by TARA GALLINA
"One of them got a hit on you?" I ask surprised. They were so wasted, how was it possible?
"One of them head-butted me. I wasn't expecting it."
I nod and lock up the gate.
We head upstairs to the game room.
"It's smoky as fuck in here." Nathan opens one of the four windows. "I need to air this out. It's the one thing my mom hates above all."
I open two of the windows. "It'll be gone before she visits. Don't worry about it."
"Assholes. I told them to smoke out back. How fucking hard is that?"
"Not hard at all."
Nathan takes his phone from the coffee table. He laughs. "Harper is blowing me up. She wants to know what happened." His gaze finds mine. "What did happen? With Evan?"
I pull out the rest of my shirt. One side must have come untucked when I was fighting Evan. "I noticed someone smoking in here, and then I spotted Ainsley. She came here alone and that fucker ..." I shake my head and breathe through the rage rising within me. "He grabbed her and chased her and pulled her hair. Who knows what he would have done had I not arrived in time."? I scrub a hand down my face, my heart pounding.
"Holy shit. I would have beat his ass with you. Is she okay?"
"Yeah. She's in my room. I need to check on her." I head for the sink in the kitchenette to wash up first.
"Do you want me to close up shop for the night? I can tell everyone to leave."
"No. She'll be fine. I'll make sure of it." I wash my hands, splash water on my face, and dry myself off with a paper towel.
Beside me, Nathan stops at the mini-fridge and chugs a bottled water.
His phone chimes again. It's on the counter. I can't help but notice the text is from Harper. She's asking where Ainsley is and says she's texted her but she's not responding.
"Can you do me a favor?" I ask Nathan.
He nods, still drinking but he read the text same as I did.
"Don't tell Harper any more than you have to about Ainsley and what happened. Let Ainsley tell her and, downplay my part in it, of course. At least where Ainsley's concerned."
He finishes the water. "You got it, man."
That's Nathan for you. Loyal without questions. Still, now that he's dating Harper, I feel I owe him more than I've given him.
"She's always worried she's going to do something to piss off Harper. I don't want to cause any problems, especially since they're living together."
"I understand." He tosses the bottled water in the trash.
I do the same with the paper towel. "Thanks, man."
We walk to the double doors.
Nathan stops and arches a curious brow. "You going to hook up with her?"
"No. I'm just going to make sure she's okay."
"You like her though." He's not asking.
"Doesn't change anything."
He sighs, sounding as disappointed as I feel. His phone rings.
He laughs and answers. "I'm coming down now."
We step out of the narrow hallway and someone squeals. "Nathan!" Harper shouts from the top of the grand staircase. She charges him. He's quick to pocket his phone before she jumps into his arms and kisses him.
Several people stare. He carries her toward his room.
"You're so sweaty," she says between kisses. "That's so hot."
A second later, they're inside. Nathan kicks the door shut behind him.
My thoughts turn to Ainsley. Is she okay up there? It's been a while. I shouldn't have left her for so long.
I haul ass up the steps, aching to see her, to hold her and make sure no one ever hurts her again.
The room is dark, except for the small lamp on the desk. She could have turned more lights on if she wanted. My gaze goes right to my bed, expecting—hoping—to find her in it.
She's not there. My pulse jumps. I scan the room and notice her curled up in the corner of the couch. Is she shivering?
Mother fucker.
I race over. "Ainsley?" I whisper.
She doesn't respond. Her chest rises and falls slowly.
Again, she shivers.
Fuck this. I sit down and pull her back to my front. I wrap my arms around her, surrounding her with my body heat. She relaxes into me and gives a soft sigh.
The way I'm positioned isn't comfortable, but I'll be damned if I'm moving. She smells like heaven. Her little body fits perfectly tucked against mine. The caveman side of me wants to beat my chest and roar, "Mine."
She snuggles into me more, and my muscles unwind. Having her against me like this, feels so right. Better than right. It feels fucking perfect.
