Of course he doesn’t listen. Just yanks me in close enough to grab a fistful of my hair with his free hand. “Do you know what a fucking inconvenience it was to have to fly up here after you?” A sharp tug on my hair that makes my eyes sting. “Do you know how much of my time you’ve wasted just because of whatever little game you’ve been playing not texting me back? I don’t give up what’s mine, Tristan.”
Just when I think he’s gonna rip my hair right out by the roots, he lets up. “I was going to buy you a ticket back to me, babe.” He strokes his thumb over my wrist where he’s still gripping hard enough that my fingers are starting to tingle.
Fuck, I want to crawl right out of my fucking skin.
“I should be mad at you,” he whispers as he leans in, twisting his grip on my hair so I can’t move an inch when his lips brush over my ear.
Can’t fucking breathe—
“Running out on me like the worthless slut you are. Fucking around behind my back. Good thing for you I know how good you are at apologizing. So how about you get down on your fucking knees and start making it all up to me now, hmm?”
Fuck, I can’t breathe—
He drops his hand from my hair, down to grab my hip. Squeezes.Hard. Fuck, there are going to be bruises there too—
Takes a step forward, crowding me back. Moves his hand lower, down over my ass.
Fuck—No—
Have to get away—
Except he’s still got his grip on me and there’s fucking nowhere to go, and before I can even try, he pulls me forward against him so I can feel his hard cock through his jeans pressing back into my hip.
Itchy sick crawls over my skin. My blood’s pounding so loud in my ears it almost hurts, and it’s gotta be playing tricks on my mind ‘cause I swear I can hear Jesse’s voice somewhere underneath everything else. Calling my name.
“I said let fucking go!” My breath rushes in, all sharp and dizzy and too fucking much.
For a split second, Josh loosens his grip on me. Turns his head like he’s heard something.
It’s all I need.
As hard as I can, I slam my free hand against his chest, drive my knee up between his legs.
50
Jesse
I’d almost told Tris I love him before I’d hung up the phone. For that split second, I thought I wasn’t going to be able to help it.
When I heard all his texts come in, one after another after another, I’d gotten this sinking, sick weight in the pit of my stomach. And when I’d read them, I’d dropped everything and literally ran for the one spot where I knew from experience I’d have enough service for a call. I should have taken my things with me, but at that moment, all I could process was that the last group of messages from Tris—the ones that told me so clearly between the lines that he was afraid, maybe wasn’t even safe—had a timestamp of over an hour and a half ago.
Nothing since.
I’d been fully prepared to run right out of the library and just leave everything, my new laptop included, behind. Then Tris had answered right after the second ring. He’d told me he was safe, and the swirling panic in my gut had calmed enough for me to be able to end the call and go back for my things before making a beeline for the exit.
Without my goddamn phone.
As soon as I’d gotten out of the library, I’d reached into mybag for it so I could call him back. It didn’t matter that he was in his apartment with the door locked. I had to know for sure that he was still safe. Had to hear his voice again.
My phone wasn’t there.
The fifteen or so seconds it took for me to rifle through my bag and pat down my pockets were all I had to spare for looking for it. Someone could find it and turn it in to lost and found. Or not.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to waste ten minutes on going back down to the basement of the library where I must have left it behind on the table when I’d shoved everything else into my bag.
I don’t care if Tris thinks I’m overreacting. I practically run the entire way back to our building.
He’s probably right. There’s probably nothing to worry about.
