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“I know she’s not here.” Phallon was right on him, her body pressed to his, her hands going for his belt. “Let me take care of you. Nobody has to know. You remember how good it was. You remember what you used to do to me.”

He grabbed her wrist before she got his belt open. “Don’t.”

“Any way you want it, baby.” She pressed closer, her voice going soft and breathy in his ear. “My mouth, my pussy, my ass, I don’t care. Whatever you want. And Nicole never has to know.”

Nicole.

Hearing her name come out of that mouth cut right through the Jack. He grabbed Phallon by both arms and shoved her off him. She went backward three steps, hit the edge of the bed, and fell back onto it with the shirt flying open.

She just lay there staring up at him with her mouth open.

Drew stood there breathing hard. He’d never put his hands on a girl like that in his life, and it scared him how bad he’d wanted to hurt her.

Her clothes were folded over the back of the chair, all neat, like she’d planned on staying awhile. He yanked them off one at a time and threw them at her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out.”

She sat up slowly and looked down at the clothes in her lap, then back up at him. “Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking joking? Get dressed. Nobody’s playing with you, Phallon.”

“What the fuck, Drew?” Her voice climbed until it cracked. “I flew all the way up here for you, and you’re turning me down?”

“That’s exactly what the fuck I’m doing. Nobody asked you to come, you crazy bitch.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“Then quit acting like it. Go find one of the other guys on the team. You’ve already been through half of them. The white half, anyway.”

She came off the bed so fast he didn’t get his hands up in time. The first slap hit him in the chest. The next one got his shoulder, and then she was swinging with both hands, open palms smacking his chest and his arms and his neck and his face, backing him up across the room. One swing caught him high on the cheek, and something sharp dragged across it. Her ring. It stung, then burned, and when he touched his face, his fingertips were wet.

“I hate you!” she screamed. “I hate you, I hate you!”

“Good!”

He caught one wrist.

She swung with the other one, and her palm cracked across the same side of his face, right on top of the cut.

For a second, all he could hear was ringing. Homecoming night, she’d slapped him twice before he caught her wrist. Now here she was in his hotel room in New York City with her tits out, wailing on him, and all he was doing was trying to catch her wrists. If he’d hit her like that, he’d be in handcuffs by morning, and he’d deserve it.

“I regret the day I ever fucked you,” he yelled.

She stopped. Her hand was still up between them. Her face changed while he watched, everything going slack, and the hand came down slow. “Drew.”

He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, and there was blood on his knuckles. His whole face was on fire. The room wouldn’t quit moving, and she was still standing between him and the door.

“Get out.”

“Don’t say that.” Her eyes were filling up. “Drew, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hit you.”

Two seconds ago she’d been screaming that she hated him. Now she was crying and waiting for him to fix it.

“I love you,” she said.

He shook his head, and everything spun, and he had to steady himself on the nightstand. “Just put your clothes on.”

“Please don’t do this. Please.” She grabbed his shirt in both fists. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. You know that. You know you do.”