20. Montana
20
Montana
M y nerves are on fire as I enter the party on Wesley’s arm. He assured me time and time again as we were getting ready in my room after his match that he had it covered. His teammates were backing him up to ensure their brother wouldn’t be made a fool of by his slutty girlfriend. One thing was more than clear—they knew all too well how to cover tracks to protect their own.
The house we walk into is exactly what I’d expect a college rugby house to look like. Beer bongs hanging from the staircase, stereo bass rumbling through the old oak floors of the older home, and a lingering smell of sweaty gym clothes masked by cheap cologne. Eyes fall upon us as Wesley and I swerve around various bodies, entering through a tunnel of college party-goers. He holds my hand in his, weaving us deeper into the heart of the home, finally coming to a stop in the living room.
He shakes up with some of his guys, the ones I noticed from the field, and they amicably smile and nod in my direction. All I can wonder is how they’re processing seeing that video of me. Clearly there’s a bro code here, but I know rather intimately what my videos do to men. The lingering gazes of heavy-lidded eyes from said teammates while Wes talks to a few friends give me all the ammunition I need. Everyone can be manipulated, even if they swear blind loyalty. It’s human nature to lean into deception when applicable for one's benefit.
I sip from a beer someone handed me, standing awkwardly in the circle of guys. Wes drapes his arm affectionately around me as he talks to his teammate, Conner, about some new play their coach outlined. My mind drifts away from their conversation, and my gaze wanders around the room to a corner of girls huddled together. Their animated faces resemble cartoons as they talk with their hands about the latest drama. Nothing about who they are to each other is real.
I’ve never really gotten along well with other girls. I think the only reason Markie and I became so close is because she’s into women and authentic music. That and she’s the only one who can actually handle my humor. But women, in general, have always seen me as some sort of competition to their need for male attention. Fortunately, or unfortunately for me, I radiate a sexual presence that makes most women uncomfortable. That and I don’t have time for the fictional aspects of their pathetic, and most often dramatic, lives. I don’t play high school. I’m in a far bigger league.
Gauging the scene, I’m still so unsure how far that video has spread in the cyber world or if other random people at this party had access to it. I’m studying expressions, peeping conversations, and staying in tune and aware of the environment around me to assume my next move.
“Yeah, I heard,” Wes mumbles to the group, his demeanor shifting. “I don’t know what they’re trying to prove, but being here isn’t it. Just don’t start anything unless we have to. They’re unpredictable at best. Just ask Stephan. He’s the one who got a boot to the face.”
Having no clue who or what they’re talking about, I keep my calm, seeing as they aren’t talking about the video, and bring my red cup to my lips, only to see the last swallow of beer has a small gnat in it.
“I’m going to go grab another one,” I tell Wes, lifting my cup.
“I’ll come with you,” he says.
We meander through a sea of wobbly party-goers, the numbers increasing the later it gets, until we finally find the kitchen and an available corner keg. I dump the beer and gnat into the sink, rinsing it out before handing my cup to him.
“I told you we had it handled,” Wes reassures me. “No one at this party even saw it, babe. You’re good. You’re always good with me.”
The sentiment almost warms me, but then I see a flash of pink hair behind him, and my heart rate surges. Wes continues filling my cup as I peer past him, seeing Wheeter down the hall, standing near a couch.
What's he doing here?
Working to calm my nerves, I see he’s chatting with Josiah, who just so happens to be staring directly at me. Eyes laced with concern find mine before he whispers something back to Wheeter, then backhands the person to the left of him in the chest. Shane’s chest.
Shane turns his attention to me, his gaze hardening upon recognition.
“Here you go,” Wes says, pulling my focus toward his awaiting hand.
I take the beer, bringing the edge of the plastic cup to my lips, and drink as much as I can, as fast as my throat will allow.
“Damn, baby,” he remarks, smirking at me.
He's probably thrilled his girlfriend is getting wasted and discussing trying new things in the bedroom—the holy grail of frat-boy wonderland.
