I risk a peek over my shoulder, but I don’t see Brody at all.
“Oh,” I gasp as I smack right into a stranger’s broad chest, bouncing back and tripping over the backpack at his feet. I’m caught from behind only at the last second by a pair of unyielding hands on my waist, and I spin on my heels to face my savior, my attacker, or both, only to find the man who caught me is none of the above.
“Bethy? Are you okay?” Brian asks, his blond brows pinched together in concern.
I’m not okay, and I try to step back from him, but my foot catches on that stupid fucking backpack again, and I stumble before Brian’s grip tightens to steady me. “What are you doing here?” I ask a little hysterically, even as my paranoid gaze darts around to recognize the broad-chested roadblock as Brian’s teammate—the goalie whose name I can’t remember—smoking a cigarette. Should college athletes be smoking?
Brian steps closer, still not releasing me, and I don’t have the energy to fight him as he insists on eye contact. He must see my fear because he looks around as if for an obvious threat, frowning when none emerges. “Let me get you something to eat, okay, Bethy?” Brian finally releases me only to slide an arm around my shoulders, and I almost let him guide me inside the student union. Almost.
I twist from his hold without warning as the imminent danger subsides and I start to come back to my senses. In my peripheral line of sight, I catch the runner I thought was Brody practically screech to a halt a few feet away, and I recognize Dicknose—my very first pledge-bodyguard. Idly I think I could have used him several minutes ago, but now I don’t even acknowledge his presence.
“I’m not hungry,” I tell Brian. I mean to sound firm, but my voice trembles, and when my hands do the same, I fold my arms in front of me to hide them.
Brian’s frown deepens. “Some coffee, then. Come on, Bethy, you’re obviously upset—”
“Beth,” I correct him, and suddenly that desperate fear of moments ago mutates into another familiar emotion—anger. “I’ve told you, Brian!”
“Will you relax?”
Ugh!
“I will not fucking relax,” I reply. “As you pointed out, I’m upset,” I remind him. “And the last thing I fucking need is my ex trying to take advantage of that right now.”
Brian’s eyes narrow only vaguely as he tries to keep his face straight. “You’re still mad?”
I shake my head, never even blinking. “No, Brian. I’m still done.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Beth
I fought the urge to run back to David’s apartment and hide from the rest of the day, because even stronger was an answering determination to make it through unscathed. To refuse to let a couple of assholes materially affect my life, in any way whatsoever.
A year ago it would have been Dr. Schall’s gentle, encouraging voice in my head, talking me through. But not today. Today it was my own voice, and it turns out mine isn’t all that gentle. My inner strength sounds a lot like a snarky bitch, and I actually kind of like her.
But the truth is, more than Brody or Brian, it’s David who’s had my head spinning circles all day, and his curious interaction with Liz. And while a few weeks ago I would have just let it go, I’m not sure I have it in me anymore. Not when I’ve spent the better part of the day picturing the arms I woke up in wrapped around her, and the mouth that drives me utterly mad pressed against her lips.
It just doesn’t make any sense—David doesn’t make any sense.
I’d been under the impression Liz had barely spoken to him since the assault, and before that he was the one barely speaking to her. And that was what? A microsecond after he introduced her as his friend? From his sister sorority? I was like a “sister” to him not that long ago, too, and I can’t help but think of how quickly and completely he disappeared on me after we first slept together, and that was while we were living in the same apartment. I wonder just what I’d have to do for him to do it again. All Liz did was make fun of my name.
I haven’t spoken to David since this morning, except to answer his text asking when I’d be home, but he still has an hour left of class, so I have time to prepare myself.
Or so I thought.
I’ve barely hung up my jacket when David walks into the apartment, and I whirl around to face him, a pitiful deer in headlights. But only for a moment, as my own voice inwardly reminds me—ironically, in David’s own words—not to be a pussy.
I square my shoulders, subtly lifting my chin, our gazes locked in place. But the sexy, fun, easygoing guy of the past week is nowhere to be found in his hard, inscrutable gaze, and I blink at him, my stare wavering just long enough for David to break it.
He turns from me wordlessly, chucking his leather jacket on the back of a counter stool like always, but this time I don’t pick it up and put it away for him.
It’s crazy how you don’t really register some things until you miss them, like the fact that David hasn’t walked in the door all week without making some excuse to touch me, and, missing it, my skin is positively aching for a caress, a shoulder rub, even a playful tickle. Something to connect me to him in a physical way.
David gets a beer from the fridge, not bothering to offer me one. He always offers me one, even if I rarely accept. He pops the top and chugs half the thing in a couple of gulps, and I just stand here and stare at him at a loss as he ignores me, giving his phone his full attention instead. Has he ever done that before?
I swallow anxiously, ready to just go hide in the bedroom and pretend to study while I overanalyze every last breath David has taken since this morning.
But I don’t want to. I don’t want to guess. Because the fact that he suddenly seems to have lost all interest in me the same day he was whispering sweet nothings in Liz’s ear can’t be a coincidence, and while David may not owe me anything just because of the benefits, if we really are such good friends, then surely the friendly thing to do is just to ask him.
