12. Twelve
TWELVE
J ax
I’m walking out to the parking lot after hitting the gym when I spot a figure in the open field next to Harley’s dorm. A gust of wind ruffles my hair and I catch a whiff of vanilla, sugar and honey. My feet carry me toward her, seeking her out.
When I come closer, I find her swaying in the dim light from the moon. Music softly plays from her phone. Her back is to me and I can see that she is wearing a dress. The closer I get, the more I take in what’s happening.
Harley stands barefoot in the grass. A pair of silver heels in one hand and an open bottle in the other. It’s fucking forty degrees outside. Irritation prickles my skin and I pick up the pace toward her.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I bark out at her when I step onto the grass.
She spins toward me, stumbling to the left. “Oh, well hello hockey jockey,” she slurs with a forced smile on her face. “I am enjoying the beautiful weather. And celebrating.”
Harley holds up the bottle in her hand, showing me the half empty glass bottle of whiskey. The way she sarcastically said the word ‘celebrating’ sets off alarm bells in my head.
“It’s freezing out here,” I tell her, watching her movements intently.
She waves her hand dismissively. “I’m perfectly warm. What are you doing here?” She points a finger at me.
I ignore her question. “Celebrating what?”
Her nose scrunches up, creating the most adorable crease at the bridge of it. “Perversion and adultery, of course,” she says bitterly.
“That’s nothing to celebrate.”
“Well, in that case, I’m celebrating the lack of family dinner on this lovely Sunday thanks to my father’s extracurricular activities that caused me to deposit my lunch into a fern in my parents hallway.” She lifts the bottle to her lips, her glazed eyes daring me to press further.
A sense of dread sweeps over me. “What did he do?”
She steps closer to me. “Let’s see. What were my mother’s words again? Oh. Right. ‘Caught with your pants around your stupid ankles and your pathetic cock shoved down a seventeen-year-old girl’s throat’. And then he responded with something along the lines of ‘no one forced her onto her knees’.”
I nod toward the bottle, ignoring the rage creeping up my spine toward her shit father. “That full when you started?”
“Obviously,” she giggles.
“Just to confirm. You puked up whatever you ate today and then proceeded to drink?”
“Had to do something to numb the thoughts of my father putting his dick in underage girls when I’m still a virgin, hockey jockey.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, taking another healthy amount of whiskey into her mouth. “Now go away, you’re souring my happy buzz.”
“You’re drunk, not buzzed.”
My pulse throbs in my ears. Virgin. Harley is a fucking virgin. I clench and unclench my fists at the growing need to mark her right here and now. But the lack of a full moon and the fact that she can’t be marked without her permission has my jaw aching under the pressure of my clenched teeth.
“Come on, doe eyes. Time to take you up to bed.” I reach out to grab her, but she takes a step back.
“I don’t want to go to bed, Zayden. I want to finish this bottle of whiskey and dance until I forget that my father is a pedophile.”
“No,” I say, my nostrils flaring at her defiance.
“You aren’t in charge of me, buddy.” Her eyes narrow on me. “Go home.”
“Last I checked, I made it perfectly clear that you’re mine. Now either come willingly, or I will carry you up to your dorm myself.” I bite out each word.
“Ooo,” Harley coos. “I’m so scared of the big, bad hockey player.”
“Harley,” I say her name warningly.
She gasps, bringing a hand to her chest. My eyes follow the movement, noticing the swell of her breasts in the low-cut fabric of her dress. Her nipples poke through the material from the cold chill of the air. Christ, is she even wearing a bra?
“You called me by my name.”
“Because I seriously want to get you inside before you die of hypothermia.”
“Aw. That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” Harley staggers closer to me, tripping into my arms.
I lift her effortlessly, cradling her to my chest. When I drape her legs over my arm, her cold skin makes me grit my teeth. Fuck, how long has she been out here?
“Can’t be the sweetest thing,” I murmur, turning us toward her dorm.
“My purse!” she shrieks, pointing at the edge of the grass.
I kneel down, shifting her weight to pick it up. “Got it.”
Harley settles her body into me, dropping her heels into her lap and cradling the bottle of whiskey to her chest. I split my stare between her and the building coming closer in front of me. Her eyelashes fan out over her cheeks.
“It is,” she says softly.
“What is?” I ask.
“The nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
I hum low in my chest in response as I adjust her weight to open the door.
“It’s the reason I transferred. No one is nice to me.” Then she lets out a humorless laugh. “I guess you’re not really nice to me either.”
My chest tightens. “What do you mean that’s why you transferred?”
“Boys are mean. Girls are even meaner. And my parents are the type of parents who have never cared enough to show love and compassion.”
“Who was mean to you, Davidson?”
She looks up at me, her blue eyes swimming with so much pain. “Everyone.”
“I’ll tell you what, doe eyes. You give me the names and I’ll make sure they all get what they deserve.”
I arrive at her door, knocking softly.
“Mm. And what about you? What do you deserve, Zayden?”
I glance down, seeing her eyes are closed. You, doe eyes. I deserve you. “You’ll get your revenge on me, Davidson. You’ve been giving me hell since you got here.”
