sweethaht. Pardon, pahdon. “I’m sitting down. In the hall. Against your door. And I got patience, Sunshine. A fuckin’ lot of it.”
With a long breath, I closed my eyes. What was his problem? There were easily fifty girls in the common room downstairs. Why did he want to know my name so badly? He hadn’t even told me his name yet. Not that I wanted to know it. What I wanted was for him to leave me alone. My eyes raked over my room. Of course, I had a lot more stuff to get from my truck, which meant leaving my room, which meant coming face to face with him no matter what I did. Hell. There was no way out of this, unless I shimmied out of the window—and I was heavily weighing that option. With an aggravated sigh, I took my hat off and flung it onto the bed, swore under my breath, crossed the room and opened the door. As promised, there he was; sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, tattooed forearms resting against them. He was right in front of my door. Tilting that shocking face and arresting eyes upward, he gave me a half-grin that troubled me more than I’d like to admit. White teeth flashed. “Name?”
My gaze settled on his, and I held it that way for a few seconds before stepping over him and heading down the hallway. Six months ago I might have been intimidated. Now? Okay, sure, I was … a little. I couldn’t afford not to be. My entire future was at stake. I couldn’t put my old scared self out there for anyone to see. That would open doors I never wanted opened again. Down the stairwell and out of Oliver Hall, I crossed the lawn, pulled open the tailgate of my truck and climbed up. I knew he was right behind me. I shot him a hooded glance.
“This is a wicked ride—especially for a girl.” He was standing by the wheel well, arms resting on the side of my truck, looking casual and unaffected. Like he hadn’t knocked me over, hadn’t kissed me. Like he did that sort of thing every single day. He rolled his gaze skyward, as if concentrating. “I thought people from Texas were supposed to have manners.” His eyes drifted back down to mine. “You’re like some, I don’t know, mean ass fuckin’ road warrior or something, with this tank. With zero goddamn manners.”
I was stunned by my gut reaction; I actually fought the urge to smile. His accent was strong and vulgar, yet … charming. I don’t remember the last time that thought crossed my mind. I wondered where he was from, but wasn’t about to ask him. I kept shuffling my stuff around, lining boxes up to carry in. Glancing over my shoulder at him, I continued working, and opened the big heavy-duty plastic toolbox my brother Jace had bought me for my birthday, containing my telescope bag. I said nothing. Those blue eyes had a wildness to them that made me wonder what hid behind them. They were so strange to look at. Especially with that big shiner circling one of them.
“Brax Jenkins.” He half-turned, and I saw the name Jenkins across the broad back of his jersey. “I’m not a fuckin’ serial killer or stalker, I swear to God. I’m a baseball player. And I’m gonna help you unload this truck. Then you can tell me your name.” He shrugged. “You know, even trade for me slammin’ you to the ground and you sackin’ my nuts. What do ya say? And don’t kid yourself, sweetheart. I saw that smile you was tryin’ so hard to hide.”
I studied his determined look for a second. Hahd to hide. His strong jaw was set, and the muscles there flexed. He wasn’t giving up; no time soon, anyway. Hard to believe that the very first person I met at a school where I didn’t know a single solitary soul was this guy. Intense, oozing with sexuality, and something else indefinable, he was exactly the very thing I needed and wanted to avoid. Why did he want to know my name so badly? I couldn’t figure it out and it made zero sense. Girls all over campus probably kept tabs on him, and he could easily have his pick. Probably a different girl each night for weeks
on end. So why bother with me, even if only to get my name?
“Come on, it’s just a name, Sunshine,” he continued, and glanced at the sky. “Not like I’m proposing to you or anything.” He shrugged. “It’s just a name.” His eyes drew back to mine, and his lips pulled back further, making his already-wide grin dangerous and wolfish looking. “And I’m not fuckin’ apologizing for that kiss. It was natural hot-blooded male gut instinct.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t help it.”
Couldn’t help it? So yes, to answer an earlier question to myself: He was kookoo. But if I simply gave him my name, maybe he’d just be satisfied and be done with it. He’d knocked me over and spontaneously kissed me; he’d make up for it by helping me. Done. Although I could easily unload the truck alone, I pinned him with a hard stare. “Only if you leave me alone afterward.”
