by Ann Garner
“Yes.”
She nods her head towards Grant, sending her hair swinging against her bare shoulders. “I’m pretty sure he’s out cold so I’ll get one of the boys to help you get him out to the car.”
“They couldn’t have given him a ride home?”
A deep voice comes from the other side of the bar. “We’re not that kind of bar, sweetheart.” I glance behind Collins as Lincoln Montgomery comes striding up behind the bar.
“Don’t call me sweetheart.”
Collins snorts. “He calls them all sweetheart so he doesn’t have to remember their names. Isn’t that right, Linc?”
“Makes things easier,” he says with a quick shrug, obviously unrepentant. “Give me a couple minutes to get Grant squared away then I’ll come back to walk you to your car, Collins.”
She rolls her eyes. “My car is five feet from the back door. I think I’ll be okay.”
Lincoln shoots her a look, eyes narrowing in on her. “You’ll wait for me like a good girl.”
“Sure thing, Dad. Here’s his tab, Grace. I mentioned on the phone he couldn’t cover it.”
“Right.” I hand over my credit card. “Just put it on here.”
Lincoln comes around the bar, asking for my keys. I hand them over and watch as he shoves one shoulder up and under Grant’s, lifting up so he can maneuver him out to my car. Grant’s a pretty tall guy, and though he’s slender I know for a fact that he’s solid muscle and no light weight. Lincoln doesn’t have any problems shouldering the weight.
“Here you go.” Collins lays the receipts on the bar in front of me, along with a pen so I can sign. Three hundred dollars! Good God, what had he been drinking all night? How was his liver still functioning?
“He bought a few rounds for some girls.” Collins says, watching my face. “So he didn’t consume all this on his own. I cut him off a while ago, switched him over to water. He was too drunk to notice.”
“Great.” I mutter. “Just perfect.” I sign the receipt for her before shoving the copy in my pocket.
“He talked about you a lot.” She’s stopped with glasses, and is now wiping the bar down with her rag. But she’s eyeing me. “The one that got away.”
I snort. “The one he threw away.”
She arches a wheat blonde eyebrow. “Yet you came to get him, that’s awfully nice of you.”
“No, it just makes me an idiot.”
Collins chuckles under her breath, and then her eyes wrinkle, just briefly at the corners, as a small smile flirts with the edge of her mouth. She’s looking over my shoulder, and when I turn around it’s to see Lincoln coming back into the bar.
It seems the very pretty Collins Riley has the hots for her boss. Not that I can blame her. It’s less than fifty degrees outside but he’s walking around in a black T-shirt, the sleeves stretched tight over his biceps, the beautiful colors of his ink on full display. He is a beautiful specimen of male. “He’s in the back seat, lying down. He came around some. I’d leave the windows open, hopefully the cold air will sober him up enough that you don’t have any trouble getting him out of the car.”
“Oh, I won’t have any problems. He can sleep in the damn car for all I care.”
“How’s Jacob?” Lincoln wants to know, and I wince at the question.
“Not thrilled with me being here.”
“Oh, I know. He called to make sure I would be here to watch out for you.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. He’d been pissed when I’d left him, so I’m shocked that he’d taken the time to called Lincoln.
“We need to lock up.” Lincoln tells me pointedly.
“Is that a nice way of saying get the hell out?” I ask with a laugh.
“Pretty much.”
Collins rolls her eyes, tossing a dish towel at his chest. “Leave her alone, Linc. Would you like a drink before you go? Some water, or a coke.” She clarifies when I arch one brow at her question.
Shaking my head, I hold my hand out to Lincoln for my car keys. “I need to get Grant home.”
“Tell him to rest up. And for fuck’s sake, he needs to stop drinking before his next fight.” Lincoln’s voice trails behind me, stopping me in my tracks. I turn my head over my shoulder, narrowing my gaze on Lincoln.
“What fight?” I ask him slowly.