The door opens and Alicia’s face comes into view. Her eyes land on Harley before narrowing and flicking up to me.
“What did you do?” she demands.
“Saved her from freezing to death. Move,” I growl at her.
Alicia’s brows pull together but she steps aside, opening the door wider for me to enter.
“Which room is hers?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Second door on the right.”
I walk down the hall to her door. It’s the only one not decorated with anything at all. My heart constricts in my chest. Reaching for the handle, I stop short, staring at the number lock.
“What’s the code to your door, pretty girl?” I ask quietly.
“I can’t tell you that,” she murmurs sleepily.
I drop my gaze to her face. Brushing a hair back from her forehead, I whisper, “You can tell me anything.”
Her eyes open, locking with mine. I know she won’t remember any of this in the morning, but I want her to know she can tell me anything. I will destroy entire cities for this girl if that’s what she desires.
“Four, one, four, seven,” she breathes, letting her eyes fall shut again.
I type the code in and step into her room, letting the door fall shut behind us. Her room smells exactly like her, wrapping around me and calming the raging storm in my veins.
“Do you want to change?” I ask her.
She nods against my chest. “Will you help me?”
My heart beats hard against my chest. I shouldn’t undress her. She’s drunk and vulnerable. Yet, I can’t seem to make the word ‘no’ pass my lips.
“I can do that,” I say thickly.
I set her down at the foot of her full-sized bed. Harley shrugs out of her jacket and then turns her back, gesturing to her zipper.
“Will you?” Her voice is soft and filled with uncertainty.
Swallowing, I grip the small, white zipper with my thumb and middle finger. Dragging it down, I let my pointer finger brush down the length of her back. The feel of her skin sets my nerve endings on fire. Goosebumps rise in the wake of my fingertip.
With the back of her dress open, I notice the black lace band around the center of her torso. The knowledge that she is in fact wearing a bra and that it is likely one without any padding makes my dick swell in my jeans.
I want to flip her around, pin her to the bed, and see if lace is all that covers her nipples. Instead, I glance around her room. I spot my jersey laying over the arm of her desk chair. Reaching over, I grab it.
I hold it out next to her. “Here,” I murmur.
She takes it from me. “Thanks.”
Standing there, I watch her slip the sleeves of her dress down her arms and start to lift the fabric over her head. I can hear her heart beating furiously. Hear her increased breaths. Smell her arousal.
I can’t look away as she pulls the dress off of her and drops it to the floor. She reaches around her back, unclasping her bra. My mouth goes dry, and my eyes track the movement as she brushes both straps off her shoulders. The black bra drops to the floor, landing on top of her dress. My breaths come in short bursts through my nose. All the blood in my body has gone south. And the sight of her pulling my jersey over her naked flesh does nothing to ease the pain between my legs.
She’s drunk. She’s drunk and she’s a virgin, Jax. Get it together.
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I move to the head of her bed and pull the blankets back. Not looking at her, I hold my hand out for her to take. She places her palm in mine, her hand being swallowed by my big one.
Harley crawls up the bed on her knees before slipping beneath the covers. She looks up at me, her eyes looking as if she’s seen all the horrors in the world.
“Do you want to take these out?” I ask, pulling on the end of her braid.
She nods once and before she can reach up and take them out herself, I grab the end and snap the rubber band in two. I meticulously unweave the strands of her hair, reveling in how soft it is.
“My mother hates my curls,” she whispers softly.
My hand stills in her hair. Anger bubbles to the surface with her confession, but that isn’t all she has to say about her mother.
“If I show up to a family dinner with my hair down, she makes sure to tell me how horrendous my hair is. I stopped wearing it down around her my first year at college.”
Her parents are two of the worst people on the planet.
Saying nothing, I repeat the act with the other braid and then run my hands through her hair. Her eyes close and she lets out a contented sigh.
“Lie down and get some sleep,” I tell her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she breathes out, settling into her pillow.
Walking to her door, I stop with my hand on the handle. Looking over my shoulder, I find her blue eyes staring back at me. She smiles and pulls the collar of my jersey up to her nose.
“Goodnight, Zayden.”
“Goodnight, doe eyes.”
The sound of her door clicking shut echoes in the small hallway. I feel Alicia’s eyes on me as I drop my forehead to Harley’s door.
“What do you want, Alicia?”
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes are burning holes in the side of my face. I turn my head, not lifting it from the door, to find her leaning against the wall at the end of the hall. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her brown eyes flick back and forth between mine.
“How bad is it?” she asks.
I give her a tight-lipped smile. One that promises my wrath. “Bad enough to make me homicidal.”
Her shoulders deflate at the weight of my statement. “Her parents are bad people, aren’t they?”
“Her father is,” I reply dryly. I straighten myself, examining the bare door in front of me. “Why isn’t her door decorated?”
“I don’t think she’s the type to decorate her door.”
I shake my head. “I think Harley has had someone snuff the light out of her.”
I see Alicia straighten her spine. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, once I get some names out of her, a lot of people are going to find themselves at the wrong end of my rage.”