“Sorry.” I take a breath, my head pounding from the sudden brain freeze. “I just figured I’d fill up again while we’re here. I hate walking through all these people.”
I peer back over at my roommates at the other end of the house. Through the hallway, I can see Wheeter and Josiah already mid-conversation with someone else, while Shane’s focus is directly and unabashedly on me.
Something about the darkness in his eyes entices me, simultaneously making me shiver with the hatred that seeps from his stare.
“I was thinking about what you said…” Wes trails, handing me back my newly refilled drink.
I swallow down more, allowing the alcohol to warm me and bring my attention back to him. “What?”
Reaching for my side, he pulls me into him. He leans against a counter, and my body slides between his thighs, his arm circling around my lower back until we’re chest to chest.
“I said I was thinking about what you said. Earlier today, after the game,” he whispers in my ear.
I glance to the side, seeing Shane in my direct line of vision. He’s sitting casually on a couch, legs spread wide, with his head resting back and his hat pulled down low. His chin is raised, and those ruthless eyes are sealed on us. Someone even says something to him, tapping his shoulder, and his lips move to answer them, but his stare never tears away from mine. He simply brings a cigarette to his lips, lighting it before exhaling to the side.
“Yeah?” I answer, pressing my front to Wesley's. I drag my nose along his cheek, embracing the light stubble along his strong jaw. “What part?”
He steals a quick kiss, his mouth sliding into an erotically induced grin.
“The whole exploring ourselves part.”
It’s funny how life provides certain definitives. Like how the quick mention of trying something new sexually with a college stud changes his life to ensure it happens.
“I can’t stop thinking about that video,” he whispers against my neck, his lips feathering over the pulse pounding in my neck. “Those clamps, that rod up inside you while you played? Fuck, you’re bad. So bad.”
I moan softly, screwing my eyes tightly as he kisses the area, rubbing his erection against my pelvis. His hand slides down my lower back, ghosting over the curve of my ass before gripping it firmly. I throw my head back, exposing my neck to his mouth, and set the beer down behind him to grip the counter.
My eyes find Shane’s as Wes licks the side of my neck, sealing his lips against my skin. He kisses his way up as my hand slips lower between us, finding his erection pressing against his jeans. I rub my palm where he needs it, and his hips thrust forward.
“You wanna play a game?” I ask breathlessly.
His face meets mine again, eyes tracing the curve of my mouth before meeting mine. I arch my brow, and his smile returns.
“Here?”
“Go back to your friends.” I nod toward the living room. “And when you’re ready, check your phone.”
I place two fingers against my lips, kissing them before pressing them to his. Trailing my fingers, I run them down his chin, dropping to the firm mounds of his chest and drifting them along the deep divot of his carved abdomen. They fall away just as I’m about to reach his raging erection, leaving the promise of what’s to come entirely to his imagination.
With a sultry smile, I walk toward the hallway, glancing over my shoulder to glimpse at Wes, still in a lust-filled gaze, being pulled into conversation by a teammate.
Slowly walking down the narrow corridor, I feel the liquor kick in as I continue my prowl, my fingers grazing the rough wood paneling covering the walls. With every step I take, my pulse hammers harder in my chest, each footfall taking me closer in Shane’s direction. His aura, his gravitational pull, everything about him is as heavy as it comes.
Shane watches me saunter toward him through those thick lashes, his expression giving nothing away. I glare at him, but the deadly look does nothing to thwart this man’s innate hatred for me.
The video is gone. His plan backfired and only brought Wesley and me closer together. The devilish curve of my smile paired with the you-can’t-fuck-with-me eyes is all I have left to give.
But he retorts without words, taking the Marlboro from between his lips. He turns the burnt end toward himself, eyes dead set on mine, and cashes it out on his tongue.
He doesn’t wince. He doesn’t flinch at the pain. He just uses his demonic gaze to transfer his wordless message, one more significant than most could understand. You can’t hurt me if you tried.
But I can.
Something about me gets beneath the surface where many have tried to dig. I can hurt him in ways unimaginable. That much is proven.
The question is, do I dare provoke the madness I manufactured?