I made up some lame excuse about feeling the flu coming on, paid for a regular manicure, and waited for Sunday in the car. Of course, Sunday sucked the vital info out of me over pizza back at the dorm. I let her know that those episodes were only on the rise in my life, and I had no idea why. I used to love to do normal things, like shop, grab some coffee, see a freaking movie, but a line with more than three people in it makes me feel as if I were waiting in line for the electric chair—thus the birth of the three-person line rule. I guess you could say something good has come out of the madness. I no longer tolerate long lines, a majority of the public at large, and badly mismatched manicures.
Just as I’m about to hit the exit, I bump into a body.
“Whoa.” I pull back to find myself staring at my stepsister, Scarlett.
“Leaving so soon?”
I bite down over my lip as I glance around the boisterous crowd, laughing, screaming at one another as if the walls were on fire, and those boys with their bedroom eyes, the girls with their legs flying open at the ready. “I don’t know. This isn’t what I thought it would be. College isn’t what I thought it would be.”
She wrinkles her nose. “No offense, but you’ve only been here a week. What’s getting to you?” She pets my hair as if I were her favorite kitten, and something about the action warms me. My mother hasn’t always been the most maternal, and something in me craves this physical brand of attention.
“I guess I thought I’d feel like a grown-up. You know, less like a little kid with everyone telling me what to do, who to like, who not to talk to.” I spot Rush by the hall talking to a group of girls as Miranda slowly makes her way into the mix. I can’t help but scowl over at the entire lot of them. Trollops.
“Hey!” She pulls me in, and for a moment I bury my face in her cinnamon-colored locks. Scarlett always smells like spice cookies to me, sweet with a mysterious hint of clover or nutmeg. “Trust me, you’re going to have a great time at Briggs. Don’t you let others define you. College is the perfect time to reinvent yourself. How about you try to do something unexpected? Maybe step out of your old skin for a while. Do something that the old high school you would never dream of. You know, join a sorority or the Book Club. Start a novel of your own! The possibilities are endless. Just loosen up a little.” She jostles my shoulder with a sisterly grin. “How about you get back in there and hang out with Sunday for a few more minutes? I’d feel better if I knew you weren’t walking back to campus all by yourself. The Row is a bit farther than you think, especially all alone on a Friday night.”
“Fine.” I openly glare around the room as if it personally offends me. And come to think of it—it does. “You’re right. I need to stop letting other people define me. It’s time to reinvent myself—the new Trixie Toberman is here.”
She laughs while pulling me into a brief hug. “That a girl. Now, get back in there and start making some memories! Step out of your skin for a while!” Scarlett takes off for her friends, and I set out to do the same.
The music switches to a heart thumping rap song, and the room goes wild as if the roof just ignited with flames. I do a quick scan of the vicinity, and there’s not a sign of anyone I know. Perfect. I’m stranded in a sea of sexed-up bodies—half of them think I’m some seven-year-old who needs to be reminded of what she can and cannot do.
My brothers and their reprimands come to mind. Trixie’s a good girl. She stays out of trouble. She’s outright boring when you get down to brass tacks. My blood begins to boil at the thought.
The lights dim and the crowd screams ten times louder as if the 12 Deadly Sins themselves just appeared from nowhere, ready to hit the stage with a live concert. I swear, I’ve been in that bar where people lose their minds for the house band. This level of hysteria isn’t all that big a stretch.
Miranda and her tribe of super skanks strut by with their mocking jewel-toned fingernails, their loud laughter biting through the air at obnoxious glass shattering decibels.
Maybe I should step out of my skin for a while.
I spot Rush as he finishes up a conversation and begins to walk back into the crowd alone.
Rushford Knight is never alone. It’s practically illegal for him to be three feet away from a person with female genitalia at all given times. There are serious rules in play for manwhores like him. The governing authority of ho bags everywhere could readily revoke his douche card for such an offense.
Without thinking, my feet move in his direction, and for one strangled moment his hypnotic, warm honey eyes lock over mine. My body jolts with a mild electrocution, and my insides squeeze tight once again at the sight of him. It’s not fair he gets to illicit such a volatile response in me. I bet he’s not having a single visceral response to my presence, outside of irritation, that is. And I do hope he’s feeling at least that.
His jaw tightens on cue as if the very sight of me brought out a certain level of disdain in him, and the savage bitch in me gives a secret smile. Although, how dare he even imply it. Then, as if in an act of surrender, he tips his head to the side. No sign of that lazy smile he uses to seduce the girls by the dozens. After all, I had already been relegated to the bottom of the little sister deck. My brothers, Sunday, the world made sure of that. I hate labels, but that particular label is one I loathe the most.
I stride over and take up his hand, quick and tight. My feet pivot and I lead us up the stairwell, down a hall, and into the first open door, landing us in a bathroom. I leave the light off as I shut the door behind us.
