And Then?
Lex
A hand presses against my back, guiding me through the double doors into a crowded open space. The giant table in the center is piled high with teddy bears. I scan the room full of people wearing either hockey jerseys or black tie attire. I can’t help but smirk at the juxtaposition.
I look down at myself, the emerald green jersey pinned to be more fitted and shorter, leaving a small gap between the top of my skirt and the bottom of the jersey. As we move further into the room, the slit in my long skirt allows my left leg to be revealed, displaying a rainbow of tattoos. I feel him lean in closer before I hear him speak. His warm breath brushes across my ear and neck, creating a ripple effect of goosebumps and a chill down my spine.
“You look incredible.” Greg breathes out.
I lift my eyes and turn toward him, offering a small smile. The first thing I notice is the angry split in his lip and the purple bruising that shadows his jaw. He’s tall—above average, but not quite as towering as Adrian. Muscular and lean, he carries himself well, though his presence lacks the quiet command Adrian exudes. His dark, tousled hair contrasts sharply with his bright green eyes, and his features are refined—classically handsome in a way that exudes an easy, good-guy charm. If Adrian weren’t messing with my head, I might actually be into it. Tonight, Greg serves a purpose. And his looks fit the role perfectly.
I smile sweetly, tucking my hair behind my ear. I need anyone looking at us to see a demure, respectable lady. Not a scheming, manipulative monster. Greg steers us toward the bar, spotting a few of his teammates. He asks what I’d like and leaves me with a small group of players and their dates to order us drinks.
I wrap an arm around myself, suddenly feeling self-conscious when no one looks my way. I’m a terrible date without the social requirements of a work event. I would much rather be home with Millie. However, Adrian crossed a line, and I need to communicate clearly that I belong to no one. The thought has me straightening. I hold my head high and turn to the closest woman, smiling brightly.
She returns the smile, and we exchange pleasantries. She tells me about her husband, who plays for the Sasquatch team. She gives me the rundown on the event and what she expects based on last year. We’ve settled into a friendly silence, laughing at the players teasing each other about the game they lost when Greg returns, sliding his hand around my waist and passing me a drink.
Chills run through my body. It’s not that I’m interested in Greg at all. It’s that Adrian is somewhere in here, that his seeing us is inevitable. It’s a gigantic space but not so large that we can go completely undetected, especially with the way this group carries on. I scan the room to see if I can spot him first. The chills remain, and it feels so much like when you know you’re being watched, but I can’t locate him.
Turning back toward the group in front of me, I lock eyes with someone. Not Adrian, but the police officer from the night after my break-in. What the hell? He raises his beer in a cheers motion, but the look on his face seems less friendly and more nervous. I smile and return the gesture, but Officer Calloway no longer looks my way. His attention is focused over my shoulder, and the chill running down my spine intensifies. Greg must sense my tension because he tightens his arm around my waist, pulling me closer before pressing a kiss to my temple.
Calloway moves as I look back, striding toward Greg and me. He doesn’t stop, continuing past us to where I know Adrian is standing. I can’t bring myself to turn around, so I lean into Greg. To anyone watching, it probably looks affectionate, but I’m just using him to keep my knees from buckling.
I might have bitten off more than I can chew.
A few seconds later, Calloway passes by us again. This time, he has his arm around Adrian’s shoulder and speaks directly to him. I can see the tension in both of them. Neither of them turns around to look at us, and somehow, I know this is worse than Adrian taking an immediate swing at Greg. An hour passes without any problems—except Greg keeps getting drunker. And handsy. I look around for Rosie, but she’s nowhere to be found. I haven’t seen her since the end of the game. I went home to change, and she went out with an older guy. Now that I think about it, it may have been a client.
That’s…something.
Greg and his teammate make strange noises and laugh hysterically. When I hit my limit, I slip out from under his arm, which has been resting heavily across my shoulders for the past hour. Before I can step away, his hand grips my arm and pulls me back against his body. His lips hover just inches from mine, his breath thick with beer.
“Where ya going, beautiful?” He asks, slightly slurring.
Yikes .