“He’s been fighting for Ira Manizel for the last few weeks. He fights again next week and the guy he’s up against is undefeated.” Lincoln grabs a beer off the bar that I hadn’t seen before. He takes a long drink. “Grant needs to get his shit together or he’s going to get his ass kicked.” He takes another drink before slowly adding, “Again.”
I had no idea who Ira Manizel was, but the tone of Lincoln’s voice when saying his name didn’t leave me with warm and fuzzy’s inside. Lincoln meets my gaze head on for just another moment before turning and then Collins and Lincoln are arguing over her ability to make it to the car on her own as I walk out the front door. Grant grunts, rolling from his back to his side when I get in the car. Shaking my head I flip on the ignition.
“What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?”
He just grunts again in response as I turn my car out of the empty parking lot of the Black Heart, heading back toward campus.
Since we’re careening toward morning, and all intelligent people are tucked neatly in their beds and taking into account the fact that more than half the campus is away for the Thanksgiving break, and there really isn’t anyone left to be swarming the streets anyway, it doesn’t take long for me to pull up in front of the townhouse Grant shares with Cole.
Lincoln had been right, the cold air coming in the windows as we drove had woken Grant up somewhat. During the ride he had shifted enough that his head was now leaning against the door of the car, his eyes open so they can meet mine when I turn to look back. I watch him for a minute, waiting for something other than anger to make its way inside of me, before spinning forward again.
Was it wrong to feel pity? Because that was the only other thing I felt bubbling through me at the moment. Pity that he had done this to himself.
“Thanks.” He mostly groans the word.
“Hmm.” I shove the car into drive; popping my seatbelt off at the same time so I can turn to face him fully. “Who is Ira Manizel?”
His jaw tightens at the question. Instead of answering me he says, “Grace,” he pulls himself up into a sitting position. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you, but I didn’t have anyone else.”
“Tell me what you’re wrapped up in, Grant.” I shake my head when he remains stubbornly quiet. “Or you can get out now. I did my good deed. I got you home. You’re on your own from here.” I turn to glare at him. “Get. Out.” I growl the last two words.
“Fine.” Throwing open the door he stumbles out. “Fine. I’m out.” The door slams closed behind him.
Fuck me.
Chapter Twenty One
I give him Saturday.
Mainly because I know if the situations were reversed I would be several steps beyond pissed. I hole up in my apartment, watching reruns of the last season of Keeping up with the Kardashians, while eating my weight in chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
I couldn’t sleep at all, which is incredibly evident by the huge purplish blue bruises drooping down beneath my eyes. No amount of concealer was going to cover that mess up, but I gave it the good old college try.
So now I only looked half dead instead of like a total zombie.
Staring at myself in the mirror in my bedroom I frown, giving a heavy sigh before I yank my messy curls back in an equally messy knot at the nape of my neck, knowing the strands won’t stay there long. I grab my black leggings off my bed tugging them up my legs before pulling on a loose white T-shirt that hits at mid-thigh. I cover the shirt with an equally long and equally loose gray cardigan before knotting a pale pink and green scarf around my neck. I pull on my kick ass knee length brown leather boots and step back to stare at my reflection.
Grabbing my sunglasses, I shove them on top of my head before heading out of the apartment. The morning has a distinct bite of cold air, and I wrap my cardigan tighter against my body to ward off the chill. Winter is definitely starting to close in. The sky is overcast, the morning doused in gray, which fits my mood to a T. I jog down the steps with my keys in my hand, in a hurry to get to Jacob.
I pull up short on the bottom step when I see Grant heading my way.
His head is down, his blond hair mostly covered by a CMU baseball hat. His hands are tucked in the front pocket of his jeans, his shoulders hunched into a navy sweatshirt, again bearing the logo of our school. He looks only marginally better this morning than he did last night, I think, as his head tips up and his brown eyes land on me.
He stops walking several feet away. “Hey, Grace.”