His warm breath rains down over me as my body lands taut against his, pushing him to the edge of the sink as I hike up onto the balls of my feet. Rush Knight’s body feels as if it’s fashioned from steel, and a breath hitches in my throat at the feel of it—at the reality of what I’ve just done. His chest expands, and the slight rumble of laughter filters through him. My God, he’s so obnoxious I want nothing more than to school that oversized ego of his. Without hesitation, without another living thought, I stab my fingers into the back of his hair and pull him down to me. For a brief moment, in this, the dimmest of light, our eyes meet. There’s an arrogant look on his face that suggests he knew I would cave to his comeliness, and as much as I want to battle it, I don’t.
And just like that, I draw first blood. My lips slap over his like a punishment—hard and greedy for something his stiff muscles are too stingy to give. Rush takes a quick breath, forcing his chest to nearly buck me right off him, and then the unthinkable happens. His mouth moves over mine in a sinful rhythm. These slow, delicious movements smoke every theory I’ve ever had about Rush being a louse in every area of his life. Clearly, Rushford Knight is a master at one thing, and at the moment we’re engaging in the very act.
My stomach squeezes tight again until it painfully burns. Every last nerve in my body is alive and electrified at the touch of his mouth over mine. I can feel the sizzle from the ends of my hair to the tips of my toes. It’s unfair, and perhaps illegal to give anyone the power to invoke these apocalyptically huge feelings in you.
A small moan works its way up my throat, and as soon as I give it, his body relaxes for the first time, his chest melting against mine as if it were always supposed to be there. Rush brings his hands up over my back, slow and warm. His thick fingers carefully migrate to the back of my neck, threading into my hair, pressing our mouths furiously together as I open for him. Rush invades me with his tongue with a frenzy, as if it were his sole responsibility to teach me a lesson. And he’s kissing me. Soulfully, Rush delivers a lashing that grows darker by the moment.
He spins me against the counter and lifts me onto it until the cold tile burns right through my jeans. He takes up my hands, opens my arms against the mirror behind me as if exposing me in this way were supposed to speak to me. Rush is owning me, claiming me the way he does his floozies by the dozens. I might have stunned him to begin with, but it’s clear he’s on autopilot. Unless, of course, this is his way of saying don’t you mess with me, little gi
rl. In that case, game, set, and match. Well played, Mr. Knight. Well played indeed.
I yank my wrists free from his bondage-like stronghold and cup my hands over his stubbled cheeks, holding him there, making him kiss me softer, drinking down all he has to offer as if it were the most potent wine. I’m pouring his mouth straight into mine and drinking down the intoxicating elixir that I should never have been privy to.
A deep guttural groan comes from him, and my entire body begs to faint. There is no sweeter sound than that of someone desiring you on such a primal level. That groan signified everything I was hoping to hear. I’m certain I’ll replay it in my sleep for the next eighty years, reliving my victory time and time again.
Rush runs his tongue over mine, rough and greedy, his lust for me amping up by the nanosecond.
The lights slap on, and we both look to the door to find a glossy-eyed boy looking momentarily stunned. “Sorry.” He slams the door shut behind him but forgets to turn off the lights, thus breaking the spell and landing us both back in that horrible place known as reality.
Rush and I glance at one another apprehensively at first with something shy of horror.
“Shit.” He bows his head and rakes his fingers through his hair as it all sinks in. Rush treaded into forbidden territory. He was led to the slaughter by a low-lying snake in the grass—better known as me.
Rush glances up, and for a strangled moment his amber eyes linger on mine.
“Go ahead and say it.” My voice comes out a touch louder than intended.
“Say what? You want me to apologize for that?” His brows hike as if he were amused.
“Please. You can eat your apology. It was a joke.” I glare at him a moment. “It was a dare. An initiation to get me into the slutty girls’ club at Briggs. You of all people should know you’re nothing more than an entrance exam to the dingbats that populate this place. You’re a whore—you’re a joke—someone people laugh at when they get a chance.” My chest hiccups with the lie. I don’t know why I spewed it, but I vomited it up easy as water.
Those dark brows of his narrow into a hard V as if they alone were handling the communication efforts with me. I may not know Rush all that well, but I know enough to realize he’s pissed to high heaven.
“Go on.” I slap my palms over his chest in an effort to propel him away, but Rush doesn’t move. Those lucent eyes of his remain locked over mine, and it feels invasive, punishing. Rush is penetrating me on an intimate level, and right now I hate him for it.
I jump down from the sink as I make a break for the exit, but he lands his enormous hand over the door a hard thump.
“Get out of my way or I’ll scream at the top of my lungs and have you thrown into prison—but only after my brothers have broken every last one of your bones!” I don’t dare look at him, but he leans in until his face is over mine and those eyes of his are working their black magic again.
There’s a soulfulness buried behind in that hard stare he’s throwing my way. And for a second I study the hard curves of his cheeks, the way the stubble peppers his face just enough to ring that sexual bell buried deep inside me.
His shoulders sag a moment as his hand slides off the door and I whip it open, nearly decapitating him in the process.
I turn back and look directly at him, all of my schoolgirl lust for him already gone, replaced with a ripe disdain. “I hope I never see you again.”
And just like that, I fly through the night, straight to Cutler Tower and dive into my bed like the coward I am.
