His demeanor shifts immediately, becoming concerned. “What’s wrong? Why are you whispering? I’m five minutes away. Are you at your place?”
I close my eyes as his protectiveness washes over me. “Yes.”
“I’m coming.”
I don’t bother telling him I don’t need him because I don’t want to be stubborn and brave right now. Gulping, I search Reagan’s room for some kind of weapon, cursing the fact my metal kitty ears are in my room.
Easton stays on the line with me. I hear his terse breathing as he jogs across campus to reach me.
Reagan has a microphone stand in the corner. I grab it, prepared to defend myself if the intruder comes at me.
The front door slams shut. A freaked out yelp flies from my lips and I whirl around. My heartbeat races faster.
What the fuck?
When I gather the courage to peek out from Reagan’s room a few minutes later, Easton yells over the phone. The sound of tires screeching snags my focus.
“Jesus,” he snaps.
“What happened?”
“Some asshole in an ugly ass blue Jeep pickup truck with a douchey sticker that says ‘ask me how long my other stick is’ almost ran me down in the lot by your building.”
My chest constricts. I know that truck all too well. I know who was in my apartment.
Johnny.
Some of the trepidation leaves me, replaced by the burn of anger. Sighing, I put down the microphone stand.
I don’t think Johnny would hurt me. Not physically, anyway. He likes mental games. Manipulating people’s emotions to control them. But he’s always loved pranking people in awfulways, and this falls right in line with his brand of fucked up humor.
Stalking to the front door, I check the fake potted plant that hangs from our message board. My spare key is inside. I know it’s how he got in. He used to give me shit about forgetting my key in high school and watched me get the spare from its hiding spot countless times.
“Asshole,” I growl.
I’m sorely tempted to call Ryan and tell him what his friend is up to. I never should’ve kept the truth about Johnny cheating on me to myself thanks to him gaslighting me into believing my brother wouldn’t care. Except the thought of hashing that out with him right now causes the beginning of a headache to form.
“You’re not whispering anymore,” Easton says.
I bite my lip, debating if I should tell him. Before I decide what to say, he appears through the door to the stairs at the end of the hall. Even knowing I wasn’t truly in danger, intense relief washes over me at the sight of him.
“Hi.”
He strides down the hall to erase the distance between us. His hockey bag and stick thuds on the floor as he wraps me in a tight hug that I really need. I melt into it.
“Hi,” he says against my hair. “Missed you. Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
We stay like that until I pull back. He cups my cheek, thumb brushing back and forth softly.
He follows me inside, leaving his duffel bag next to mine by the door. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
My teeth rake across my lip. “I thought someone broke in.”
“What?” He takes me by the hips and pins me to the counter in the kitchenette, eyes searching my face. “What the hell happened?”
Before I answer, he combs through the entire apartment to check if it’s safe. I stay in the kitchen area, trying not to be distracted by the hard set of his jaw or the way he moves through each room with a powerful sense of strength that I’m drawn to. Is it weird I sort of want him to bend me over the nearest surface and unleash that wildness on me?
