It’s Ryan—one of the forwards from the team. Big guy, wealthy enough that the library is named after his father and therefore a guy who’s used to getting what he wants just by showing up. He’sholding a tumbler in one hand, half full of amber liquid, and that grin that’s never friendly.
He claps me on the shoulder. “You already got half the cheer squad. Leave some for the rest of us, yeah?”
“Walk away, Ryan,” I say, not smiling now.
He laughs, thinking I’m joking. “I’m serious, man. You don’t needthisone.” His eyes drift to Chloe. “Pretty little thing like her? She’s wasted on a gentle guy like you.”
Chloe straightens a bit, crossing her arms instinctively. Her voice is steady though. “Actually, I like gentle guys.”
Ryan smirks, taking a slow step closer. “Yeah? Bet I could change your mind.”
“Don’t,” I warn.
But he reaches anyway, the back of his knuckles brushing her arm. And before I can even move, something slams into him from the side—hard.
Ryan hits the wall with a choked grunt, his drink splattering across the siding.
Miles.
He’s got a fistful of Ryan’s shirt, eyes blazing, jaw tight. The air shifts, sharp and electric.
“She said leave her alone,” Miles snarls, voice low but deadly.
Ryan’s hands go up instantly. “Alright, alright, man— Jesus—”
But Miles doesn’t loosen his grip until the guy stammers an apology and stumbles off into the dark, cursing under his breath.
Chloe’s standing frozen, eyes wide, one hand over her mouth.
I can hear the tremor in her breathing.
She takes a small step toward me, and before I even think about it, my arm comes around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She fits there like it’s natural, like she belongs against me.
Miles turns, still furious, still breathing like he’s about to throw another punch, but I don’t think he hears when Chloe whispers, voice shaking—
“Jamie… please get me out of here.”
And yeah.
That’s exactly what I plan to do.
Inside, the music fades behind us, muffled by the closed door and the echo of our footsteps on the hardwood floor. The hall smells like spilled liquor and cheap perfume. Somewhere upstairs, people are still cheering. The laughter feels far away—another world.
Chloe’s breathing is uneven. Her cheeks are still flushed, hair sticking to her neck, eyes wide with leftover adrenaline. She stops halfway down the corridor, looking around.
“Where’s your stuff?” I ask quietly.
She swallows, glancing down. “I had a small bag. It’s tied to my skirt.”
I follow her gaze. The tiny crossbody is looped through a belt hole, bouncing lightly against her hip as she tugs it free and checks inside, her hands trembling a little. Keys. Phone. Lip balm. She exhales shakily, relief flickering through her features before sliding the mini skirt up her thighs.
Then she freezes. “I don’t see my shirt.”
She’s scanning the couch, the floor, the pile of discarded tops near the door. Her voice lifts slightly. “I don’t—God, I just had it.”
Before she can spiral further, I pull my shirt over my head and hand it to her. “Here.”
She blinks at me. “Jamie—”
