3. The Usual Suspects
The Usual Suspects
Keene
F uck.
Bex might be the most annoying woman on earth, but she smells so fucking good. Her body is so soft tucked against my side that for a second I get distracted from what I just saw on her phone.
I swap hands and hold her phone out of her reach, tightening my hold on her waist. I keep reading the comments to a post she was looking at.
“Bex,” I ask when I’ve seen enough. “What is this shit?”
I let go of her, and she stumbles back as if she had been slapped. Redness rises to her face as her gaze falls to her feet. “That was private. You have no right to read my stuff. Just in case you didn’t notice, this is not the U.S. Army, and I’m not one of your soldiers.”
Cute.
But I don’t let that fact distract me from the matter at hand. “How long has this been going on?” I ask, ignoring her protests.
She avoids my gaze. “I don’t have to tell you that.”
God, give me strength. “Bex. I’m not asking.”
“Good. Because I’m not telling you.” Her green eyes are narrowed as she argues with me.
She’s hot even when she’s being a pain in my ass.
“Bex,” I soften my tone against my every urge to throw her over my shoulder and use some other ways of persuasion to get the information I want.
“May I remind you that not eight hours ago, we agreed on a truce? This is me trying to be a good roommate to you and a good friend and teammate to your brother and not dwelling on the fact that last night you accused me of being your stalker. When there are literally thousands of people making threats to you online. How long has this been going on, Bex?” I repeat.
She hugs her middle with her arms, and a strange feeling leaves a bad taste in my mouth. She was attacked last night, and I’m making it worse.
But she thought it was me. She could have caused so much trouble for me if she had told the cops. So I stay the course and demand that she explains what the fuck I just read on her phone. If she wants to be comforted, I’m clearly not the right guy.
“I saw the first few nasty comments on my latest videos a couple of days after I got here.” Her voice is just a breath above a whisper, so I step closer to make sure I don’t miss anything.
“And you didn’t think you should have told someone? Maybe Luke, or your boyfriend?”
Bex raises her face to meet my gaze.
Are those tears in her eyes? Fuck, if she cries I’m gonna lose my shit. I never know what to do with a crying woman.
“It wasn’t so bad six or seven weeks ago when I got here. The agency I was with announced I left on not so amicable terms, and I started losing thousands of followers pretty much by the minute.”
That’s rough. I’m using my G.I. Bill to pay for my tuition, but I’m not hurting for money thanks to my hockey videos being viral on social media.
So I understand how bad it is to lose it all.
Bex escaped from an abusive ex, and she lost the only way she had to support herself.
Maybe I’ve been too harsh with her. She isn’t the spoiled influencer I thought she was when she got here.
“They started by calling me ugly and fat. I’m sure my dad put them up to it to punish me for leaving.
But it hurt anyway. Those were my friends, the people I used to work and live with.
When I saw those comments, I just closed my phone and ignored them.
They can only hurt me if I let them, right?
I thought that if I ignored them, they’d get tired of talking about me eventually.
I never thought so many of my former followers would join them in tearing apart my looks and my skills as a dancer. ”
I never thought I would feel compassion for Bex, but I do now.
My ex cheated and kicked me to the curb, but I can only imagine how it would have felt if my army buddies or my teammates had turned on me on a dime, too.
Fury expands in my chest, worse than when one of my teammates gets targeted on the ice. I wish I could make those people take back every hurtful word they posted about Bex.
Isn’t it ironic that I want to make them pay for wronging a woman I don’t even like? If Major Bailey could see me, she would have that annoying look on her face. I can practically hear her saying it. Florence Nightingale Syndrome, Sgt. McKendrick.
I clear my throat. “That shit they’re saying about you,” her teeth are tormenting her bottom lip as she struggles to keep the tears in her eyes from falling.
“It’s not true. You aren’t fat, Bex. And you aren’t ugly.
And I know you’re anything but stupid, so you must know that you’re beautiful.
Don’t even think about believing one word of those hideous posts. ”
Her eyes widen as if she were surprised to hear me say this. It’s lucky we agreed on a truce, because the snarky comments I would have made yesterday wouldn’t cut it right now. I can dislike Bex all I want, but I could never kick someone when they’re down.
She breaks the tense silence that’s suddenly descended between us. “Stop it.” She says, but there’s no heat in her tone.
I’m confused. “Stop what?”
“Stop being nice to me. It’s weird.”
“You’re telling me.” I chuckle. “But seriously, you might be annoying as fuck, but those comments about you are total bullshit. If you believe them, you aren’t as smart as I thought you were.”
There. That’s more like it. A compliment disguised as an insult doesn’t technically violate our truce.
“Gee, thanks.” She snorts, her tone still a little tearful. “But I do feel stupid. I can’t believe I trusted some of those people.”
