Beyond drunk, Harper is leaning on Tori and unable to stand up. On nights when Harper gets this hammered, I get a reprieve from her games. Sometimes, I like her. Most of the time I hate her. Harper only cares about herself, and I’m just another person who has secrets she uses against them.
Dragging Tori by the hand, Harper leads her into the living room to dance. I follow behind them as they sift through the crowd. In some ways, I feel responsible for Tori. While she’s in this house, I have to make sure she’s okay. I owe her that much. I made a promise to her father a long time ago, and I intend to keep it.
Sweat pours off the girls, their skin glistening under the dim lights. They grind against each other, screaming and moving in unison. For once, Tori looks as though she’s having fun. Harper, too, which is weird. The two of them could be the scowl sisters with how little they smile.
Tori throws her arms in the air, swaying her hips back and forth to the music. They dance with each other, drawing attention from the men around them.
A guy I don’t recognize with reddish brown hair digs his fingers into Tori’s side, holding her close. She must be wasted because she leans her head on his shoulder, panting as though she’s trying to catch her breath.
Feeling possessive over her, I reach them in a hurry and tap him on the shoulder. He knows who I am. Everyone on campus knows who I am. So, it's not surprising when he takes a hint and releases his grip on Tori.
I take his spot behind her without her noticing until she opens her eyes and looks up at me. When I wrap my muscular arms around her, she doesn’t protest.
“Having fun?” I whisper into her ear.
My fingers slide up her bare stomach without a fight. She gives in to me, her ass rubbing against my thigh until she remembers she’s dancing with me. Then, the sickened expression returns to her face, making my stomach knot. Because I’m afraid she’ll run, and I am not in the mood for another chase.
Tori cups my shoulder to steady herself and yells into my ear, “I think I’m going to be sick.”
That explains why she looks so repulsed by me.
I hook my arm around her, and we move through the crowded living room. We ascended a flight of stairs, passing some of my teammates as we walk past endless rooms packed with people and to the end of the hallway. I stop in front of my room and insert the key into the lock.
“You took me to your bedroom?” She rolls her eyes and tries to slip away from my grasp. “So typical. I’m not having sex with you, Bash. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.”
I laugh at her last comment. “I brought you here because I share a bathroom with Clay. You’ll have more privacy here than one of the hall bathrooms.” I let go of her and throw my hands out at my sides. “Hey, if you want to take your chances out there, then go right ahead. I was trying to be nice. Don’t jump down my throat like you always do.”
“Oh.” She lets out a deep breath. “Sorry. I don't feel good.”
My room is one of the largest in the house. I have enough space for a couch that lines a row of windows, a giant flat screen TV hung on the opposite wall, and a King size bed smack dab in the middle of it all.
“It’s okay,” I say, escorting her into the bathroom at the far corner of the room.
She flips up the toilet seat and gives me a look as though I should leave, but I want to make sure she’s okay.
“Do you think you can turn around or something? Don’t just stand there and watch me. It’s weird, and you’re giving me stage fright.”
I turn to face the wall. “I’m here if you need me, okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she mutters, before puking her guts out.
After she finishes, I hear the toilet seat slam and turn around to face her. She uses the vanity next to the toilet to support her weight and takes a seat on the lid, wiping her mouth with a tissue.
I drop to my knees to position myself in front of her. “Feeling any better?”
“Nope,” she confesses. “Ever since I got hit with the football, my head has been killing me, my stomach hurts, and I feel nauseous.”
My fingers graze her cheek, and I scoot closer to her, staring into her eyes. “It’s possible you have a concussion. You took a hard hit. I’ve had them before, and it sounds like you have some of the symptoms.”
“The doctor said I was fine.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“What are you my dad now? I don’t need you watching over me, Bash.”
“I think you need to brush your teeth, Queenie.” I laugh in an attempt to lighten the mood.
“Dick,” she mutters, shaking her head at me. “Give me some mouthwash or a mint then.”
I reach into the bottom vanity drawer and remove a bottle of mouthwash, filling the cup before I hand it over.
She takes it from my hand, swishes it in her mouth, and then leans over the sink to spit and rinse. Then, she wipes her mouth on the hand towel I give her.
“Why are you all of a sudden nice to me, Bash?” She leans her elbows on her knees, her breasts pouring out of her shirt, giving me a nice view of her tits. “You must have some angle you’re working again.”
I sit on the tiled floor in front of her. “That’s where you’re wrong. I just want the chance to make things up to you.”
She huffs. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it my entire life. I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor. You are not my Prince Charming.”
I touch her leg and rub my thumb over her bare skin, staring up at her. “I just want to help you, and make sure you’re not going to pass out. Is that okay?”
“I hate that I feel anything for you, Bash. But I do. Just promise me you won’t try to apologize or do anything stupid. I don’t want to hear it anymore. Help me get home, and then your good deed for the night is over, and we can call it even.”
Our faces are so close that the heat from her breath makes my body tingle. I want to kiss her. But I don’t want her to slap me for it.
“Sounds good. Let me get you in bed.”
She punches me in the arm. “You promised.”
