They’ve got a bit of a head start on me, so I have to speed walk across the back lawn. Hell, I’d run if I could do it withoutlooking like a complete psycho. When I reach the back door, I throw it open and hurry through the kitchen. The place is packed solid, bodies bumping and grinding to J. Cole’sATM, and I’ve completely lost sight of them.
Fuck.
There are probably twenty frigging bathrooms in a place like this. Who knows which one Charlie’s decided to use. The music’s so loud, I can feel the bass thump in my chest, so asking for directions is out. Instead, I push through the throng and race down the nearest hallway, no longer caring if I look like a nut job.
Dammit, where the hell are you, Charlie?
Chapter 2
Who’s Your Hero?
Charlie
I’ve got to pee?
Real sexy, Forrest Gump.
I should have known better than to open my stupid mouth. You need someone to sub in on your radio show at the last minute because your host never showed? No problem. Want someone to make an announcement to a stadium of screaming fans leading into a game? I’m your girl. But get me within ten feet of Ryan Morgan, and I turn into a bumbling idiot. I can’t help it. The guy is hot with a capitalH.All he has to do is glance at me and my ovaries start doing somersaults whileWe Will Rock Youplays on repeat in my head.
And yes, I am fully aware of how weird that is, but I’m pushing a year of involuntary celibacy here. Hard up doesn’t even begin to describe my current state of horniness.
After what seems like an eternity of weaving through a mob of bouncing giants—I’m barely five feet and a hundred pounds, so everyone’s a giant to me—I make it up to the second floor, but the nearest bathroom has a line. Crap. If I have to wait much longer, my bladder’s going to burst and my organs will be swimming in a pool of urine.
Eww… That’s one mental image I could have done without.
I’m sure there’s another bathroom down the hall, so I continue past the balcony that looks down on the common area into another long hallway lined with doors. I basically try the handle of every door I pass. They’re locked, which I can appreciate—I wouldn’t want strangers doing it in my bed either. Finally, one of the handles turns. I tug the door open, flip on the light and—
“Shit.” It’s another bedroom.
There was a time, a few years back, when I got into an awful wreck. Totaled my mom’s car. I remember it being so strange because, as it was happening, it felt like everything was going in slow motion. Like I could see the car coming, knew it was about to hit me, but couldn’t do anything about it. That’s the same sort of feeling I get when I glimpse movement out of the corner of my eye right before a hand shoves me in the back. I stumble forward, catching myself on the twin bed, and whirl around to find a stocky guy with glassy eyes and an insidious smile.
Panic seizes my throat, my chest held immobile in its vice-like grip, and I can’t breathe, can’t scream. The blood is pounding so hard in my ears, it’s making my head ache.
He closes the door behind himself, the soft click of the lock reverberating like a shotgun blast in my head. “Now, we’re gonna have some fun.”
Something about those sinister words flips a switch in my mind.
I open my mouth and scream.
“Fuck,” the guy says. He plows into me, slapping a hand over my mouth, even as we land in a heap half-hanging off the bed. I’m pinned to the mattress, his heavy body an unmovable leviathan crushing my chest. Hand still clamped over my mouth, he presses his cheek to mine. Hot breath reeking of beer wafts across my ear as he whispers, “Ready for some fun?”
Fuck you, asshole.
The only part of my body I have the least bit of control over right now is my head. I fight against the force of his hand pressing against my mouth until I’m able to grab onto a chunk of his palm, and I bite down—hard. He wails as my teeth tear through flesh. The coppery taste of blood coats my tongue. I spit the nasty hunk of skin and scream.
Something crashes behind me and the weight lifts from my chest. I slide off the bed and scramble across the floor until I crash into the wall, turning just in time to see Ryan throw my would-be rapist against the wall.
“Wait man, please,” my attacker pleads, throwing up his hands in surrender.
Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He drives his fist into the guy’s face over and over. I hear the crunch of bone and watch as blood begins to pour out of the guy’s nose.
My attacker’s body goes limp, and I’m guessing Ryan’s fist pinning him against the wall is the only thing that’s keeping the guy standing.
He’s going to kill him.
“Ryan,” I scream. “Stop. Please.” I manage to push to my feet, but my legs are wobbly and weak and they immediately collapse beneath me. Strong arms catch me before I can hit the floor, and I’m pulled into a warm embrace.
“Are you alright?” Ryan asks, breathless.
