All In (Cedar Mountain University #2) (2 page)

“What
am I supposed to do? I thought he was my forever. He told me he was.” As I turn
my head to look at her, I’m trying, unsuccessfully, to blink back more tears.
“Why would he lie?”

“I’m
not sure what I’m supposed to say.” Delaney lays one hand on my shoulder. “I
suck at this part of friendship.”

I
swipe at my nose again. “Did you call Cole?”

“Yeah.”

Of
course she did. “So everybody knows.”

Delaney
nods her head. “I’m sorry, Grace, I thought he should know. He lives with
Grant.”

It’s
hard to stay mad at Delaney. Every time I get pissed at her, I can’t help but
remember the picture of her that the jackass grocery store manager had taken
right after he found her in that dumpster. It’s something you can never unsee.

She
had looked dead. Her skin so pale it was almost translucent except for the
obvious signs of bruising, and the dried and fresh blood. The picture had shown
bruises around her neck, perfect imprints of two large hands that had squeezed
enough to hurt but not enough to kill. Scratches had slashed through that
bruising, and I knew from Cole that it had been where Delaney had tried to
dislodge his hands while he was choking her.

It’s
so heartbreaking to think about, and it makes me feel small and stupid for
crying over Grant dumping me. I wipe under my nose one more time.

“Do
we have ice cream?”

Delaney
gives me a small smile. “How long have we been friends, Grace? You think ice
cream is the answer to everything so I make sure we stay stocked.”

“It
isn’t the answer to everything?”

Laughing,
Delany pushes to her feet, reaching down to help me up to mine. “I picked up
double chocolate chunk this morning. Let’s go see how it works.”

Four Months Later….

If one more person gives me a sympathetic look, or asks me how I am
doing, I am going to fucking punch them in the face.

It’s that simple.

I had thought adjusting to life without Grant would be the hardest
part of the two of us breaking up. He had after all, been such a large part of my
life, in one form or another, for such a long time. Obviously I hadn’t counted
on the nearly three thousand students on campus who apparently thought they had
the inside track on our relationship, and subsequent breakup.

“I heard she walked in on him in the middle of a threesome.”

I wince at the whispered comment, chomping down on the tip of my
tongue and forcing myself not to get up to find whoever was talking about me
now, and shove the truth down their throat. Or my fist. At this point it was a
tossup which way I would go. Instead I take another long swallow of cheap beer.
I’d long since become immune to the horrific taste, no longer wincing whenever
I take a drink.

When things with Grant had first ended I had tried to explain that
it had been a mutual decision, because I didn’t want to look like a complete
idiot. Then Grant showed up to our weekly cookout, the Friday night after our
breakup,
 
with Abigail Peterson on his
arm, and any headway I might have made in convincing people it was mutual had
been totally lost.

And I now knew that the rumor mill at CMU ran like a well-oiled
freaking machine.

I know he wasn’t doing it to hurt me. Grant simply wasn’t built
that way. I knew he would rather cut off his own arm than cause me a moment of
pain. Which made me wonder how long he’d been thinking about ending things
before he actually had.

At night, when I couldn’t sleep and was counting the number of
cracks in the ceiling above my bed, I couldn’t help but think about all the
time we had recently spent together, looking for some sort of sign that I must
have missed.

Not that it really mattered. It was over now anyway.

It’s just over a month into the fall semester, and sliding slowly
towards October and cooler weather, and what is usually my favorite time of
year, but I can’t seem to get excited about anything at the moment. Not even
the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte that was bound to hit stores soon.

And I love that stupid coffee like a fat kid loves cake.

Just another reason to be pissed at Grant.

And at the moment I’m pretty freaking sure I’m beyond wasted. Like,
way, way beyond wasted. My first clue that I am now, is the fact that the room
I’m sitting in is a little fuzzy around the edges. Rooms aren’t supposed to be
fuzzy. Right?

I close one eye fully while squinting the other to try and bring
everything back into focus. The floaty feeling in my head is actually pretty
pleasant. I should have done this weeks ago. It’s hard to focus in on the hurt
that has become such a large part of me, when I can’t even bring the couch into
focus.

