“So either I go to this party with you, or I don’t get any work done today?”
“That’s right!” she laughs, heading for the door. “I’ll be back around eight to pick you up. Look cute. There will beboysthere.”
“Fine!” I shout after her as she makes her exit. “I’ll go. But only for one hour!”
I spendthe rest of the day somewhat working on the new company logo that’s due in two days but mostly obsessing over what I’m going to wear tonight. Having spent the last several months in nothing more than pajamas and sweats, the thought of even putting on something remotely cute has my head spinning.
It seems like an insurmountable task, but after I shower and blow-dry my hair, I manage to settle on a pair of faded jeans and a black lace top that’s sort of like a corset thing but appropriate for public. It’s more than I’d normally wear out, but I know if I try to play it conservative, Reese will just make me change and then force me out the door.
I rehearse small-talk in the mirror and fail miserably. My anxiety is already kicking in. I’ll just keep a drink in my hands at all times and sip from it whenever someone tries to talk to me. Especially a guy.
Five minutes before eight, I quickly down a pre-game vodka tonic to take the edge off, but when she shows up and I findmyself walking out to Reese’s car, I realize it didn’t even make a dent.
I don’t hear a word she says on the drive there. My anxiety has reached a nearly explosive level. And when I see the actual party, with people standing outside, drinking and chatting, I’m sure I’m about to have a panic attack.
“Let’s go back!” I hiss as Reese parks. “We can hang out at my apartment and play Clue!”
Reese frowns at me like I just stepped out of a time machine. “Clue? Who are you, my grandmother?” Laughing, she hops out of the car and comes around to my side. Ignoring my protests, she drags me out and into the chatter-filled night.
I’m instantly overwhelmed, and I cling to Reese’s hand like it’s my lifeline while she whispers encouragement into my ear. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to get out of the house more. Nothing’s even happened yet and I’m already freaking out.
The house is nice. It looks old but recently renovated and is absolutely packed with people. Dragging Reese behind me, I rush to the drinks table, and in an attempt to calm my nerves, grab some kind of cocktail and throw it back. It tastes like piss and burns as it goes down, but after a minute, the roar around me has dulled.
“Feeling better now?” Reese teases, sipping at her own drink.
“Yo, Reese, I see you brought your hot friend.” I look to my left as a clearly-drunk man advances on us. He sways as he holds a beer in his hand, his eyes glassy and a droopy grin on his face. I instantly regret my decision of coming out tonight.
“That’s Brad Simmons,” she whispers. “A real prick.”
He walks right up to me and drapes an arm around my shoulders. My nose curls at the stink of booze and body odor. “This house has a hot tub, did you know that?”
“Nope” is all I can say, shaking my head.
“Why don’t I show you?”
“I’m okay,” I reply, glancing at Reese for help. Like the stone-cold bitch she is, she instantly comes to my aid, grabbing Brad’s arm and tugging it off me.
“You’re drunk. We’re trying to have a nice night. Why don’t you go check the hot tub out yourself?”
But Brad won’t take no for an answer. He steps in and drapes his arm around me again, smiling even broader as he takes a swig from his beer. “Justrelax,” he says, slurring his words. “Don’t get all bitchy with me—”
But doesn’t even have a chance to finish his sentence.
There’s a flash of a hand, a grunt, and then he’s flying backwards onto the floor. Gasping, I whirl and find myself looking up at the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
He’s big, tall, and broad and somehow takes up more space than any of the other men in the house. And he does it without even trying. His eyes are dark, his jaw is strong, and he has an energy about him that goes straight to my stomach. It’s calm but coiled. Like he has a lot more in store if Brad wants to find out.
“Andthat,” Reese whispers. “Is Dawson Clark.”
“Are you okay?” he asks me, his voice deep and filled with bass.
My jaw drops as his eyes meet mine. It’s not just a glance either. His gazelockson to me with a predator’s intensity. I try to speak, but my tongue doesn’t work. The words simply do not come.
His hands are strong and thick, hanging from his veiny forearms like weapons. I start to overheat as I press my thighs together and find them wet, slick with a sudden, shocking arousal. No man haseverbeen able to cause my body to react like this. This goes beyond even what Charles can do to me.
My face goes suddenly hot, like I’m having an allergic reaction. I know I’m blushing, and I try to look away, but I can’t. It’s like he’s bound me to him with an invisible chain.
“I…I can’t breathe…” I gasp to Reese, finally finding the will to step back. Reese glances at me, then back to my mysterious savior.
