Chapter 5
SELENA
Ispin in place to find Cash Seavers standing behind me, all glassy eyed and smug smile. He reeks of vodka. I hate the smell.
My stomach lurches. I’m going to vomit. Yup, I’m definitely going to throw up because the last person I expect to see tonight is right behind Cash, glaring at me.
Grayson Rhodes.
The sight of him has my spine straightening. A tingly combination of warmth and embarrassment rushes up my neck.
Ugh, Grayson Rhodes. Who does he think he is?!
People around us gasp. One snickers. Oops, did I say that out loud?
“What are you doing here?” I demand, my voice sharp—I don’t recognize it. No one irritates me as much as he does.
It’s not like he’ll answer my question anyway. I gave up trying to talk to him halfway through sophomore year. After I learned he was on the same team as my brother, I wanted to put the past behind us so I made an effort to get to know him. He rebuked any and all of my attempts.
Since then, there’s been a lot of eye rolling (on my part) and scowling (on his part), some teasing (by me) and door slamming (by him), but mostly we try to ignore each other, never quite managing it to spare Sammy having to listen to us insult one another.
Wait, did my brother mean Gray as in Grayson in the text he sent? I don’t have time to wonder about that once I realize a pair of intense blue eyes are conducting a slow sweep of my body.
I’m suddenly very conscious of what I’m wearing. Super short dress that seemed like a good idea a few hours ago. This dress can barely contain my breasts. They’re secured with double-sided tape, but give the illusion they’re about to fall out any second, or so Jess explained to me.
Wait, is Grayson Rhodes taking his time checking me out or is my drunken brain messing with me? See, this is one of the reasons I don’t drink. Impaired judgment cannot be trusted.
I watch him watch at me. I don’t know what it is about him, but I feel it then, that heat only he invokes. Low in my belly, like the flicker of a candle illuminating a dark room until it’s aflame, about to burn the whole place down.
He’s making me feel all sorts of things I’m not used to. I don’t like it.
His eyes lock on mine and his face remains emotionless until it shifts. Suddenly he’s displeased? Frowning? Why is he frowning at me? What did I do to him? I was here first...I think.
Anyway, I haven’t seen him in a while. Are his shoulders broader?
Is that a little bit of scruff along his chiseled jaw?
I shouldn’t admire how sort of not bad he looks, not when his blue eyes narrow to slits and his hands turn to fists.
I’m sure he’s going to turn on his heel and leave because I’m here. I know he’d rather be anywhere else.
Except, he doesn’t leave.
Instead, he extends his right hand out to me, palm open. Confused, I look from his large hand up to the irritated expression on his dumb face to simply stare at him.
“Keys,” he growls and something about his commanding tone of voice makes my heart rate rocket.
“She’s not leaving,” Cash argues, reaching for my hand. I forgot he was there.
“Fuck off.” Grayson’s tone is deadly. It isn’t a threat, it’s an assurance of violence.
The beer pong game is on pause and everyone is looking at us. Yup, this is definitely why I don’t drink. None of this would be happening if I was sober.
“She came here for me—”
The words are barely out of Cash’s mouth when his feet fly off the floor and his back hits the wall. Grayson’s holding him up with one hand around his neck, cutting off his air supply.
I catch some of their exchange, something about a shooting hand before the crowd erupts with chants of fight, fight, fight! Basketball players try to pry Grayson off their starting forward.
The next thing I know I’m weaving between a sea of bodies.
The mixture of sweat and alcohol with different body sprays causes a sense of claustrophobia to grip me like a vice.
I focus on the rippling muscles on Grayson’s back to keep calm.
But only because they’re right there in front of me and not because I want to look or anything like that.
Before I’m close enough to get his attention, I hear the words murmured between them. Cash gurgles something and Grayson replies, “Touch her again and I will end you.”
The fear in Cash’s eyes is very real. I have to do something.
Somehow I manage to come between them, my body pressed to Grayson’s. I cannot stop the intense blush that rises to my face when I feel the miles and miles of lean muscle.
When I place my hands on his chest with the intent to push him back, I realize how hard those muscles are. He’s a freaking wall and there’s no way I’m making him budge even a little bit.
“Take me home,” I say for some reason and his reaction is immediate. His eyes burn into mine, the blue like dangerous midnight waves along the beach. Then, he releases Cash who slumps to the floor, gasping for air.
“Move,” Grayson commands and people listen. I wonder if everyone always does what he says.
He manages to part the crowd enough for me to walk through. When I stumble over someone’s shoe or maybe my own feet, I don’t faceplant on the floor because two strong arms save me.
People are staring again, some put their phones away and others continue recording. He uses his body to shield me as we walk out into the cold night. I’m leaning into his side and can’t help reveling in the heat emanating from his closeness.
“You’re so hot,” I mutter, pressing my cheek against his arm and he curses. “I mean temperature wise, not attractive wise, though you are that too, but that’s not something I’m ever going to tell you.” The rumbling in his chest makes me giggle.
I catch his scent or his cologne or something else. It’s dark and...I bury my face into his chest to figure it out. He growls his annoyance and I giggle again.
Even though he’s helping me stay upright, one of his steps is two of mine and I can’t keep up.
I hold on to his midsection for added support which turns out to be a mistake because I can feel the insanely sculpted definition of his abdomen shifting as he moves.
With no reservation or shame at the moment, I run my fingers along the hard muscle and indentations I find there.
He hisses and stops the southern trajectory of my hand.
“Hey!” I complain.
Without a word, he opens the passenger door. I’m about to thank him when I see the look on his face. His lips are turned down at the corners, his eyebrows are furrowed, and the blue of his eyes is like ice. He’s pissed, like about-to-murder-me pissed. Maybe I shouldn’t get in the car with him.
“I think I’ll walk home,” I say, backing away and stumbling.
He moves faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move, grabbing my arm and waist to catch me, saving me from hitting the ground for a second time tonight.
I know I should be telling myself not to drink anymore so I don’t find myself in a situation like this again, but I can’t think past the fact that Grayson Rhodes has his hands on me.
The boy who hates me. The boy I hate. He’s holding me so close and with such care, it takes my breath away.
His hands are large, strong, powerful...and they’re burning me up. I raise my gaze to meet his.
My drunken brain is working overtime—it has to be—because I’m pretty sure his eyes drop down to my lips. Heat rushes to my cheeks and down between my legs. I think maybe the blue ice might be melting.
I reach for his face. My fingers are about to run along the hint of stubble when he lifts me back to a standing position and growls, “Get in the car.”
Something funny happens then. His tone doesn’t scare me. Instead, it makes me feel all tingly and warm.
“I’d rather not.”
He leans his face down to mine, closer, close enough that I can see his eyes dilated so much, there’s barely any blue.
“Anyone ever tell you you have really pretty eyes?” I wonder out loud but he ignores me.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
“You haven’t asked at all,” I point out.
Grayson Rhodes inhales sharply. He runs a hand through his hair, then surprises the heck out of me.
“Will you get in the car?”
“Please.”
His nostrils flare. “Please.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling but fail. “No problem,” I nod, then boop his nose.
He looks angrier now, but he helps me inside my Honda anyway. When I’m seated, he releases me as if burned and slams the door shut. The laughter that bubbles inside me dies when I see his retreating form in the side mirror. He wipes his hands on his jeans, like he couldn’t stand touching me.