Unfiltered & Undone

by Payge Galvin

  “You’re right. You don’t. There are dozens—if not hundreds—of girls on this campus who’d welcome the attention. And who could give you everything you need, including really good sex.”

  That wolfish grin. “So you’re admitting it was good.”

  “Never denied it. But that doesn’t mean I need you to get more. I can manage quite nicely on my own, thanks.”

  He frowned in confusion. Then the lightbulb turned on and he bent to whisper, “You do that? By yourself?”

  “Um, yeah. Pretty sure most girls do. Just like most guys.”

  She meant it in a purely biological way. People had sex drives. If one wanted to satisfy it and a partner wasn’t immediately available, there were options. Perfectly sensible options. But when she said that, Chandler’s pupils dilated, his breath came faster and her scientist’s brain analyzed “arousal” about three seconds too late, as he pushed her up against the fruit stand, mouth coming down to her ear.

  “Can we do that? You get off while I watch?”

  “Seriously? No. I—”

  “I won’t touch you, baby. I just really want to see you do it.” He pressed against her, letting her feel exactly how much he wanted that, his erection hard against her stomach. “Let me watch, and I’ll leave you alone for a week.”

  She shoved him. “You’ll leave me alone if I tell you to leave me alone, Chandler. The answer is no. You go find someone else to play with, and I’ll go find someone else to play with, and we’ll both—”

  “What?”

  She glowered up at him, but the hardening of his jaw made her stop.

  “Someone else?” he said slowly. “So you’re not just playing by yourself, Jessie.”

  She started to say no, she was only masturbating, but that wouldn’t help, because apparently he really liked that mental image. “That would fall under the exceedingly broad category of ‘none of your damned business.’ We broke up two months ago, Chandler. We can both see whoever we like.”

  “Who’s the guy?”

  She pushed him back and turned to go. “Again, none of your—”

  He grabbed her arm. “You are mine, Jessica. Right now you’re punishing me for Heidi, but you sure as hell better not do it by screwing around.” He grabbed her crotch. “I was here first. I’ll be here last, and don’t you ever forget—”

  She hit him. It wasn’t a good slap across the face or, better, a good kick in the nuts. He was too close for that. She lashed out in fury, a half-punch, half-slap, nails raking across his cheek.

  “You bitch!” Chandler roared. His fist went up and Jess staggered back. Before she could defend herself, fingers wrapped around her arm and yanked her away.

  It was the woman from the front counter—middle-aged and stout. She stood in front of Jess, her arms crossed as she glared at Chandler.

  “You going to hit me, boy?” She turned to someone else and said, “Call the campus police.”

  Jess saw the bespectacled freshman standing behind the woman, apparently having brought her over. The kid took out his phone, but Chandler turned on his heel and stormed out. Jess told the kid, “Don’t bother.”

  The woman gave her a stern look. “If he’s harassing you, you need to report it, hon.”

  “I have.”

  “Then I’ll report it, too. Every little bit helps.”

  Actually, it didn’t. The first time Chandler had waylaid her and tried to kiss her—as a “reminder” of what she was missing—she’d gone straight to the campus police station and talked to the older officer, the one in charge.

  “Chandler Walker,” the man had said. “Isn’t his father…”

  Congressman Walker. Valued alumnus of ASU Rio Verde. Major benefactor of ASU Rio Verde. The officer actually had the gall to laugh when she told him what Chandler had done.

  “Kissing’s not a crime, sweetheart.”

  “It is if the girl doesn’t want it.”

  “He misunderstood your signals. Just say no and be more careful about your signals.”

  Jess didn’t tell this to the woman. She just thanked her and left her name and number for the report as she checked out her groceries. The freshman walked Jess to the door.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t stop him myself,” he said.

  “Better that you didn’t get involved.”

  He held the door for her and looked around as he stepped out.

  “He’s gone,” Jess said. “He won’t try again tonight.”

