Tobias (The Kings of Brighton Book 1)

by Megyn Ward

  No such luck. Rob greets me at the back door, paintball gun slung over his shoulder. He’s completely naked. “Strip, motherfucker,” he says, giving me that douchey grin of his that makes me want to break his nose.

  We’re standing in the kitchen, and we’re not alone. There’re a few dozen partiers standing around, talking and drinking. Con’s one of them. He’s leaned against the counter, wearing nothing but boxer briefs and a pair of half-naked Deltas hanging around his neck, laughing his ass off. I flip him the bird. Finally, he recovers enough to attempt a rescue.

  “Come on, man,” he says, throwing his empty beer cup in Rob’s direction. “Give him a break.”

  “House rules.” Rob slings the paintball gun off his shoulder and points it at me. “Strip or suffer the consequences.”

  Pro tip: Getting shot with paintballs hurts like a motherfucker.

  Smelling a confrontation, people are gathering and staring, waiting for me to either drop my cargos or get splattered with a couple dozen paintballs. “You’re a dick,” I mutter, dragging my T-shirt over my head before tossing it up the stairs. “And awfully invested in seeing me naked.” I unbutton and unzip my cargos, letting them drop around my ankles.

  Rob narrows his eyes at me for a second before giving me a smirk. “You said the magic word, bro,” he says, motioning at me with the business end of his paintball gun. “Boxers too.”

  He thinks I’m going to refuse. That I’ll be too embarrassed to follow through and he’ll finally get a legit chance to humiliate me. Two years in this fucking fraternity and somehow I’ve managed to avoid getting naked, and now here I am, dick swingin’ in the wind because my roommate is an asshole who thought he was going to cock shame me.

  “Let’s go, Gilroy,” Rob snipes at me, motioning with the barrel of his paintball gun. “Drop ‘em or I drop you.”

  “Remember you said that,” I tell him, hooking my thumbs into the waistband of my boxers and jerking them down before I have a chance to think too hard about what I’m doing. According to Conner, that’s my problem. I think too much.

  Sometimes I think he might be right.

  “Holy. Shit.”

  I look over Rob’s shoulder at the pair of girls hanging around my cousin’s neck, fighting the flush that’s forcing its way up the back of my neck. I’m not sure which one of them said it, but they’re both staring at me. Everyone is.

  “Jesus Christ, what do you feed that thing?” someone shouts from the doorway and everyone erupts into a flurry of shouts and laughter. I’m pretty sure people are taking pictures.

  Rob’s dick just died of shame!

  Is this real life?

  They’re shooting porn in the kitchen!

  Boogey Nights!

  It’s high school all over again.

  I look back at Rob and give him a one-thousand-yard stare. “Happy?”

  He doesn’t look happy. He looks like he wants to tell me to put my pants back on. I smile at his obvious discomfort and give him a rough shoulder check, pushing past him toward the keg. No matter how much I want to, I’m not running now. Pulling a cup from the stack, I give the tap a couple of pumps before angling my cup under the nozzle, trying to pretend the way people are staring and talking doesn’t bother me.

  “Hey.”

  I look up to find Conner standing on the other side of the keg, sorority girls still hanging around his neck. Still staring at me. I am not naked. I am not naked. I am not naked…

  “What?” I say, righting my cup before tossing the nozzle. I’m not exactly in the mood for my cousin’s shit.

  “Fuck that prick,” he says, tapping the rim of his cup against mine. The girls hanging on him let out a high-pitched titter like he just said the funniest thing ever. “Want me to throw him out a window?”

  “No,” I say, my shoulders relaxing a bit. Con is an unbearable jerk half the time, but he’s loyal. All I’d have to do is say the word, and Rob’d be in the hospital within the hour. “I think meeting my sidekick is humiliation enough, don’t you?”

  Con throws back his head and laughs. “Holy shit, Cap’n—did you just make a joke about your dick?”

  Because I did and I’m suddenly feeling awkward about it, I ignore the question. I set my beer down without taking a drink. “I’m going to bed,” I say. “Some of us have class in the morning.”

  “You’re such a grandma,” Con says, giving me a disapproving look.