"What am I going to do about you?" I whisper and stroke her hair, comforted that she's no longer shivering. What can I do?
Keep reading for an excerpt from RISKING FOREVER: Vol 1, on sale now!
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RISKING FOREVER: Vol 1
Chapter 1
MY NEW VIBRATOR comes today. If it arrives charged, I'll come today, too. LOL. Get it?!?
The text from my best friend, Harper, lights up my phone.
My cheeks blaze, and I'm caught between wanting to laugh or roll my eyes. I swear, she's cruder than any guy.
Another text from her comes through.
Do you remember which color I ordered? Pink or purple? I should have bought the glow-in-the-dark one, too. That would have been fun.
Snickering sounds to my left.
I tense and press my phone against my stomach to hide the screen. If someone saw those texts, I'll die. The girl next to me is focused on the professor. Discreetly, I peer over my shoulder to the guy sitting behind her.
He gives me a once-over and winks.
Oh my God. "It's rude to read other people's texts," I whisper.
"Not any more than it is to be texting porn during class."
My jaw drops. "I don't text porn." The last word comes out louder than intended.
Silence falls over the room.
I cringe and face forward, my cheeks burning hotter than before.
If this were any other college, the professor might make a joke about my outburst or blow it off. Ryland is different though. Small and private, it caters to trust fund babies who push their luck so often most professors have no humor or patience left to spare.
Unlike the privileged students here, I’m on a scholarship, two grants, and a favor from a family friend who works in admissions. If I get in trouble, I could get kicked out.
Dr. Collins nods at my hand. "Perhaps you've forgotten about my no-phones policy during class."
Crap. I forgot I'm holding mine. "Sorry. I'll put it away." I set it face-down on the desk and bend to open the zipper on my bag. The phone vibrates with another text, rattling on the Formica surface before sliding off.
"No," I squeal and lurch forward to save it. Long wavy hair falls around my face making it hard to see, but I manage to catch the phone before it hits the floor. Thank God. I can't afford a new one.
I sit up, shovel my golden strands behind my shoulders, and pray the professor doesn't kick me out. I'm a good student and have never been kicked out of class in my life. To have it happen as a newly turned twenty-year-old in my sophomore year of college would make this moment even more humiliating.
"Ainsley? I think you've interrupted us enough for today." Dr. Collins gestures to the door. "Please excuse yourself and, next time, remember to put your phone away before class."
I bite my lip to keep from begging him to let me stay. It wouldn't do any good.
The moment I'm in the hallway my phone buzzes in my pocket. I'm sure it's from Harper. I have the urge to send her a nasty reply. Something like, your stupid texts got me in trouble. But it isn't her fault I got kicked out of class.
I turn the corner and eye the set of double doors ahead. They're solid mahogany and heavy as hell. At five-three and average weight, it takes all my strength to push one open, and,
even then, it's a struggle. I get that they're historical and match the Mediterranean architecture of the campus, but would it kill the school to replace them with something lighter?
In no mood to work up a sweat, I take advantage of the empty hallways and charge the door like a bull.
It swings wide open, its hinges creaking. The momentum sends me stumbling forward like a klutz. I laugh at how I must look and gain traction in time to notice the guy.
He's walking straight for the door, unaware of the slab of thick lumber sailing toward him. His head is down, his eyes on his phone.
"Look out!" I yell and move in what feels like slow motion, grappling for the door handle before the guy gets knocked out.
At the last second, he lifts his head and without flinching, throws up his hand, catching the door an inch before it smashes him in the face.
I let out a wild breath, my heart pounding in my chest. He stopped it. I don't know how, but he did.
My gaze locks on his hand that’s gripping the door. Is that blood? Not good. "I think you're hurt." I lean in to examine two red droplets on his knuckles.
"I’m fine," he says in a deep voice that's a little scratchy and a whole lot of sexy.