  “Can I walk you back to your place? Just to be sure.” He flushed. “I’m not trying…”

  “I know. That’s very sweet.”

  Jess would love to take him up on it, because she wasn’t actually convinced that Chandler was gone. But he might make the poor kid regret his chivalry. Besides, while the boy said he wasn’t hoping to score points, the last thing Jess needed right now was a freshman admirer.

  “Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” She gave him a hug, quick enough not to be misinterpreted. Then she smiled, took her grocery bag and left

  At the corner, Jess scanned the road. It had started getting dark while she’d been in the store. She decided to take the street way back, even if it doubled her walk time. As she set out, though, she noticed Chandler standing the alcove of a nearby building. She ducked into the Laundromat beside the mini-mart and exited out the back door.

  She peered out at the empty land of the shortcut, dotted with scrub brush and cacti, the gathering dark stretching shadows over the path. Not exactly optimal. But the threat was in the other direction and, from here, Chandler couldn’t see where she’d gone. Good enough.

  ‡

  Jess’s mother called while she was walking. She ignored the insistent ring tone—she couldn’t afford to be preoccupied while Chandler was out here somewhere. Yet even getting the call distracted her. It wouldn’t be long before her parents found out she hadn’t applied to med school. That she’d never intended to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a plastic surgeon.

  “Your family would rather you made people pretty than saved lives?” Declan had said when the topic came up, Jess inadvertently blurting out the reason for a low mood during a lesson. “Are they fucking nuts?”

  No, they just had plans. Very rigid, very specific plans. Dad was a superstar plastic surgeon; Mom was a former supermodel. Jess didn’t have the height or the face to follow Mom’s path, but she had Dad’s brains, so in five years, her name would be added to the plaque on his office door. That was the plan. There was no room for deviation. No more than there was for her little sister, Lydia, on the route to the runway. Lydia had grown up being called “the pretty one,” which might not have been so bad if their parents didn’t call Jess the “smart and pretty one.” That said everything Lydia needed to know about their opinion of her intelligence. And who did Lydia blame for it? Jess.

  Wrapped up in her thoughts, Jess reached the halfway point between the Laundromat and her townhouse complex before she realized someone was following her. At first, she thought it was her imagination, spooking her at the exact moment she was the farthest from help. But she kept hearing the scuff of shoes to the left, off the path and slightly behind her. Even then, she told herself it was a coyote or hare, but when she slowed, the scuffs stopped and she had to admit it: someone was following her.

  No, not someone. Chandler. While she could imagine the freshman boy tagging along, he’d follow at a distance and then, if spotted, say, “Oh, are you going this way, too?”

  She looked around. There wasn’t another soul on the path. Saturday evening, around this time, it’d practically been rush-hour foot traffic. Tonight, she’d passed only one person, exiting the path as she’d entered. She was alone. Well, no, not alone. Which was the problem.

  “Chandler?” she called. “I know that’s you, and if you’re angry about what happened back there, then yes, I’m a total bitch, which is why you want nothing to do with me. I don’t deserve you. Go find someone who does.”

  Silence.


  Jess resumed walking. For the first fifty feet, she heard nothing. Then a dry twig crackled to her left. She spun. No one was there, but she saw a half-dozen obstacles he could hide behind. Damn it, this was the desert. Wasn’t it supposed to be open ground?

  “You want to spook me? Have fun. But you know what?” She took out her cell and held it up. “I’m putting 911 on speed-dial, and I so much as catch a glimpse of your face, I’m hitting it.”

  No response. She continued on until the path curved and around the turn. Damn it. Around that turn was a small building that had apparently been erected when someone had tried to develop the site years ago. Now it was empty. And it was only ten feet from the path. Meaning if Chandler jumped out from behind it, Jess would never have time to give a 911 operator her location.

  She looked behind her. Darkness was falling fast and the path would be pitch black before she made it back to the Laundromat and mini-mart. A few hundred feet past the building and she’d be safe. She kept going and veered to the side as the path curved, keeping as far from the building as possible.