Again, I hate how much I can relate to what she’s saying. I trusted my ex, and look how well it worked out for me.
“Can I have my phone back, please? I’m gonna delete those accounts.”
I shake my head. “No can do.”
Bex immediately bristles at my response. “Why not?”
“I can’t let you delete those accounts,” I say slowly, as if explaining something to a child.
“Why? If the accounts are no longer there, my dad will have succeeded in destroying my public image, and they’ll stop.”
I put her phone in my pocket, earning an annoyed glare from Bex. “That would be a great idea if you hadn’t been attacked and our place hadn’t been broken into last night. The cops will want to see those posts, believe me.”
Bex
I know Keene is right, but I let fear rule my reaction. “I don’t want to call the cops.”
He blinks, visibly confused by my words. “Come again? I must have misheard you.”
“We aren’t calling the cops. I know my father too well. He’s trying to punish me for defying him. If we call the sheriff, he’s going to see it as a war declaration and the situation is going to escalate.”
“Escalate? More than telling literally thousands of people to hunt you down and make you pay?” Keene snorts. “What is he going to do, offer money to have your head on a silver platter?”
His reaction reminds me exactly why Keene and I can never be friends. But I promised Luke that we’d try to get along, so I bite back the snarky response he deserves and go with the truth.
“I wouldn’t put it past my dad.”
Of course, he doesn’t give me my phone back.
Keene isn’t just annoying; he’s stubborn as fuck, too.
“That’s even more reason to call the cops and keep those posts and comments as evidence. Cyberbullying is a crime in California, Bex. But what happened last night means that the threats to your safety are no longer just virtual.”
Maybe the reason why Keene and I are like oil and water is that I’m just as stubborn as he is. “You don’t know that. We have no proof that what happened last night is connected to a couple of online comments.”
A muscle in Keene’s jaw jumps, his ice-blue eyes blazing with fury. “Really? Do you still think I did it?”
Do I?
“No,” I admit reluctantly. “You might hate me, and you might be an asshole, but I don’t think you would attack me.”
He rolls his eyes. “I guess that’s some progress. But before you keep arguing about it, save your breath to explain everything about your father and his clients to the sheriff. Because we’re calling the police. It’s final.”
I clench my fists, fighting the urge to slap that arrogant tone off his face. “Who made you the boss? I’m the one who was attacked, and you can’t take my phone away from me. I’m not a child that you can ground.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
I take a step toward him. “For fuck’s sake, Keene. Give me my phone or…”
Something flashes in his eyes, and he grabs my wrists when I lunge at him to take my phone out of his pocket.
“Do you really think you’re going to win in a fight against me?” he challenges me. “I don’t care if you’re still in shock after yesterday, Bex. Stop acting like a brat.”
I struggle against his hold. He isn’t holding me so tight that it’s painful, but I can’t free my hands. Squirming doesn’t help my predicament. With a swift move, Keene pulls me against his chest and moves my hands behind my back without loosening his grip.
I don’t give up struggling, but it’s pointless. Within moments my breathing turns labored despite being fit thanks to years of dancing.
Keene is breathing as hard as I am, though.
And his breathing isn’t the only thing that’s hard.
Honed by years of playing hockey, his body feels like it’s sculpted in granite.
But the thing that takes my breath away isn’t his powerful chest or his washboard abs. Something thick and rigid is pressed against my lower stomach, and my body takes notice of it.
Liquid heat pools between my legs, and I almost wish I were a little taller, so I could feel Keene’s erection against the part of me that’s pulsing in sync with my heartbeat.
I stop struggling as I notice that he’s no longer scowling at me. His expression is just as intense as a few moments ago, but the heat in his eyes doesn’t look like anger.
He looks at me like he meant it when he called me beautiful earlier. His eyes leave mine, searching my face for something. Maybe for a sign that I can feel the way the air between us is suddenly charged with electricity rather than the usual hostility.
His gaze pauses on my lips, and I can’t breathe.
I think he’s going to kiss me. And I think I might want him to. I don’t know what it means. Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’m one of those girls who forgives someone’s douchebag behavior because of his good looks.
You’re beautiful.
It isn’t just how soft his voice was when he said that earlier. It’s also how he put himself between me and potential danger last night when we realized the door was open.
Maybe Luke is right, and I got Keene completely wrong.
It doesn’t matter. If he kisses me now, I’m in.
“Hey Sarge, you outside?” My brother’s voice reaches us from behind us.
Keene steps away from me, and the moment is gone. I shudder suddenly cold without his body pressed against mine.
“We’re here.” His voice has a raspy quality to it, and he clears his throat trying to get himself under control.
“What are you guys doing?” Luke steps onto the deck, followed by Connor and Jamie.