“Not my bed,” I say, defensive. “I meant that I'd help you get into your bed.”
“Just so we’re clear, you’re not getting in it with me.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. What do you think I’m some pervert who takes advantage of sick girls?”
With her lips pulled tight, in a straight line that makes her demeanor unreadable, Tori confuses the fuck out of me. After a long pause, she breaks the silence with her laughter. “Don’t be so serious, Bash. I was joking. But not about you getting in bed with me. That’s non-negotiable.”
“I wouldn’t think of it.” Women. This one, in particular, has always kept me on my toes. I hold out my arm to help Tori up from the toilet seat, and she accepts my offer, pushing herself up to her feet, as she holds onto me.
I’m concerned about her health. She has no idea how much worse things could get for her if she has even a slight concussion. Now, I feel even more responsible for her. Tori will need my help. And I will be there whenever she needs it.
Chapter 3
Tori
With our fingers interlocked and my head on his chest, I take in his manly scent and let Bash drag me down the street. I wanted to fight him, call it a night, but I like being around him. And I need his help getting home.
My head spins, the pain in my skull making me sick to my stomach. City blocks seem to go on for miles, and after we round a corner and walk to the end of the next street, I spot a McDonald’s that is open twenty-four hours. The growling in my stomach hasn’t let up since I puked up my lunch.
“Can we stop and get something to eat? I’m starving.”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, without hesitation, steering us in the direction of the fast food restaurant.
He opens the door and helps me inside. The lights blind me after being on the street for so long, wandering in the dark. The scent of french fries and burgers wafts through the
air, causing my stomach to growl.
After Bash orders for us, I collapse across from him in a booth by the window.
“How are you feeling?” Bash studies my face as if searching for something.
“Hungry,” I choke out. “Sick. Dizzy. Pick one.”
I prop my elbows on the table to support my head. My skull feels as though someone is drilling into it. The doctor had told me not to drink, but Bash makes me so angry and nervous, all at the same time, that I ignored the doctor’s instructions. It was a mistake I now regret.
He looks at me with his bright green eyes and those long dark lashes. Despite my concussed state, he still has an alarming effect on me. Heat creeps up the back of my neck and down my arms from his intense gaze. I should stop looking at him. But I can’t. He’s beautiful, if you can even say that about a man, but it’s the truth.
Bash is flawless and built to perfection as if designed with a specific intent. To kill me. Make my ovaries go into overdrive. Good thing I’m too sick to climb across the table and assault him. Because that’s what I want to do every time he locks onto me, holding me in his clutches.
When the man behind the counter signals our food is ready, Bash gets up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I nod, unsure why he's acting so weird. And nice. Bash doesn’t do nice. He just takes what he wants.
“Chicken nuggets and barbecue sauce,” he says when he comes back, setting the tray down in front of me.
“Don’t forget my fries.”
He chuckles and slides the fries next to my nuggets along with the sauce packets. “Here ya go, Queenie.”
As he lifts the burger to his mouth, he burns a hole through me with his eyes.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” My tone demands an answer.
“I want to make sure you’re not going to pass out on me.” He speaks between bites. “And you’re not bad to look at.”
“Not bad to look at?” I snicker. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, defensive.
“I’m sure.” I stare out the window, shoving a fry into my mouth.
Bash reaches across the table and touches my chin with his finger to get my attention. “Hey, don’t be like that. I think you’re beautiful, always have. You’re one of the hottest girls on campus.”
Our eyes meet for a second, melting away my anger, but it’s not enough to make me forget. “Now, I know you’re full of shit.”
His laughter fills the quiet air. Even though he should be pissed, he seems entertained by my attitude. “Queenie, I swear…” he says in a playful tone. “Will you ever forgive me? It’s been years. Would you just let it go already?”
“No.” I shake my head, shoveling my food into my mouth like a ravenous beast. “I will not let it go. If I had done the same thing to you, I doubt you would forgive me. So, why do you deserve another chance?”
“Because there are two sides to every story, and you never bothered to listen to mine. You dismiss me every time I get near you.”
“I wish you’d stop calling me Queenie. You could start with that.”
“You didn’t have a problem with it before.”
“First off, I only tolerated that stupid nickname because I was in love with you.”
I stop myself from saying more about the love part. He seems confused, upset, even. It’s hard to tell with the room spinning.
Lowering my voice to a whisper, I say, “I gave you my virginity, Bash. You should know by now that I’m not the kind of girl who hops into bed with just anyone.”
He reaches out to touch my forearm, and for some reason, I let him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’ve tried to apologize for years. Why can’t you have a civilized conversation with me?”
“We could stop talking about the past. How about that? Let’s move on and finish our food so that we can get the hell out of here. I’m sure you have something or someone you could be doing instead of hanging out with me. I’m sure there’s some football trash lingering in your bedroom, naked and ready for you.”
“Nope, I can’t think of a single thing I want to do more than sitting here with your cranky ass.” He smiles, and it’s contagious because he provokes a half-smile from me.
How am I still drawn to him after all the shit he put me through in the past? I hate that his presence alone fills my stomach with nervous energy.