  She was one step from being past the building when a figure lunged at her. Only he didn’t jump from behind the building. He came from the other direction, behind a prickly, misshapen shrub. Jess shrieked. A hand grabbed her. She dropped her groceries and swung but couldn’t reach her attacker. The hand yanked her as another slapped over her mouth. She kicked backward as hard as she could and made contact with a kneecap. Her attacker hissed in pain, and she broke free and started to run.

  She tried to look over her shoulder and stumbled before she got a good look at her attacker. She twisted back around, righting herself, and didn’t try looking again, but she had seen a flash of light hair and a build similar to Chandler’s. And yet…

  What if it wasn’t Chandler?

  Did that matter? A man was chasing her through an empty lot. He wasn’t selling Girl Scout cookies.

  A scorpion skittered across the path and startled her. She would have recovered just fine if the ground hadn’t dipped right there, turning a slight stumble into a full-out trip. She went down and the guy was on her before she even hit the ground. He knocked her flat onto her stomach, the air whooshing out of her and—

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  Running footfalls thundered over the hard-baked ground. With a muffled curse, her attacker pushed off her. She tried to rise, to get a look at him, but when she moved, pain shot through her rib cage. She managed to get up on all fours but by then, her attacker was a distant dark figure tearing through the scrub.

  “Jess?”

  She turned back toward the path as Declan sprinted over.

  He bent over her, hazel eyes clouded with worry. His lips parted slightly, catching his breath from his run. His dark hair fell forward as he bent.

  “Hold on,” he said as she tried to rise. He helped her up. When she winced, he said, “Hold on,” then, “Where does it hurt?”

  “The bottom vertebrosternal rib and likely the surrounding intercostal muscles.”

  A strained half-smile. “Are you sure you aren’t a doctor?”

  “No, and I don’t plan to be. I just know the human body very well. Anatomy, I mean.”

  “Your back? Neck?”

  “No possible damage to the spinal column.”

  “Or I could just ask that.” Another half-smile, his eyes too dark with worry to make it a full one. He glanced over her shoulder. “That was Walker?”

  “I think so. I didn’t get a good look, but we had a run-in at the mini-mart and the cashier called campus police.”

  “What?” He blinked. “He attacked you—”

  “And then I walked into a deserted patch of desert. I know, it seems stupid—”

  “I never said—”

  “You can say it. I already am. But I saw Chandler was lying in wait outside the mini-mart, so I cut through the Laundromat and went out the back door. There was no way for him to see me, but…” She took a deep breath. “He must have, and I just never thought…”

  She was about to say never thought he’d come after me, but that was as stupid as walking through this deserted lot. As nasty as Chandler could be on the rugby field, he’d never raised a hand to her before tonight. She’d have been gone the second he did. As Declan had said before, though, that didn’t mean it would never come to that.

  “You were right,” she said. “Just because he hasn’t physically hurt me before doesn’t mean he never would. He just needed the right trigger. Tonight…”

  When Declan spoke, his words came slow, as though through a barely unhinged jaw. “What did he do tonight, Jess?”

  “He grabbed me in—” She swallowed. “In the mini-mart.” Where he’d grabbed her had been the biggest shock. Not just painful but humiliating. “I shouldn’t have come this way, but I was sure I’d given him the slip. I was stupid.”

  “No, you made what you thought was the right choice. If that ever happens again, though, call someone. I’d say call me but I know you won’t, because you’d worry about inconveniencing me, which you wouldn’t be. Ever. You know that, right?”

  When she shifted, uncomfortable under his knowing stare, he went on. “Call a friend. Or call the campus escort service. Call anyone, and don’t be embarrassed to do it or worry that you’re making a big deal out of nothing.” He looked up the path. “Is that your bag of groceries?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m going to sit you down and go get it. Let me get you back to your place and check you out, and then I’ll get you to the hospital if you need it.”

  “I’m fine. Really. I—”

  “Humor me,” he said, and lowered her to the ground.

