8. Jane #2
“I did go to the University of Washington for a couple of years before I quit to enter the draft, that was true.”
“And now?”
“I haven’t decided. I’ve thought about it, but I’m not sure if I can really see myself finishing my degree,” he says as he brings one hand up to my face and pushes back a strand of hair that the wind has blown across my cheek.
My breath hitches as his fingers drag along my skin, and he drops his hand quickly.
“Sorry,” he murmurs.
“It’s fine.” I wrap my arms around my waist, ignoring the tingles racing through my body, and lean forward.
“Maybe this is a dumb question, but why did you decide to quit college early to go into the NFL?” I don’t know a lot about football or the NFL, but Felix is entering the draft this year, and he waited so he could finish college first.
“It’s a long story.”
“I have all kinds of time.”
He grins. “Talking about myself is not nearly as exciting as hearing about you.”
“So, you do think I’m exciting?”
I don’t get a response back, but it doesn’t matter. I can read it on his face right now. He’s feeling me too. But I don’t get why he’s so hesitant.
“Do you want to head back to the party?” I motion with my head toward the house.
“Honestly? Not really.”
“I have an idea.” I stand and walk back to the door while he stares after me. “Are you coming?”
He gets to his feet, and I hold the door open for us.
“Where are we going?” he asks.
“Trust me,” I say. “I’m your fun tour guide, remember?”
I head upstairs with him still following behind me, then lead him down the hall to my room.
“I have cards, board games, or we could watch a movie.” I turn to stand in front of my bedroom door facing him. I twist the handle behind my back and open it, still watching his reaction.
“You want to play a game?” His playful smirk has my heart beating wildly. “I don’t know if I can trust you. I saw your distraction technique.”
He has no idea just how much I want to distract him. Or maybe he does. His gaze drops to my mouth and the air feels charged between us. I take a step forward and his hazel eyes darken as his body tenses.
“Jane,” he whispers my name. The sound is somewhere between a plea and a warning.
I lean closer, bringing my lips to his. I stop at the last second and stare up at him. “Yeah?”
“I . . .” He starts and his throat works as he swallows. He tears his gaze away from my mouth and looks behind me.
Before I know what’s happening, Hendrick pushes past me and stands inside my room. “What the hell happened in here?”
I’m confused until I step into the room beside him. Gasping, I bring both hands to my face.
“Was this here earlier?” he asks, tone brisk as he holds an arm out to stop me from moving any farther into the room.
The walls are covered in red spray paint and some of my things have been tossed from the desk and nightstand onto the floor. But it’s the big, red letters above my bed that steal the air from my lungs. Go back to Cali, bitch.
There are dirty footprints on my white comforter from whoever stood there while they wrote the awful message.
“Jane,” he says my name roughly. “When was the last time you were in here?”
“I went downstairs for the party around eight-thirty.” I take a step closer to my bed and my stomach lurches. Who would write that? And why?
“And you haven’t been back up here?”
I shake my head. The thought of someone being in my room without me knowing it makes me feel sick all over.
“What about your roommates, were they all already downstairs?”
“They didn’t do this.”
“No shit,” he mumbles as he pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket. He taps the screen a couple of times and then puts it to his ear. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He steps out into the hallway. Is he calling the police?
I guess maybe I should file a report, but I can’t have a bunch of cops show up with the party out back.
And I don’t want this to get out. Paparazzi aren’t currently staking out the house, but one call and I’m sure they’d be swarming my front yard.
I start to go after him to tell him not to call the police, but he’s already down the hall and talking into the phone.
I can just make out his words as I approach.
“Hey, it’s Hendrick. We have a situation at the house.
She’s not harmed, but someone was in her room.
They trashed it and left a nasty message on the wall in red paint. ”
A knot starts to form in my chest and my mind spins to make sense of the one-sided conversation. He must hear me approaching because he swivels around. His expression shifts, softening a little as he continues to hold the phone up to his ear, listening to whomever is on the other end of the phone.
He nods. “I’ll take care of it.”
Take care of what? And who is he talking to?
“Yeah, she’s right here.” His face twists, somehow looking tortured and still completely confident and controlled.
Before I can think too hard about the answers to those questions, he holds out the phone to me. I don’t reach for it, still having no idea who is on the other line. “Who is it?”
He sighs quietly. “It’s your dad. He wants to talk to you and make sure you’re okay.”