He clapped his hands together sharply once and leapt into the back of the truck, and it bounced with his weight. “Sweet.” His gaze drifted over the contents in the bed, and then to the big black bag I’d shouldered. “What’s that?”
“Telescope,” I answered in a quiet tone. I noticed he hadn’t promised anything. I pushed another box closer to the tailgate with my boot, stepped off, and lifted it into my arms.
“So what are you, a weatherman or something?” His lips parted with another half-cocked grin. He grabbed a couple of boxes and balanced them, and jumped down beside me.
“Yes,” I answered in a quiet voice. “Or something.”
“Ah, I see,” he said. He walked close enough that our shoulders brushed.
I glanced at him but said nothing.
“You’re one of those wicked smart girls, aren’t ya? Like some foxy cowgirl Dexter’s Laboratory scientist or something?” He was smiling, looking down at me. Smaht.
Crude as he was, I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at my mouth. I shook my head and shrugged. Foxy? “Something like that.” I pressed my lips together hard, trying to make the grin go away. I didn’t want it to be there, and I didn’t want it to encourage Brax Jenkins. It was nearly impossible.
When we reached the dorm entrance, Brax caught the door as a group of girls filed out. They all slid me an odd look, and one said, “Hey there, Brax,” in a husky voice, and then stared hard at me as she passed. Almost … challenging me. Daring me to interfere. Daggers, even. It was always so noticeable when girls flirted, and it looked and sounded stupid and immature. They never really knew what might lay behind good looks. Or an arresting pair of eyes. No matter how jolting of a kisser. I knew that first hand.
“Ladies,” he said. They all walked away, giggling and whispering. He held the door open for me, his eyes never leaving mine, and I pushed through.
“Fan club?” I asked as we hit the stairwell. At least people knew him; maybe I wouldn't get shanked after all. Kissed, apparently, but not shanked.
He chuckled and turned that odd gaze on me. “Something like that,” he said pointedly.
A half hour later, Brax set the last box down in my room. He rooted himself in front of me, his tattooed arms folded over his chest. Those eyes regarded mine, determined. One of his brows lifted. “Name?”
“Olivia Beaumont.” I stuck my hand out to shake his, like I’d been raised to do. “Thanks for the help. You can leave me alone now.”
Brax took my hand but his gaze stayed on my eyes, and his strong fingers wrapped around mine. The jolt of excitement that shot through me at his touch surprised me, but it was accompanied by alarm. I pasted a grin on my face and prayed there were no tell-tale signs of either. He actually seemed a little stunned that I’d even offered a handshake. Although he didn’t squeeze too hard, I could feel his strength radiating in his grip. A smile lifted one side of his mouth as he regarded me. “You got a middle name, Olivia Beaumont?”
“Were the first two not good enough?” I asked. When he continued to silently stare, I shook my head. Strange request, I thought, but I answered. “Grace,” I said, and then remembered to drop my hand.
His smile was full-blown, and it transformed his harsh features of scars and crudeness into something … else completely. Something that made my blood surge within me. It took me off guard. It could also possibly be the origin of his fan club. “Well, Gracie, I’ll see ya around.”
Brax turned his swaggering, lean form sideways at my open door, allowing a curvy brunette with blonde highlights to pass through. He looked over her head at me, winked, and left. The girl just stared after him, then turned to me, wide-eyed. She wore hot pink shorts, a white tank, and wedge sandals. Her hair was super straight, parted in the middle, and fell nearly to her waist. She carried a big zebra striped purse that rested against her hip.
“You’re Olivia Beaumont, right?” A light, tinny voice fell from her mouth. “I’m Tessa Barnes, your new roomie.” She glanced out the door once more and pushed her palm to her forehead. “Oh my God, do you know who that was?”
I nodded. “Said his name was Brax Jenkins.”
Her big blue eyes, rimmed in dark liner, bugged. “You know him?”
I shook my head and sat on the bed I stood closest to. “No, I just met him about an hour ago. He knocked me down on the lawn then insisted on helping me carry my stuff in. Why?” I purposely left out the kissing part.