There is still music, some heavy beat of a rap song, playing in the
house even though the crowd of people has started to thin out substantially. I know
Kelsey, my new found friend from my Introduction to Humanities class, is still
roaming around here somewhere. Kelsey is fun and easy, and she has absolutely
nothing to do with anyone from my normal circle of friends. Which is
refreshing. She’s dating Bradley, one of the brothers from whatever frat house
it is where we’re partying.

I can’t keep them straight.

Of course at the moment, I can’t even keep the room straight. For
some reason I find that ridiculously funny. So now, not only am I drunk in the middle
of a frat house, but I’m laughing like a moron while sitting by myself in the
middle of the living room.

Suddenly the couch dips and I can’t keep myself upright, tilting
into the person who is suddenly sitting next to me. A guy, smelling like stale
cigarette smoke and the cheap beer that had been in the kegs, has settled in on
the couch next to me.

Through the haze of alcohol he looks cute. Fuzzy, but cute.

Maybe this is what I need. A one night stand to help further my
quest to move on after Grant. Nothing else seems to be working. Not the ice
cream I ate by the gallons. Which, okay, I hadn’t really expected the ice cream
to make everything better, but I wouldn’t have been upset if it had worked out
that way.

Crying hadn’t helped, and really had just pissed me off.

So maybe this is the distraction I need.

I squint again to try and bring him further into focus. I think
he’s a redhead, which nothing against redheads, but they had never really done
anything for me in the past. His hair is cut close against his head though, so
it’s really hard to tell if it’s red.

And of course there is the fact that I’m drunk. Can’t forget that.
His hair could be anything from neon pink to green and I probably wouldn’t be
able to tell, or care really.

He looks big, like strong big, with muscles upon muscles. Hmm, I
never really found that attractive either, but look what dating exactly what I
had always wanted had gotten me.

Drunk at a frat party I’d attended with a girl I barely know, contemplating
having a one night stand with an overly muscled red headed guy, whose face I
couldn’t quite bring in to focus.

Could my life suck any more at the moment?

“Hi.”

I hear the smirk in his voice when he responds. “Hey.”

Has his hand already settled on my thigh? I glance down. Sure
enough there is a large male hand sitting directly above my knees, fingers
brushing up along the hem of my jean skirt. Frowning, I look back up to him
forcing myself to try and focus just a little more. Instinctively I try to
shift away from him, but his hand on my leg tightens.

“Where you going, sweetheart?”

I blink. “I, ah, um—”

“I’ve rendered you speechless already.”

Suddenly all the alcohol that was making me feel so floaty and free
a moment ago, has settled like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I probably
wouldn’t have felt threatened before I knew Delaney. But knowing what had
happened to her makes the monsters of the world all too real.

Finally I manage to spit out, “I need to go look for my friend.”

“Who’s your friend? I can help you find them.”

Crap. What was her name? Why can’t I remember her name? Those
fingers inch just a little bit higher on my thigh, and whatever hope of
coherent thought I had is totally gone. I try to move again, but he’s still
pretty insistent that I’m not going anywhere, his hand squeezing my skin.

“Grace?”

Oh thank Jesus. I turn my head at the sound of my name.

“You ready?”

It isn’t Kelsey, whose name I now have no problem remembering, who
is standing behind me. I’m actually pretty surprised to find Jacob Ross
standing there. How does he know my name? We’ve never even spoken to each
other. The only reason I know who he is, is because it’s hard to be on campus
and
not
know.

Jacob had become starting quarterback for the CMU football team his
freshman year. No small feat at a Division I school. And he’d been well on his
way to a career in the NFL, until he’d come back earlier his junior year and
walked away from football all together.

No hesitation, no explanation. He’d walked away from an incredibly
promising, incredibly lucrative career, like it was the easiest thing he’d ever
done. Then he had staunchly refused all questions, interviews, or demands for
answers. Whatever reason he had, and I’m sure it was a good one, he wasn’t
planning on sharing it with anyone any time soon.

None of which explained how he knew my name.

“Ready?” I echo blankly.

“To go, Grace.” He says patiently, coming to stand in front of
where I sit on the couch. He reaches one hand out and without thought I drop
mine inside of his. His fingers close around mine, and instantly they are
wrapped in warmth. The hand on my thigh tightens for just a moment before
releasing.

“Sorry, Jake. I didn’t realize she was with you.”

