Page 34 of Fractured Heart

“Roonie?!” Charles shouts as a door crashes open.

The throbbing pain makes it impossible to reply. The dead weight on top of me doesn’t budge and its owner lets out another loud, rumbling snore. His chest vibrates against mine. It reminds me that he’s half-naked, possibly even fully naked, and I flash back to all the hard muscle I saw while he stripped.

“What happened?” Tate bursts out of his room and runs toward me, footsteps echoing through the apartment. “Roonie? Are you alright?”

JJ doesn’t react. Apparently, he’s so drunk that screams and shouts have zero effect on him. He even sleeps through the suddenly blinding overhead lights.

“JJ!” Charles snaps from the light switch.

“What the hell, man? Get up!” Tate snaps from right next to me. He’s not wearing a shirt, but I only get a glimpse of his beautifully sculpted chest before he starts shaking JJ.

My ribs burn in protest and I slam my eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of pain.

“What? Huh?” JJ mutters, completely oblivious. He makes absolutely no move to stand. To make matters worse, he blows a gust of beer breath all over my face, and an instinctive wave of fear courses through me. Logically, I know I’m not in any danger. The pain will stop the moment JJ gets off of me. The beer and the flood of painful memories will, too. Plus, Tate and Charles are both sober. They’ll protect me, and they may not even have to. Not every drunk person gets angry like Father.

Then I remember JJ’s angry cursing when he crashed into the coffee table—a coffee table that was out of place because of me—and I forget all logic and reason. I can’t seem to catch my breath.

I’m barely even aware of Charles towering over me, shirtless, biceps flexing. He lifts JJ as though he weighs nothing. When he sets him down next to the couch, JJ stumbles, while I inhale lungfuls of air.

“Took your breath away?” JJ slurs, staring at me as he leans into Charles.

In my panic, my gaze lands on his crotch. Luckily, he’s wearing briefs. Unfortunately, they’re thin, tight and leave little to the imagination. His package starts to visibly grow under my intent stare, and I scramble back with a yelp.

“Who are you?” JJ demands, talking to my cleavage.

I glance down, too. My breasts are fully hidden under the delicate fabric of my pajama top, but when I look back up, I find all three guys staring intently at my chest. Feeling exposed, I grab my blanket and pull it tightly against my breasts. A blush covers my cheeks and I try to look anywhere but at the three roommates.

“JJ, this is Roonie,” Tate says. “Roonie, this drunk idiot is JJ.”

I finally look back up. Tate’s wearing grey boxers and his hair is all mussed, like he just rolled out of bed. Charles’s hair is rumpled too, and his tight black boxers cup a growing package. The sight of it, of them—all three of them—half naked and towering over me makes my throat go dry.

They look like underwear models, all muscle and bare, exposed skin. I’ve gone swimming before, obviously, so it’s not like I haven’t seen shirtless guys. They’ve just never been this attractive and anyway, there is something way more intimate about being alone in a room with three half-naked guys.

“Why’s she here?” JJ gestures in my direction, though he’s off by a couple of inches. “Shouldn’t she be in your bed?” He looks at Tate, then reconsiders and turns to Charles. “Or yours?”

“No.” I squeak.

“Roonie’s our guest,” Charles says.

“How about you stay in my bed then?” JJ smirks at me.

“How about you go to bed alone?” Tate glares at him.

“I was going to sleep on the couch,” JJ grumbles.

“Because you locked yourself out of your room again?” Tate shakes his head. “Come on.”

JJ starts to protest, but Tate wraps an arm around JJ’s shoulder and guides his staggering form toward one of the bedrooms.

“Ooh, look at mister fancy sobriety,” JJ mocks as the doorknob rattles. I grimace at his angry tone.

The couch next to me shifts as Charles lowers his huge form onto it, and I jump and scramble back to make room.

“You okay?” Charles asks gruffly.

“Fine,” I say the word even though I know it’s a lie. I no longer feel safe here, not with JJ around. This castle of a dorm room was supposed to be my escape but now it fills me with fear.

Why is it that in all the time that I’ve dreamt of going to college—especially here at LUV Academy—I never thought about all the drinking that goes on campus? It’s the biggest part of the whole college experience. Keggers and frat parties and getting wasted and staggering home at all hours. How could I ever think I’d feel safe here?