Focus. "Um." I clear my throat and point to the red staining the knuckles on his tan hand. "You’re bleeding right here. It doesn’t look bad, but you might want to get it checked out."
Crap. If he goes to the school clinic, I should probably go with him.
"It's not blood. It's fake. They're tattoos."
"Really?" I lean closer. "But they look so real." Unable to believe my eyes, I run my finger over the red teardrops. Dry, smooth skin. "That's amazing."
"It's 3D art. It's meant to look real. That's why people like it." Now that incredible voice sounds annoyed.
I drag my gaze from his hand toward his face, stopping at another 3D tattoo on his neck. The placing, under his chin at the start of his throat, is odd. I tilt my head and study the black shape that looks like a knife or a small sword.
"It's a dagger," he says, as if reading my mind, or guessing since I’m all up in his personal space, gawking at his neck.
I breathe in and inhale the most delicious scent. A woodsy musk mixed with citrus and spice. Oh God. I could lick him. The thought snaps me out of my cologne induced haze.
"Sorry." I have to tip my head back further to take in his face. My breath catches in my throat.
Sebastian Gianni, the infamous senior surrounded by mafia rumors and the guy Harper named her favorite vibrator after, stands before me. You'd have to be blind not to see his appeal. Broad shoulders, sculpted body, and lean waist all covered in smooth bronze skin.
What I don't get about him is his style. He dresses like he's modeling business-casual for a Burberry ad. Most guys on campus wear shorts and a t-shirt. He's rocking dark fitted pants, a shirt that clings to his six-pack abs, and leather shoes that are more hot professor than student.
The same goes for the style of his dark wavy hair. Would it kill him to use less gel or none at all? I can't say anything negative about his features. They're about as perfect as can be. Before now, I've only ever seen him from a distance or on Harper's phone when she shows me pictures of him she secretly takes. It's too dark in the dim corridor for me to see the color of his eyes, but I don't miss his scars. One cuts through his right eyebrow, and another tinier one raises the skin under his bottom lip. Neither diminishes his appearance. I like them. They make him sexier.
"Do you think you'll be moving out of the doorway anytime soon?" He arches the brow with the scar, and I realize I'm staring.
How many times have I ripped on Harper for doing this same thing? Hypocrite.
"Sorry." I jump aside.
He lets the door swing closed with a thud.
"I'm sorry I almost hit you," I add. "I don't usually ram the doors like that."
He holds up his phone. "I wasn't paying attention. Texts can be distracting."
"Must have been an important text."
His gaze narrows in an accusing way that has me shrinking.
"I just mean you were so focused on it you didn't hear or see me plow through the door." Like an idiot. I give half a laugh.
His brows tighten as he continues to stare like I'm an undercover cop about to bust him for drugs. It's the strangest thing and starting to freak me out.
"So, you're okay then?"
He nods, all stiff and bothered by my presence.
"I'll be going then. You take care now." I pat his arm as I walk by, unable to miss the way he flinches at my touch.
What the hell? I keep walking, in the wrong direction, but I'm not about to turn around and follow him to the parking lot. I think I get the mafia rumors about him now. His designer clothes and paranoia make him the perfect target. It's also very Ryland, home to Winter Park, Florida's finest.
Half of the students are local and attended my high school, where rumors spread like wildfires. My parents bought a run-down Mid Century Modern two decades ago when middle income could afford a home in this neighborhood, or I wouldn't be a part of this world.
Chapter 2
AT THE END of the corridor, I glance over my shoulder to see if Sebastian is gone before heading back that way.
A person jumps in front of me.
I shriek and stumble backward.
Harper plants her hands on her curvy hips. "I've been calling and texting you. Are you ignoring me on purpose?"
"You called me?" I didn't hear my phone ring.
"Yes, dammit. And I'll forgive you if you tell me what the hell you were doing talking to Sebastian Gianni? He never talks to anyone, except his close friends."