My new roommate slowly shook her head. “Oh, girl. Oh … girl.” When I didn’t respond to her exasperated remark, her eyes popped open even wider. Then she muttered what sounded like a stream of Spanish under her breath. “That’s Braxton Jenkins, my darling. Sophomore. Kappa Phi brother. Winston’s big dog starting pitcher. Total man slut.” Tessa shook her head. “Bad ass, and not in a good way. He’s dangerous. Trouble with a big fucking T. If you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll stay far away from him.”
I briefly wondered what my new roomie would think if I told her Winston’s numero uno man slut had kissed me on the lawn? It didn’t take long to decide that was something better kept to myself.
What a totally strange way to start an introduction with my new college roommate: a warning to stay away from Brax Jenkins. A warning which I really didn’t need. Tessa plopped down on the end of my bed. I looked at her and lifted a curious brow. “What do you mean by dangerous?” He looked it all right. I’d thought the same thing myself. Man slut? That much was completely obvious.
The serious expression on her face made her arched brows tug forward. She crossed her tanned legs. “He’s a total punk. From Boston,” Tessa began. “Has a short fuse and as you can tell, gets into a lot of fights.” She pointed to her own eye and made an air-circle around it, referring to his shiner. “Lots and lots of fights. Starts most of them, from what I’ve heard. It’s even rumored he killed someone when he was younger.” She rubbed her arms as though the mention of Brax chilled her. “And those eyes are so freaky creeping weird.” This time, she physically shuddered. “Scary.”
Funny, those eyes of his had been scary, but I’d also thought they were—
I regarded my roommate, who seemed to be a little on the dramatic side, and smiled. “He definitely looks like trouble, but being from Boston or anywhere else doesn’t make a person a punk or a murderer,” I said. “You can’t speculate on rumor.” I realized I was defending him, when minutes ago I’d been thinking him a thug, too. Grandpa Jilly would call that being a goddamned hypocrite.
Tessa leaned forward, unaffected by my subtle chastising. “Fair enough, girl. But he is a man slut. Certifiably sound sources have told me that much. Sincerely.”
I just stared at her and waited, knowing she’d give full disclosure. I wasn’t really sure why I wanted it, but I listened anyway.
Tessa sighed, as though irritated that I couldn’t just take her warning at face value. She cleared her throat pointedly. “Braxton Jenkins isn’t just Winston’s top dog starting pitcher for the Silverbacks.” Her slight Texas drawl was made even more dramatic by her intense storytelling of Brax. “He is top-dog over the dating pool. His ego is … epic. His female conquests? Legendary. He’s all abou
t the hootch chase, Olivia. Once he’s caught his prey, stolen the goods, he releases, just like a pro-Bass wrangler at a fishing tournament. Bang ‘em and throw ’em back.” She scowled. “More than one reliable source claims to have heard him say those exact words, too. I mean, how sanctifuckingmonious is that? Bangs and dumps, and does it with no shame. Trust me, he’s heartless. Boy’s like a damned horny hound looking for a bitch in heat.”
I couldn’t help but grin. Tessa’s drama was … entertaining. “That describes about, oh, probably most of the guys on this campus, I’d imagine. But how do you know all this about him? Aren’t you a freshman?”
Tessa bobbed her head. “My older brother is on the baseball team with him,” she said. “He warned me away months ago. Says Brax is an arrogant ass.”
I rubbed my chin with my knuckle. “Again, you just described probably ninety percent of all guys at Winston.” I held her gaze. “So you don’t actually know girls he’s been with?” I asked. Some of what she was relaying sounded more like hearsay, rather than firsthand experience like she wanted me to believe. Gossipy, and having been on the other end of that word, I totally hated it.
“Well”—she cleared her throat again and her face screwed up— “let’s just say I’ve heard plenty, and the sources I’ve heard it from are trustworthy. Besides, he doesn’t try to hide it. He’ll tell a girl he’s a one-night-stander. That I have heard myself. And that means the same as bang ‘em and dump ‘em, right? But I do know guys he’s beaten the shit out of. That’s all the proof I need.” She regarded me, and tucked her straight hair behind her ear. “I’m a little surprised that he came onto you, though. Oh,” she said, catching herself. “Shit. No offense. That came out way worse than how I meant it.”
