Chapter 3 #2
Yesterday, this would have been fine. Yesterday, I would have leaned into him, flirted, and used him to buy me drinks.
Today, his touch felt wrong. It felt invasive.
"Hi, Brett," I said, trying to wiggle away without making a scene. "I'm just catching up with Lola."
"Catch up later," Brett grinned, his hand sliding lower on my hip, his fingers digging into the velvet. "Let's dance. I missed that ass."
He tugged me toward the railing.
I panicked. I didn't want to dance with him. I didn't want him touching me. But I couldn't cause a scene. If I slapped him, everyone would look. If I made a fuss, the "fragile, crazy Georgia" narrative would start.
I looked across the room.
Toby was gone. The booth was empty.
My heart sank. He didn't care. Why would he? I was just a nuisance he was stuck with.
"Come on, babe," Brett said, his breath smelling of beer. "One song."
"I... I need another drink first," I stalled.
"I'll get you one on the floor."
He pulled harder.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on Brett's shoulder. It wasn't just a hand; it was a vice grip. Long fingers, tanned skin, a heavy silver watch.
"She said she needs a drink, Hanson."
The voice was low, calm, and absolutely terrifying.
Brett froze. He turned around.
Toby was standing there. He loomed over the quarterback. Brett was big, but Toby was dense. He carried himself with a quiet, lethal violence that made football players look like puppies.
"Kincaid," Brett sneered, though he took a half-step back. "Didn't know you were her bodyguard."
"I'm not," Toby said, his voice flat. He looked at me. His eyes were cold, but there was a fire burning deep in the gray irises. "But we have a team rule about harassment at our events. We keep it classy. If the lady wants to talk to her friend, let her talk to her friend."
"We were just going to dance," Brett challenged, puffing his chest out. "She didn't say no."
Toby stepped closer. He didn't raise his voice. He dropped it. "I heard her say she wanted a drink. Are you deaf, or just stupid?"
The tension in the air was razor-sharp. People nearby stopped talking. The music seemed to get louder.
Brett looked at Toby, then at me, then back at Toby. He did the math. Fighting the hockey captain at a hockey party was a losing proposition.
"Whatever," Brett muttered, releasing me. "You’re too high maintenance anyway, Sterling."
He stormed off toward the bar.
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. My knees felt weak.
Toby turned to me. He didn't smile. He didn't ask if I was okay.
"You have terrible taste in men," he said.
"He's a quarterback," I defended weakly. "It made sense on paper."
"He's a moron," Toby corrected. "Come with me."
"I thought we weren't supposed to be seen together."
"That plan went to hell the moment Hanson put his paws on you," Toby growled. "Move."
He didn't touch me. He just jerked his head toward the back of the VIP section, where a dark hallway led to the private restrooms and the fire exit.
I followed him. I told myself it was because I didn't want to cause a scene. But the truth was, I would have followed him off a cliff just to see where he was going.
He led me into a small alcove near the emergency exit. It was quieter here, the music muffled by heavy doors. It was dark, lit only by the red glow of the Exit sign.
He spun around and pinned me with a look.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Socializing," I said, leaning against the wall, trying to look bored. My heart was hammering so hard I thought he could see it through the velvet.
"You were letting him paw at you."
"I was handling it."
"You looked like a deer in headlights," Toby snapped. He stepped closer, crowding me against the wall. He placed one hand on the wall next to my head, boxing me in.
"Why do you care?" I whispered. "You said I was a problem. Shouldn't you be happy if someone else takes the problem off your hands?"
Toby froze. His jaw tightened. He looked down at me, his eyes searching my face in the red light.
"Is that what you want?" he asked softly. "You want to go home with Hanson? Sleep in his dorm room on sheets that haven't been washed in a month?"
"Maybe," I lied. "At least he actually wants me there."
Toby let out a harsh laugh. "You think I don't want you there?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and charged.
"You told me to get out," I reminded him. "You told me I was a variable."
"You are," he murmured. He leaned in. His face was inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his body, a solid wall of heat. "You are the most frustrating, chaotic, infuriating variable I have ever encountered."
He moved his hand from the wall to my waist. His thumb pressed into the velvet, digging into my hip bone. The touch was electric. It burned through the fabric, searing my skin.
"But when I saw his hand on you," Toby whispered, his voice rough with something that sounded like pain, "I wanted to break his fingers."
My breath hitched. "Toby..."
"Why?" he demanded, his thumb rubbing slow, possessive circles on my hip. "Why do you make me feel this way? I don't lose control, Georgia. I never lose control. But around you... I feel like I'm sliding on bad ice."
He lowered his head. His nose brushed against my jawline. He inhaled deeply, smelling me.
"Vanilla and trouble," he groaned against my neck.
I tilted my head back, exposing my throat to him. It was an instinctual surrender. "I'm not trying to be trouble."
"You can't help it," he murmured. His lips hovered over the pulse point in my neck. He didn't kiss me. He just breathed against my skin, teasing me, torturing me. "It's in your blood. Just like control is in mine."
"So control me," I whispered. The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Toby went still.
He pulled back slowly, looking into my eyes. The grey irises were blown wide, swallowed by black. The hunger in his expression was naked now. Raw. Terrifying.
"Be careful what you ask for, Princess," he warned, his voice a low rumble. "Because if I start controlling you, I won't stop. I won't just control where you sleep or what you eat. I'll control this."
He brushed his thumb over my lower lip.
"And this." His hand slid down my side to my thigh.
"And everything inside your head until the only thing you can think about is me."
I shivered. "I think... I think I might like that."
"Fuck," he swore softly.
He leaned in again, his mouth hovering millimeters from mine. I closed my eyes, tilting my chin up, waiting for the collision. My lips parted. I wanted him to devour me. I wanted him to erase the debt, the fear, the shame.
BZZZZT.
His phone vibrated violently in his pocket against my hip.
We both jumped.
The spell shattered.
Toby squeezed his eyes shut for a second, a look of pure agony on his face. He pulled back, stepping away from me. The loss of his heat was instant and cold.
He pulled his phone out.
"It's Coach," he said, his voice flat. "Curfew check-in."
He looked at me. The mask was back in place. The Ice King had returned. But his chest was heaving, and his eyes were still wild.
"We're leaving," he said.
"Toby—"
"No," he cut me off. "We are leaving right now. I'm taking you out the back exit. Because if we stay here for one more minute, I am going to do something that will get us both on the front page of the campus paper."
He grabbed my hand. His grip was tight, possessive.
"Come on."
I followed him out into the cold night air, my heart racing, my lips tingling from a kiss that never happened.
As he dragged me toward his car, parked in the shadows of the alley, I realized something terrifying.
I wasn't just attracted to him.
I was safe with him.
And for a girl who had spent her whole life walking on a tightrope without a net, safety was the most dangerous drug of all.
But as I looked at his broad back, at the tension in his shoulders, I knew one thing for sure:
We weren't just roommates anymore. We were enemies. And the war had just begun.