The next day, I’m all groans and regret as I force myself to stand in the shower, as I struggle my way to Hallowed Grounds before heading past the commons room into the Student Union, past its Saturday afternoon calm, and into the Annex where a large white sign points the way to the Media Club. I open the door, and a small crowd, no more than twenty people, all look up at me stony-faced, Seth the only recognizable one of the bunch.
“Welcome to the club, Trixie,” a deep voice rumbles from my left, and I turn to find a face that haunted me long into my dreams last night. There he is, Rushford Knight, sporting that lazy crooked grin all for me. “I’m your leader.”
Rush
“You’re late.” It comes out stern without meaning to as Trixie lands next to Seth.
“I’m not even sure I’m staying,” she stammers it out while shrinking in her seat.
“You’re staying.” It comes out curt like a command as my eyes lock over hers. Trixie might be Knox Toberman’s twin, Rex Toberman’s little sister no less, but the moment I laid eyes on her last summer, I didn’t see her as either one of those things.
Trixie is stunning, and as much as she might resemble her brothers, both me and my dick seem to have the ability to look past the malfeasance. That long dark hair is the first thing I noticed, but it was those backlit eyes, that vixen-like glare she offered that made my balls ache. I grunt over at the bullet point list in front of me, trying my hardest to get my head back in the game and as far away from Trixie’s petal pink lips as I can get. Damn, they were soft. And if I try hard enough, I can still feel her curves pressed over my chest, making me hard all over again.
“The Media Club is a division of the School of Communication. But all majors are welcome. We’ve got a few gaps left to fill, and seeing that we’ve had such a whopping turnout, I’d appreciate it if you’d each take at least two positions.”
The door cracks open again, and this time my stomach nosedives at the sight. It soared for a moment when I saw Trixie, but then I knew she was coming. Seth let me in on it last night. In fact, when she came at me last night with that determined look on her face, I thought that’s what she wanted to discuss. But then, she took my hand and led me upstairs, shut us in that dark bathroom, and I knew.
But this face?
“Miranda.” My lips tense into something just shy of a smile. I may have bedded Miranda a time too many. It’s a personal rule of mine to never dip twice, but on three occasions? It’s clear I had lost my shit one too many times with her in my presence. The odd thing is, there’s not a stitch of attraction I feel toward her. Not overtly enough to want to bed her for a fourth time at least. And I’m not talking about the outside. Miranda is beautiful. Hell, there’s not a guy in his right mind who would turn down a proposition from her. But it’s the inside she’s shown me, the cattiness she’s had while snipping at other girls behind their backs, making disparaging remarks about the homeless by referring to them as street jockeys and laughing while one almost drowned in the rain. I got out of the car to help, and she was livid with me for a week for bringing that stench back into the car.
“Lucky for you, I’m here!” she sings. Her bright red lips open and close like a gaping wound. “Let the party begin.” Her blonde curls cascade down her back, and at least three of the dudes in the back, Tom Hicks, Justin Cramer, and Lewis Anka already look as if they’re struggling with a budding erection. Yes, she’s a showstopper, and yes, this will be her second year in the Media Club working shoulder to shoulder with me. Crap. I had hoped she’d blow it off this semester. I didn’t even bring it up last night when she did her best to accost me.
For the next ten minutes, I go over some of the club’s basics, review the plethora of social media outlets we represent for the university, let them know that under no circumstances does anything get uploaded, written, or seen without my expressed permission.
“Just shoot me a text and show me what’s up. I’m available twenty-four seven. My number’s available through the online group, and I’ll add you all to that. I expect you to use it. Any questions?”
Trixie’s hand spikes in the air without hesitation, and my stomach explodes in a vat of acid.
Here we go. I know for a fact Knox’s sister is a firecracker. I can spot a ballbuster an entire continent away, and she looks starved for some low hanging fruit to destroy, and not in any sexual way. A brief image of her on her knees before me bounces through my mind, those glowing violet eyes looking up at me w
hile her mouth parts ready to meet me.
“Yes?” My voice breaks, and I clear my throat as I nod to Trixie. God forbid Knox finds out about what happened last night. He’ll hack my head off and use it at the next game to spike through those goalposts.
Trixie folds her arms across her chest, forcing the low cut V of her T-shirt to showcase her cleavage, reminding me starkly of the fact she might resemble Knox in some ways, but she is all woman—or girl, little girl is how I should be thinking of her. Little sister to be exact. Hell, she’s Sunday’s roommate for shit’s sake. I need to get ahold of this runaway train before it spirals out of control. I need to pull her aside and patch things up before this afternoon is up. My God, she didn’t tell Sunday, did she? No, she couldn’t have. Sunday wouldn’t have let me off the hook so easily. For sure she would have rained down a shitstorm on me by now.
Trixie huffs my way as if thoroughly disgusted in me. “What I want to know is how often do we need to post? And how fast can I get to work at the radio station?”
Something in me loosens. That’s it? No smart-ass remark about wanting to lop my balls off for that tongue action I gifted her last night? Even though we both know it was her doing the gifting.