Forcing a smile, I reply. “Just to the ladies. I’ll be right back.”
His eyes shift, looking at my mouth, and I spot another cut hiding in his eyebrow.
“Promise?” He asks, his tone husky.
I nod slightly, and just before I can step out of his grasp, he presses a forceful kiss to my lips, and I taste the metallic tang of blood.
Ew .
I allow it to happen, not wanting to create a scene. He’s just drunk enough that being rejected could cause him to act out. Greg steps back, and I slowly turn and walk away. I inhale, relief washing over me. It lasts all of three seconds.
Another hand wraps around my arm, which is stronger and harder, bordering on pain. I turn to protest, but the words catch in my throat when my eyes meet Adrian’s. They are black. His chest rises and falls like he just ran a mile. His fists flex at his sides. I scan left and right, looking for someone willing to rescue me from this.
“Look at me, Lex,” He commands, his grip tightening.
I wince, looking directly at him. There’s not a fucking mark on his face.
“You’re hurting me.” I grit out, trying to pull my arm out of his grasp.
“Then we’re getting a little closer to even.” He responds.
The look in his eyes is tormented.
“Even?” I scoff. “We’re so far from even.”
He rears to his full height, eyes roaming over my body before returning to mine. A sinister grin spreads across his lips.
“You’re right. Not even close.” His tone makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It’s twisted and eerie. My pulse quickens as he holds my gaze. Instinctively, I relax my body against him.
What. Are. You. Doing?
I can feel the edges of the muscle under his shirt against me. I sigh, fluttering my lashes, and breathe in the smokey smell that seems to follow him. I’m drowning in his scent, stare, and heat. Then his voice drags me back to reality like a rip current.
“You’re in his fucking jersey.”
I can see his pulse pounding in the vein in his throat. He tugs at the shoulder, his fingers curling into the fabric like he might rip it off.
I try to yank my arm away, but his grip is too firm, and he smirks.
“That’s my fucking business.” I work to steel my voice.
God, please, rip it off.
“Then why are you shaking?”
Fuck.
“And this skirt—” his fingers flick at the slit, making the fabric flutter, exposing more skin— “parading around for him?” His tone is razor sharp, almost mocking. “Letting him touch you?”
With the last words, his hand slides up the inside of my skirt, brushing against my clit through my panties.
I stifle a groan.
“Adrian…” My tone is more breathy than stern.
I’m ready to grind into him when I sense another presence.
“Not to interrupt this dramatic performance,” Calloway says flatly, his tongue pressing against his cheek as he winces slightly. “But Brittney’s going to lose it if this ends up on social media. And, uh—” he motions his chin toward Greg, who looks one breath away from a meltdown— “The Grizz is about three seconds from getting himself ejected from this party.”
The trance is broken, and I step back out of Adrian’s grip, running my hands over my shirt and smoothing my hair.
“Excuse me,” I say, taking another step back and another.
Adrian and Calloway are speaking quietly as I continue to back away. I am almost free of them when Adrian’s eyes snap up to mine.
“Hey.” He snaps, and I flinch.
Fuck.
I look toward him. Calloway gives him a stern look.
“Come on, man, let it go.” He warns.
Adrian brushes him off, “Fuck off.” He snaps before returning his attention to me. Stepping forward, his tone laced with fire.
“Take off that fucking jersey.”
His voice is so low that it’s hardly audible. I glance at his hands; his knuckles are bruised and raw from the fight.
“Take it off, or I’ll fucking rip it off.”
Tilting my chin up, my voice shakes.
“And then?”
He leans in, his eyes skating down my body, and his breath scorches my skin. “And then, get the hell out.” My feet are planted, my heart pounds, and my mouth is bone dry. He glares at me. I feel my lungs strain as I begin to lose control. My head spins, and I can’t move.
Feel the floor beneath my feet.
Feel the breeze from the air conditioner.
Feel the—
He shoves me gently. His chin tilts toward the exit. I spin and storm away, my pulse hammering. With each step, I am able to think more clearly, and when I’m about ten feet from the exit, I turn and head to the ladies’ room. He thinks he can control me.
No fucking way .