“I’m shocked,” I deadpan. “Here, I thought you’d have girls or keg stands to attend to.”
Bash smirks, swallowing the rest of his burger. “And that’s where you’re wrong about me. There’s more to me than parties and hot chicks.”
“Right,” I say, laughing, “there’s also football.”
He shakes his head, somewhat entertained. “You’re impossible. You must be feeling better if your sense of humor has returned.”
“A little concussion won’t keep me from laying on the sarcasm,” I say, popping the last fry into my mouth.
“I see that.” Bash flashes a broad grin and a perfect set of white teeth. Everything about him is flawless. Why does he have to be so damn perfect all the time? I think I hate him more because of it. Because it’s his perfections that make me like him more. His imperfections…well, those are the reason we’re not together. And he has plenty of those.
My shoulders slump against the booth, as I take a second to pull myself together. The room hasn’t stopped spinning since we walked into McDonald’s. The lights are all of a sudden too bright. A brush of heat spreads from my cheeks to my neck and down my arms. I’m hot, so fucking hot I feel as though I could pass out at any moment. And for once, Bash has nothing to do with it.
“I don’t feel good. We need to leave,” I choke out, struggling with the words.
Bash slides off the bench and comes around to my side of the table, helping me up to my feet. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve gone through this before. Don’t worry, Tori. I know what to do.”
As soon as we make it into my dorm room, I get sick again. This time, Bash holds my hair while I puke and rubs my back. He’s acting like the person I once knew. And I like it. His behavior makes me miss him and what we had together.
I brush my teeth, swallow a few Tylenol along with a bottle of water, and then, Bash helps me to the couch.
The living room of the two-bedroom suite I share with Jessica has couches facing one another, separated by a wooden coffee table. We have a small kitchen off to the left, a full-size bathroom to the right, and private bedrooms along the back wall. Each room has a double bed situated between two windows covered by dark gray curtains. It’s the standard room you can expect to find in Jefferson Hall.
Jessica and I thought about upgrading to off-campus housing, like the house Bash lives in, but we didn’t want to be surrounded by girls and fighting over bathrooms. We like our space, and this place suits us just fine.
Bash sinks into the microfiber next to me, smiling like an idiot. Still dizzy, I scoot closer to him and lay my head on his chest. He cradles me in the crook of his arm and swipes a strand of hair from my face.
I close my eyes, hoping I will drift off to sleep. I’m so tired my lids are heavy. My body is desperate for sleep. When Bash kisses my forehead, I stir in his arms and mumble his name under my breath, about to tell him to stop. But this is nice. Plus, he’s like lying on a big comfy pillow—if that pillow had rock hard abs and chiseled arms.
“You should sleep in your bed,” he says, speaking so low I almost have trouble hearing him. “You will need all the rest you can get if you want to get back to normal.”
Bash picks me up, kicks open the door to my bedroom with his foot, and places me on the mattress. I haven’t made my bed. The sheets are a tangled mess. He tugs at the light gray comforter beneath me until he manages to get it out from under my weight. Crouched next to the bed, he runs his fingers down my arm and lets out a loud sigh.
We stare at each other for a few seconds, before I look away and slip under the covers. I tra
ce my fingers along Bash’s arm, stopping when I see the tiny bumps dotting his skin. We look at each other for minutes. It’s intense. He stares at me like he wants to rip off my clothes. But he wouldn’t dare. Not after my warnings. Not after everything he has done.
“It’s annoying how perfect you are,” I say in a hushed tone.
He narrows his eyes at me. “I’m far from perfect, Queenie. Just like everyone else, you only see what you want to see.”
“Then stop pretending to be what everyone wants you to be. Once upon a time, the Bash I knew was…different.”
He holds onto the edge of the bed, and with his chin on the mattress, he peeks up at me with those bright green eyes that jump off his face.
My heart thumps out of my chest, overcome with a strange mixture of emotions. Bash makes me so nervous yet excited, all at the same time. My old and new feelings are so twisted together that my head spins from all the thoughts racing through it.
“I’m still the same person. If you’d let me explain, give me a chance, you’d see that for yourself.”
He leans in, as if he’s about to kiss me, and then he stops himself. A beat passes between us where I would have considered kissing him if he’d made a move. But I reject the idea. What we have tonight is nice, so I’ll enjoy it while I can. I know it won’t last. I’m not delusional. Anything that seems too good to be true is always too good to be true. Bash included.
Grabbing the duvet, I yank it up to my chin and fall back onto the mound of pillows behind me. Bash hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and it freaks me out. That’s why I decide to throw him a bone since he’s already begging.
“I guess we can be friends. If that’s what you want to call what we’re doing right now.”
“I can do friends,” he says, taking my hand in his to kiss my skin, his lips moving up my arm.
“Friends don’t kiss,” I remind him.
He stops kissing me and looks at me, still holding my hand. “Right…my mistake. I’m sorry.” He lets go of me and uses the bed to push himself up to his feet. “How about I let you get some sleep?”
Roughing Page 3