“Well she is.” His frost blue eyes don’t even flicker over to the
guy sitting next to me on the couch. For some reason, even in my haze, I can
bring every incredible feature of Jacob Ross into perfect view. Dark brown hair
cropped short, the front tousled slightly, a slight dusting of whiskers along
his jaw, just enough of a hint to make a person, me in particular, wonder what
it would feel like to have it scrape along their skin.

He’s tall, crossing well over six feet I’m sure, and lean with an
athlete’s body that is obviously very well taken care of. His biceps stretch
the edge of his shirt sleeve, causing it to pull tight to the point that it
looks strained when he shifts his arms the least little bit. The shirt is a
dark blue, a stark contrast against the light blue of his eyes, and is paired
with a pair of loose dark washed jeans.

He’s gorgeous.

And he knows my name.

My body takes an interest in a way it hasn’t to anyone since
 
Grant had walked away four months ago.

“Lucky guy.” The red head mutters, but he moves away without
touching me again.

My hand is still tucked neatly in his. I have no urge to pull it
free, and he isn’t letting it go. He tugs on it gently and pulls me up to my
feet. Of course I stumble. I’m pretty sure I have half a keg of really gross
beer rolling through my veins instead of blood.

“Whoa. You all right?”

“I, ah, maybe?”

He chuckles, “Maybe? You aren’t sure?”

“I don’t know where my ride is.” I say slowly, carefully
enunciating each word to make sure I’m saying them correctly. He drops my hand
now, but it still feels like he is touching me the way I have little shivers of
heat running up my arm. I rub the palm of my hand against my jean skirt, trying
to wipe the feeling off. He’s watching me in amusement.

“You came in with Kelsey, right? She passed out upstairs about
three hours ago. She won’t be taking you home anytime soon.”

“Fuck.” I groan. “Fuck. That means I’m going to have to call my
brothers. Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

One brown brow arches above those frosty blue eyes. “That’s some
colorful language.”

I roll my eyes. “You’d be cussing to if you had to call my brothers
to come pick you up because you were drunk. They are going to lecture me.”
Groaning I add, “Endlessly.”

“I can take you home.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you, but I can’t go home either. I live with my
brother’s girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure he’s there, so that won’t work. I was
supposed to stay with Kelsey at the sorority house tonight.”

I feel his eyes moving over me like a physical touch against my
skin. Suddenly I feel ridiculously exposed in my short jean skirt and red tank
top.

“You can stay with me.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

The right side of his mouth is kicked up in a smile, with a small
dimple just barely visible in his cheek. The fact that I’m imagining leaning
over and licking that dimple is crazy. And distracting. Had he really just said
what I thought he said? “Stay with you?”

His large shoulders move up and down in a shrug. “Sure. I’ve got a
room upstairs.” He laughs at the look on my face. “Totally innocent, I swear,”
He says holding up his hands. “I can sleep on the floor. I won’t touch you at
all.”

I contemplate the offer while I watch him watching me. I can’t
believe I’m actually considering this, and before I can fully process all the
reasons this isn’t a good idea I hear myself saying, “I just want to clarify
that I would never agree to this if I was sober. Or not terrified of what my
brothers are going to say or do should they see me drunk.”

“Duly noted.”

“I’ve never been drunk before.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“I just told you I was going to sleep on the floor. Not that I
wanted to sleep with you.” He’s wrapped his hand around my elbow, and is
guiding me out of the fuzzy living room. I trip over my own feet, but he
steadies me easily and seconds later we’re moving up the stairs. I feel like
he’s touching my entire body, not just cupping my elbow. There’s a flutter of
awareness dancing across my skin like electricity, and I’m suddenly not only having
trouble walking, but pulling in steady breaths as well.

“But I’m pretty sure you were contemplating sleeping with James, so
the fact that you won’t sleep with me hurts my feelings.”

“James?” I frown. What the hell was he talking about? “Who?”

“Ouch.” He says with a laugh. We’ve reached the top of the stairs
and he’s leading me down a long hallway. “Let’s keep that between the two of
us, I don’t think his ego can stand the hit. Here we go.”

He opens one of the doors at the end of the hall. It’s a small
room, with a full size bed in one corner, a desk in the other, and a dresser
tucked up next to the closet.