Of course she knows this information about him. "I wasn't talking to him. I mean, I was but only because I almost hit him with the door."
Her prettily made-up features scrunch. "Huh?"
"I rammed the door—you know how I struggle with getting them open—and he was right there. I didn't know. It was embarrassing. But he has ninja-like reflexes, caught the heavy door with one hand, and wasn't even fazed that it almost dented his nose. It was impressive. I'm not gonna lie."
"Oh man. I wish I could have seen that. I bet it was hot." She fans herself with her hand.
"Yeah. It kinda was, until he got all weird."
She stands taller, peering down at me. "What do you mean weird? Like sexy weird?"
I laugh. "No. Like creepy, paranoid weird."
"Pfft." She waves a hand down. "That's his mafia nature. Either you like it, or you don't. I like it."
"I know you do." I consider telling her my theory about the mafia rumors, but then I'd ruin the fantasy of him for her and she loves her fantasy. Besides, if she really thinks about it, she'd come to the same conclusion as me. Central Florida, home to Disney World, a.k.a. the happiest place on earth doesn't sound like the stomping ground for the Italian Mafia. Just saying.
Harper moves her big Gucci bag from one arm to the other. "Give me the deets. How good did he smell?"
If I breathe in, I can still catch a hint of his delicious cologne. "He smelled nice."
"Hmm." She sighs and her lashes flutter. "And his eyes, are they as amazing as I've heard?"
I shrug. "I couldn't tell. The lighting in here isn't good. But what have you heard?" Now I wish I tried to notice their color.
She puckers her glossy pink lips. "Different things. They look like a kaleidoscope. They change colors in the light."
"Where do you hear this stuff?"
"I'm nosey," she says with zero shame. "I listen when people talk, ask questions, take notes."
"And take pictures," I add with a giggle.
She shoves me, a big fat smile on her face, and glances around. "Someone might hear you."
"Come on." I start for the other end of the hallway. "Let's get out of here before classes let out and the halls fill with people."
"Yeah, yeah," she drones and catches up to me, her wedges clomping on the hard floors.
We make
it to the exit and into the hot sun before students file out of classrooms, only it’s not as hot as I expected.
A cool breeze flutters my long golden strands around my face. I tuck them behind my ears and squint in the afternoon light. "It's nice out."
"I know." Harper digs in her purse then covers her smoky gray eyes with a pair of Tiffany sunglasses. "Spring showers bring rainbows and sometimes cooler temperatures."
Palm trees and old Oaks with moss-covered branches shade the rest of the path and line the outside of the parking lot.
"I might not sweat today," I say in a cheery voice.
Harper tugs the ends of my wavy hair. "This is why you're always so hot. Maybe cut the Rapunzel locks and you'd be cooler."
"I'm sure I would." But it took me forever to grow my hair out in high school, against my mom's wishes. Since then, I can't bring myself to cut it. It's my way of rebelling, as pathetic as it sounds.
"It'd be less work too," Harper adds.
"True." Humidity makes my hair frizzy. Sometimes, I don't even bother trying to tame it. I let it hang wild and free.
She tugs the ends of my wavy strands again. "Think of all the money you'd save on hair products."
I stop and look at her. "Do you want me to cut it short or something?"
"No," she squeals. "Don't be silly. I love your Disney Princess hair." She finger-combs her sleek honey locks, making me jealous in a way she could never understand.
"Where'd you park?" She changes the subject.
I hitch a thumb to the far side. "Over there."
She glances in that direction and stiffens. "Omigod. You have to go to your car right now."
"What-why?"
"Look." She points to a bright blue Maserati parked in the spot next to my beat-up Jetta. "Go over there and make small talk with Sebastian."
"No, thank you. I tried that already. It didn't go well."
"Then go tell him you're sorry again for almost hitting him with the door and ask him if he's having a party this weekend. If he says yes, ask him for an invitation." She nudges me forward.