  “This grandma has a test tomorrow,” I tell him.

  “So?”

  “So, not all of us graduated college at sixteen,” I remind him. “Some of us have to put real, actual effort into our educations.”

  Con gives me one of his conspiratorial grins that almost always means he’s about to suggest something I won’t like. “You know, I’d be happy to—”

  “No.” I shake my head. “You’re not taking my tests for me.”

  “Whatever, Granny,” he says. “You’re gonna be sorry.”

  “Yeah… I don’t think I am,” I say with a laugh. “I’d rather—”

  “Hey,” Half-naked Delta #1, unhooks an arm from Con’s neck and drags a glitter-polished nail from my pecs to my package. “Are you guys twins, or something?”

  I grab her by her wrist before her fingers make contact with my groin, giving Con a make it stop look because I can’t. I cannot stand here naked and have this conversation.

  “We’re actually the same person,” Con tells her, drawing her hand from my grasp so he can lift it to his mouth. “It’s all very complicated and science-y—alternate dimensions. String theory.”

  Delta #1 scrunched up her nose. “What’s that?”

  Good Christ. Someone shoot me.

  Con kisses the tip of her glittery fingers and smiles. “Why don’t we all go back to your place so I can explain it to you? I put on a hell of an interactive puppet show.”

  That’s my cue.

  “You should totally do that,” I say, heading for my pile of clothes. Con laughs while I snatch my cargos and boxers off the ground.

  “Please tell me you’re packing one of those,” Half-naked Delta #2 stage-whispers behind my back.

  “Who do you think stars in my puppet show?” Con says, evoking another volley of giggling. “You sure you don’t want in on this?” he shouts at me as I mount the stairs.

  So. Fucking. Sure.

  “Yup—have fun,” I call over my shoulder, halfway up the stairs. I just want to get to my room and put some fucking pants on.

  “Boogey Nights!” he shouts because being loyal doesn’t make him any less of a dick.

  The answering shout that erupts throughout the house seals my fate. “Boogey Nights!”

  Shit. That one’s gonna stick.

  Someone’s knocking. And crying.

  I lift my head from the pillow and listen. The music is no longer at an ear-splitting volume. My asshole fraternity brothers have finally stopped shouting my newest nickname, and I can hear someone puking in the bathroom across the hall. The party is finally trying to die.

  Thank Christ.

  “Hello?” The muffled word is followed by a flurry of soft knocking, like whoever it is doesn’t want to wake me up but needs to for some reason.

  I pick up my cell and peer at the display. It’s 3AM. I’ve been asleep for approximately two hours. I have class in four. Kill me now.

  I peel myself off my bed and stumble over Rob’s mess, toward the door. Yanking the door open, I’m too goddamned tired to remember that I barely got my boxers back on before I fell, face-first, into bed. Bleary-eyed, all I make out is a tousled fall of caramel-colored hair, and the skimpiest bra and panty set I’ve ever seen, all of it wrapped around a body that suddenly makes it hard to breathe.

  “Bathroom’s over there,” I say, nodding my chin across the hall. “Sounds like someone else is making a deposit, but I’m sure—”

  “I don’t need to throw-up,” the girl sniffles, pushing her hair out of her face before brushing shaky fingers across tear-s
tained cheeks. She’s obviously drunk. Tequila, if my nose is any judge. “I need my clothes.”

  Her clothes? I look over my shoulder like I expect them to be carried out of the rubble by woodland creatures or some shit. “Yeah, I don’t think—”

  “I thought you had tattoos,” she says, raking her gaze over my bare chest and arms like I’m trying to pull a fast one.

  “Nope.” I sigh, grappling with my patience. She’s not the first person to mistake me for Conner. She won’t be the last. “What I have is class in a few hours, so…”

  “Cari, you’re being stupid.” It’s Rob, I’d know his douchey voice anywhere. Craning my neck past the door frame, I can see him barreling down the hall. Yup. Still naked. “Just let me explain.”