“What do you want?” I can’t keep the snap out of my voice since he’s more than likely screwed everything up between Jacob and me.
“I just want to ap—”
Oh, hell no, I think. Really? “The word apologize better not be the next fucking word out of your mouth, Grant.” I interrupt with a growl.
“I’m not sure what else to say.” He says with a roll of his shoulders. “I shouldn’t have called you, but there was no one else.”
“That’s right,” I move off the last step. “There wasn’t anyone else. So this time I came, but next time,” I wait to make sure he’s paying attention, only talking again once his eyes meet mine. “Next time don’t call me. Drunk, bleeding or what the fuck ever, I don’t want to be your phone call, Grant. I won’t come again.” I narrow my eyes, studying his face intently. “Who the fuck is Ira Manizel?”
He visibly pales. The color leeching rapidly out of his face as his eyes widen and the line of his jaw tightens. “No one.” His tone is sharp, and his demeanor tells me this is not a conversation he wants to have.
I cross my arms over my chest, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. “Don’t play that game with me, Grant. I know you to well for you to lie to me.”
Rocking back on his heels, hands still stuffed in his pockets, I can almost see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to come up with what he thinks will be a plausible excuse. With a heavy sigh, and a shake of his head he finally tells me, “I owe him money. Fighting is how I’m repaying him.”
“Are you fucking insane?” The words burst from my mouth before I can reign them back in. But seriously, is he fucking insane? “Is he like some kind of loan shark or something? What did you need the money for? Does Holden know? Or Cole?”
I watch him carefully as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck. This isn’t the Grant I know. This person standing before me is a total stranger.
“The funding for my scholarship ran out at the end of last semester.” He finally tells me. “I didn’t find out in time to apply for a grant, and getting a loan through a bank wasn’t an option either.” He rolls his shoulders. “So I did what I had to do.”
I open and close my mouth several times, trying to find the words, but it takes me several moments to formulate anything coherent. “So obviously neither Cole nor Holden know because they would kick your ass for being so stupid.”
“I needed the money to pay for classes.” He says again. “It’s my senior year, Grace, I couldn’t throw everything I’ve worked for away.”
“You could have asked my parents for help, Grant, you know that.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right. I’d love to see how that conversation would have gone. I know I just broke up with your daughter but do you think you could loan me twenty thousand bucks so I don’t have to drop out of school?”
“That’s insulting.” I snap. “My parents love you, and it doesn’t have shit to do with whether we’re together or not.”
“I couldn’t ask them. This isn’t a big deal.”
Incredulously I ask “How is this not a big deal? You’re get beat up to pay back a loan. That seems pretty up there on the big deal scale.”
Obviously uncomfortable, Grant pulls his hat off his head, running his hand through his hair before settling it back down again. “This isn’t your concern, Grace. I just—” he groans softly. He looks heartbroken, and a momentary bit of regret bubbles up inside of me when he finally says, “I’m sorry, Grace.”
“Me too. I’m sorry you thought so little of my parents and me.” He opens his mouth, but I shake my head. “I have to go.” I push past him, digging in my pocket for my cell phone so I can let Cole and Holden know what I just found out. It’s still early, so I’m not surprised when neither one of them answers their phone, so I give them each a quick rundown, knowing they’ll be all over Grant once they get my message.
The roads are still empty, a combination of the early hour, and the fact that the students more than likely won’t be making their way back to campus until much later in the afternoon. It’s a quick trip to the frat, thankfully the door is unlocked, though not standing wide open this time, and there isn’t someone passed out on the floor for me to maneuver around.
Jacob’s room is empty when I open the door. The bed isn’t made, and I can still see the indent of his head on the pillow so he obviously hadn’t been awake for very long. After staring dumbly at his empty bed for a couple of seconds wondering what I was supposed to do now, I recognize the faint sound of the shower running in the bathroom.