  Chapter 5

  Declan

  Declan had been having a shitty day. He’d been waiting for Jess to return his call, and when his phone rang in the middle of a lesson, he’d unthinkingly answered, which had not impressed the prof he’d been teaching.

  It’d been his stepfather, Pete, whining about money. He’d lost another job and it was tough, taking care of a ten-year-old Ciaran in Los Angeles all by himself after Declan’s mom died almost three years ago. If he didn’t find work soon, he didn’t know what he’d do. Declan knew exactly what he’d do. Put Ciaran in the ring. Pete swore he wasn’t training him, but Declan knew he would. It was just a matter of time. Declan had a plan, though—get custody of Ciaran. That took money, both to pay Pete off and to show Declan was a responsible citizen, not a twenty-four-year-old living in the back of a gun club. The name on the club deed was his, as of a year ago, but the bank owned most of it. That wouldn’t help his case. He needed money fast. That’s why he’d gone back in the cage.

  Pete calling and wanting money put a dent in his progress. But it was the only thing he could do, and some days he felt like he was sliding backward, getting further and further from his goal.

  After that aborted lesson, he’d decided to go jogging. Not just any random jog, either. He’d circled the campus looking for Jess, and then headed for her complex, trying to work up the nerve to ring her bell. That’s when he’d heard the scream. He hadn’t known it was her—just run to help whoever was in trouble.

  As he helped Jess back to her townhouse, he gave her a version of the truth, which involved randomly passing her townhouse complex. She seemed too upset by the attack to question the coincidence. He wondered if she’d cut him off at her door. He had a plan for that. Hell, when it came to getting Jess to talk to him again, he had a plan for every contingency. But she didn’t hesitate to let him help her inside. He sat her on the couch in the living room and put her groceries in the kitchen before returning to find her unbuttoning her shirt. It was just one button, below the ribs, perfectly discreet, but she pulled her hand out fast and did up the button. “Checking my ribs.”

  “That’s what I was going to suggest. I can take a look. God knows I’ve got plenty of experience diagnosing cracked ribs. If it’s okay with you.”

  She nodded. “That’s fine
.”

  “Now the question is how to do it without me looking like a sleaze.”

  Jess laughed, that throaty laugh that had startled him the first time he heard it, just like the first time she’d cracked a joke or made a snarky comment. None of them seemed like they should come from the little blonde with the soft, girlish voice. It was those unexpected parts—her intelligence, her sharp wit and, yes, that sexy laugh—that had done him in.

  “I’m wearing a bra, which means it’ll be no more risqué than if I was in a bikini.”

  He knelt in front of her. Jess tugged her shirt from her jeans and started undoing it, button by button, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach and then the lacy bottom of her bra. Hot-pink lace, as surprising as her throaty laugh. Another button and the bra turned out to be black and hot pink, but he wasn’t really paying any attention to it, because all he saw were the pale, full breasts overflowing the lace, pressing hard against it and over it and begging for him to unlatch the front clasp and…

  Come on, Cavanagh. The girl just got jumped. Quit ogling and keep it cool.

  He did exactly that, because as tempting as it was to enjoy a moment straight out of his fantasies, Jess could be hurt. And that squelched any horn-dogging. At least temporarily. He reached out, stopped himself, and warned, “My hands might be cold.”

  “That’s okay.”

  He touched her ribs gingerly and she smiled. “They’re fine. Warm, actually. Must be from the running.”

  Must be.

  He ran his fingertips over her ribcage and tried not to think of how soft and smooth her skin felt. Or the fact that her very impressive cleavage was right in his sightline at all times.

  And if you don’t concentrate, Cavanagh, she could have internal injuries that you’re ignoring.

  That cleared his head like a bucket of ice water. He touched her ribs, feeling them one at a time with minimal side thoughts as he made sure there weren’t any bumps or dents that shouldn’t be there, and asked which touch hurt and how much and did it hurt when she breathed in or out. She was fine. Bruised, but fine.