  “Explain?” The girl rolls her eyes and pushes past me. “Seriously? I turn my back for ten seconds, and you’re in the laundry room getting your dick sucked by some rando.” She starts digging through Rob’s side of the room, tossing his shit everywhere. “Pretty sure I can figure it out on my own.” She comes up with a pair of jeans. “Hold these,” she says, tossing them to me. I catch them just as Rob appears in the doorway.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Rob says, standing in the doorway like he’s going to try to stop her from leaving. I stand up a bit straighter. The palms of my hands start to itch.

  “Uhh—home,” the girl says, pulling a shirt from the debris. She lifts it to her nose and gives it a sniff before focusing on me. “Can I wear this?”

  Somehow, she knows the shirt is mine. “Yeah,” I say, but I’m not really looking. I’m too busy watching Rob. If he touches her, he’s gonna get a trip to the hospital after all.

  “Thanks,” she says, pulling it on before holding out a hand. “Can I have my pants, now?”

  I hand them to her, and she bends over to tug them on over her legs. I look away, but not before I get a flash of what might be the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen.

  “Home?” Rob laughs, folding his arms across his chest so he can look down his nose at her. “You live forty-five minutes away, Cari.”

  “So?” she says defiantly.

  “So, I’m not driving you,” he says like she’s being petty and childish for even suggesting it. “So, have fun walking.”

  Dressed, she turns to look at me. “Do you have a car?”

  I stifle a sigh. “Yes.”

  She gathers her mass of thick, wavy hair and pulls it back into a ponytail. “Will you drive me home?”

  I have class in less than four hours. This girl lives forty-five minutes away. Ninety-minutes round trip, minimum. I should be sleeping. I have a test I can’t afford to miss. The last thing I should be doing is getting in the middle of this shit, but then I make a mistake. I look at her. Really look at her. She’s beautiful, yeah—but she’s also desperate and drunk. If I say no, she’ll ask every guy in this house to take her home. As much as I’d like to believe that she’d get home safely, I wouldn’t bet on it.

  “Please,” she says, “I can’t stay here.”

  Fuck.

  “Cari, if you leave with him, it’s over,” Rob fumes from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “I won’t take you back.”

  She doesn’t answer him. She just stands there, her wide, blue gaze fixed on my face, waiting for my answer.

  If I do this, it won’t just be back-handed insults and passive-aggressive shit-talk anymore. It’ll be all-out war between us. Not because Rob’s an asshole and we don’t like each other. Because, after what he saw in the kitchen, he’s intimidated by me. Doesn’t want his girl anywhere near me or my sidekick, no matter how much of a pussy he thinks I am.

  I’d be lying if I say I didn’t like the way that feels.

  I pass a rough hand over my face while ignoring the daggers Rob is staring at me. “Alright—let me get dressed.”

  47

  Cari

  “I’m Patrick, by the way.”

  I look across the center console at the guy who agreed to drive me home. A stranger. I asked a total stranger to take me home. A ridiculously hot stranger who nearly made me swallow my tongue when he opened his bedroom door. But a stranger, nonetheless.

  I caught my boyfriend with his dick in some girl’s mouth, and that’s all it took for my drunk ass to lose every ounce of self-preservation I possess. For all I know, this guy is driving me to his kill shack in the woods. And I asked for it. Sure, he’s gorgeous, but you know who else was good-looking?

  Ted Bundy.

  Tears start to well up again, and I let out a long, slow breath, trying to keep them at bay. It didn’t work. “I’m Cari,” I say, knuckling tears off my cheekbone.

  “Are you hungry?” he says, shooting me a quick look, like, See, I’m normal. I eat food and everything. Totally not a psychopath. “I’m starving.”

  We’re stopped at a stoplight, not far off campus, and I’m considering jumping out of the car. It’s pretty obvious he’s trying to put me at ease, but it’s not working. But then I look at him. It’s still dark outside, and the red glow of the stoplight washes over the features of his face, and that’s when I see it. He’s not just hot. He’s perfect.

  “I could go for some pancakes,” I say, tilting my head to give him a smile. “Might help soak up some of this tequila.”