So now I not only have nerves dancing through my veins I have the faint edge of desire roaming around in there to, because now I’m picturing him naked.
And my imagination has kicked into overdrive.
I eye the bed warily before electing to sit in the uncomfortable desk chair. Less presumptuous. My right leg starts bouncing, the heel of my boot tapping an erratic rhythm on the floor. I twist my hands together in my lap to keep my fingers from joining the tempo.
The water shuts off, and I hear the screech of the shower curtain being shoved back. Less than a minute later Jacob steps out of the bathroom with only a gray towel wrapped around his waist, rubbing a hand through his wet hair. He pauses momentarily when he sees me sitting there, but he doesn’t say anything.
The towel is hanging low on his hips, giving me a perfect view of that damn V of muscle. He takes ones step toward me, and I swear I see the knot on the towel start to slowly unravel, taunting me. I lick my lips, forcing my eyes to move up away from the towel and to his face. He jerks his head around, moving over to the dresser. He pulls out a pair of navy nylon pants right before dropping the towel and pulling them on. He grabs out a shirt, yanking it over his head before turning to face me again.
“I should have let you come with me.” I lay my hands out flat on my thighs, palms sweaty with nerves as I wait for him to say something. Anything at all at this point would be lovely.
Because I can’t tell what he’s thinking as he looks at me.
“I know I should have let you come with me.” And I suddenly find that I’m not above pleading with him. “You can’t stay mad at me, Jacob.”
“Why not?”
The first two words he’s spoken and they feel like daggers piercing my skin. It’s a good damn question, and I can’t give him an answer. But I’m ready to beg if that’s what it takes.
“Because I said so?”
Obviously not the right answer by the look he shoots me. “Are you seriously going to try and joke your way out of this?”
I give a weak smile. “No. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say here, Jacob. I freaked out.” Spreading my hands wide, palms up I lick my lips before brushing the loose strands of my hair back behind my ears. “We’d just had sex for the first time, and we’re supposed to cap the night by going to pick up my drunk ex? I don’t want Grant to be an obstacle between us, and I thought keeping the two of you separate would be best.”
“How’d that work out for you?” He finally asks before he moves the short distance across the roo
m, sitting opposite me on the edge of the bed, our knees nearly touching. I lean in toward him, settling my elbows on my knees.
I meet his gaze. “You asked me if I was all in. I’m telling you I can’t be any further in.”
The first hint of a small smile flicks over his face, one side of his mouth moving upwards and the dimple flashing briefly before disappearing again. I lean forward a little more, knocking my knee against his, grinning. “You could be further in.”
His eyes flick up, and I see the moment his mind joins mine down in the gutter. The dimple flashes again, staying a little longer this time, and his eyes become a little less guarded. He knocks his knee back against mine.
“Is that so?”
His voice has dropped, the low sound, smooth as honey, seeping into my pores. I keep my eyes on his as I move, stepping across the incredibly small space between us before dropping my knees on either side of his hips and setting down on his lap. His hands settle on my hips. I drop my forehead against his.
“I’m so sorry, Jacob, and I know that doesn’t make it better.” I bark out a short laugh. “I keep telling Grant his apologies are worthless, and I know mine is, too.”
“What else did you tell Grant?”
My fingers skim up the side of his neck, burrowing into the edge of his hair. “That he wasn’t to call me again. And I wouldn’t answer if he did.” I press my knees against his hips, causing a delicious pressure at my core, where I can feel every inch of him. His eyes slide closed, but not before I see the desire flaring inside of them. I tilt my head back down, brushing my lips faintly across his. I don’t tell him about Ira Manizel and the debt Grant is fighting to repay. “I won’t go to him again, Jacob, I promise.”
His fingers flex on my hips as I move my body in a circle against him, driving us both a little more crazy. “I won’t share you, Grace.” He gasps when I twist again. His eyes flash open again, bright and bold as they zero in on mine.
“Good.” I whisper against his mouth. “I only want you.”