  “Excellent.” He thumps the heel of his hand on the steering wheel. “I know a place that has the best pancakes in Boston.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re parking in the lot across the street from a little hole-in-the-wall diner that has a line out the door that’s comprised of mostly still-drunk college kids with a liberal sprinkling of white-collar business types. By the looks of it, it’ll be hours before we get a table.

  “On second thought, maybe you should take me home,” I say, slowing my stride. “They look crowded, and you probably have stuff to do—like get to class.”

  Patrick stops walking and turns to look at me. Smiles at me and it’s like staring into the sun. He shines, so perfect and bright, it almost hurts to look at him. “I do need to get to class... but I want pancakes,” he says, his dark green eyes glittering with humor. “And bacon. Do you like bacon?”

  “What kind of girl do you take me for?” I say, fighting the smile threatening to break over my face. “Of course, I like bacon.”

  He splays a hand across his chest and lets out what sounds like a relieved breath. “Thank god—I thought I was going to have to leave you here.” He holds his hand out to me, and I take it so he can pull me onto the sidewalk. As soon as I’m standing beside him, he leans in to press his mouth to my ear. “Stick with me, and don’t talk to Nora unless she talks to you first, okay?” he says, straightening to look down at me. That’s when I realize how tall he is. I’m five foot nine, and I feel tiny standing next to him. The second thing I notice is how amazing he smells. Like sunshine and sawdust. I recognized it as his scent the second I picked his shirt up off the floor. Rob’s douchey cologne doesn’t smell half as good.

  He’s still looking down at me, waiting for me to answer him, so I nod like an idiot. “Okay.” For all, I know he is Ted Bundy, and he is going to take me to his kill shack in the woods. But I don’t care. Not as long as he keeps looking at me like that.

  He smiles again. “Here we go,” he says, swinging the door open, stepping aside so I can pass through it first. As soon as we’re in, Patrick takes the lead, grabbing my hand so he can pull me in his wake, past a massive swarm of people crowding the hostess station. Behind the podium is the frailest, scrawniest old woman I’ve ever seen. She can barely see over the hostess station, but the gaze that focuses on me is laser sharp. “Hey—hey, Veronica,” she barks at me, and I’m instantly confused. Veronica? She must see the confusion on my face because she points at me, her bony finger hovering in the air between us. “Yeah, you—you ain’t special. You see that line?”

  “Nora,” Patrick reaches for the hand that’s pointing its finger at me and lifts it to his lips. “As beautiful as ever.” />
  As soon as she sees Patrick, Nora seems to grow six inches, and a slow smile spreads across her face. “I was wondering when you were gonna show up,” she says. Hand still held aloft, she skirts the podium, neck craned to look up at him with total adoration. Her forehead barely clears his belly button, but she gives him a disapproving tsk. “It’s been weeks.”

  Patrick nods his head while people behind him start to grumble. Without looking away from the old woman in front of him, Patrick reaches a hand between us to catch me by the wrist. “I’ve been busy with classes,” he tells her, pulling me closer.

  “No excuse. Con makes it in to see me.” She gives him another disapproving glare, but it’s thin enough to show the affection underneath.

  “Con isn’t in college anymore.” Patrick’s mouth quirks as he fights to suppress a smile. “I’m sorry, Nora—I didn’t mean to stay away so long. Got room for me and my friend?” The request ups the volume on the grumbling crowd to near-riot levels.

  “Hey,” Nora shouts, her voice loud, tone drill-instructor sharp. “You’re gonna shut your damn cake-holes, or you’re gonna leave my damn restaurant. Ain’t gonna be both ways.”

  It’s like someone hit the mute button. That’s how quiet it is. I can feel a grin coming on, but then she shoots me a look so sharp I can feel it withering on my face. “Somethin’ funny, Veronica?”

  I shake my head, fast and sure.

  “Got Con and Audrey in the back,” Nora says, tilting her head toward the dining room.

  Patrick seems to hesitate for a second before he nods. “That’d be great, Nora.” He leans down to press a kiss to her soft, wrinkled cheek.

  She beams at him, pulling her hand free. “Next time, don’t stay away so long,” she tells him, giving him a pat on his cheek that sounds more like a smack. I’m chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.