James Games (8 page)

I remember the fire alarm. James saw what he wanted, and he took it. And there’s no way he wouldn’t want me tonight. “Not very.”

“Then you have to hide.” She pushes me toward the staircase. “Upstairs. Now. You’d be better jumping out the window than Sigrid seeing James hit on you. I’ll text you updates for what’s going on downstairs.”

For once in my life, I have to admit that she’s right. I head up the stairs as sneakily as I can and dart into the nearest bedroom, shutting the door behind me. The smell hits me in a wave of gross old socks and Axe. I choke, kick a pile of dirty laundry into the closet, and shut the door. The owner of this bedroom will thank me later.

I’m a little drunker than I thought. I weave toward the open window and look down. The drop wouldn’t kill me. Probably. There’s a lovely bush I could land in.

Text from Iris:
Okay, Sigrid is demanding all the girls assemble downstairs so she can keep an eye on them when James gets here. She’s asking where you are.

There’s no way I can hide in the closet. I just kicked a pile of dirty laundry in there. If anyone comes looking for me, I won’t have anywhere to run.

~8~

Life is all about making choices.

At this particular moment, my choice is between A: jumping naked into a bush from a second-story window and B: getting torn to shreds by a gorgeous girl in Prada.

The devil really does wear it.

Text from Iris:
Amber says that if you’re not downstairs in 3.5333 seconds she’s coming to get you.

It’s funny how jumping out of a window suddenly becomes a good idea when you’re drunk. I run one finger under the sill. Mildew. That’s the problem with frat houses. No upkeep. Dust and mold and debauchery piling up everywhere.

Text from Iris:
Don’t jump out the window
yet.

Even the music pulsing from the living room has dimmed. The mockingbird in the tree across the yard has shut up. Anticipation is as thick in the air as pot smoke. He’s coming. He’s selected this particular house party on this particular night to attend, and we’re all more important because of it.

Text from Iris:
Okay, no, she’s leaving to find you. Window is best option. Tuck and roll
.

I squint at the bush. Maybe it’s the darkness and the drunkenness, but it doesn’t look too uncomfortable. I bet California hobos sleep there all the time. With any luck, not right now. 

I close my eyes and count to twenty.

On twenty-one, someone pounds on the bedroom door.

“Uh, we’re having hot drunk sex in here,” I grunt in my best impression of a wasted frat boy.

“Fiona, I know that’s you. Open the door or I’m breaking it down. This is not behavior worthy of our sisterhood.”

Neither is breaking down doors, but that’s not going to stop her. Keeping my eyes shut, I imagine the bush as a large, comfortable creature, somewhere between the Cookie Monster and the Pillsbury Doughboy, waiting to catch me with open arms. No Prada in sight. I swing my other bare leg over the sill and jump the only way I know how—all at once.

I’m falling and pinwheeling and realizing at the worst possible moment that I forgot to take off my stripper heels, and then the bush catches me. Except it’s less Pillsbury Doughboy and more Hardbury Muscleman. And it’s less of a catch and more of a smashing both of us into the ground.

“Fuck,” someone groans beneath me. It’s not a bush, it’s a man, and to my endless regret, it’s not the first time I’ve straddled him naked.

James Reid.

Even with my life in dire peril, the sensation of his body beneath me turns my thighs to jelly. His dark blonde hair is swept off his forehead, his eyes a reminder of what a stormy sky looks like when it’s noon in Colorado. My hands are on the hard contours of his chest, my nose inches from his shocked expression, and thanks to the positioning of my lady parts, I can feel exactly what happens when he notices how very naked I am.

“Are you okay?” he asks, which is not the first thing I expected to hear from the mouth of doesn’t-care-about-nobody, too-good-for-everybody James Reid.

“Since you caught me, yes,” I manage.

He nods, still beneath me, the damp grass soaking into my knees. “Good. Now get the fuck off and try not to fall out of the sky next time someone’s walking below you.”

There it is. The assholery he’s famous for, the kind the press loves to burn him for but he still gets away with it because he’s such a damn fine actor. And because he’s so damn fine. 

I’m about to tell him exactly why I’ve plotted his murder eight different ways since last week when Amber sticks her head out the window.

If she sees me naked on top of James Reid in the beer-soaked grass, she will break several world records in how quickly it takes to decapitate someone.

I spin James in front of me and shove him into the bush. Fortunately, there are no thorns or hobos. Just facefuls of branches and leaves. James is too stunned to speak—it’s not every day that a world-famous actor gets shoved into a bush by a naked college freshman—and I take advantage of his silence, pushing him into the dirt on his back and covering his mouth with my hand.

“Fiona?” Amber yells above us, blood in her voice.

I took further advantage of James’s involuntary silence to tell him off. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me who you were. Do you have any idea how much trouble you got me into?” I hiss just loudly enough for him to hear.

“Are you down there, Fiona? Everyone’s waiting for you.”

I stab my thumb upwards. “Do you hear that? That is the sound of my death. If she finds out I slept with you, I am fucked. And not the good kind.”

Amber finally lets out a frustrated grunt and lets the window slam shut. I take my hand from James’s mouth. He sits up slowly, still cover-photo gorgeous even with twigs in his messy dark-blonde hair. His storm-blue eyes are burning, and when he opens his mouth, I know that I’m about to get it.

Instead, he kisses me.

Hard, like fire, like a whiplash, his lips sear into mine, knocking the breath from me. Like lightning he has me on my back, pinning me into the dirt like how I had him barely seconds ago. His mouth ranges over my neck, toward my breasts, and as my head falls back and I gasp, as I fumble to feel him with my free hand and we tear at each other like two starving lions finally loosed, I realize that life really is all about choices.

At this particular moment, my choice is between A: getting hazed to death and B: getting it on with James Reid. Again.

Then again, sometimes your body makes choices for you.

I let my head fall back, gasping as branches press into my back and James Reid presses into my front. The sight of me naked has put a wild look in his eyes. And the sight of that wild look fills me with fire. I forget about Sigrid, forget about everybody. All I want is his hands, his skin on my skin. Yet again, he’s flicked my crazy switch.

But no. I swore I wouldn’t do this again.

“Get off me, you crazy bastard,” I grunt, gearing up for a shove, but he notes my resistance and sits back immediately. There are twigs in his more-tousled-than-usual hair, and the moonlight lines his whole body with silver. My mouth waters, but I slurp the saliva back. Stop it, Fiona.

He actually gives his head a little shake, like a punch-drunk dog trying to get water out of its ears. It’s adorable and unexpected. And I realize that he’s as much of a victim to this insane force between us as I am.

“Why are you naked?” he finally asks, his eyes narrowing. “Put some damn clothes on.”

“I’ll be naked if I want to be naked, thank you very much.”

He starts to stand, but I grab his collar and pull him back down.

“Listen to me, and listen to me good. You can’t tell anyone we slept together. You can’t even hint at it. Because if word gets out, I’m good as dead. I’m a member of Phi Delta Chi. Got it?”

“Should have known,” he says coolly, though his eyes betray his desperate hunger for my body. “You’re too hot and too crazy not to be.”

“Damn straight. Do I have your word?”

“You have it, as well as my medical bill for several cracked bones.” He extends his arm experimentally. I snort.

“You’re fine. I’m a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

Before he can retort, I hop out of the bush and brush myself off. We can’t go in together, so I hurry ahead of him, popping through the front door. Sigrid spots me immediately. She’s practically frothing at the mouth.

“There you are,” Amber growls, halfway down the stairs. In her spot beside the cooler, I notice Iris gazing at me in shock. I pick a few twigs out of my hair as Sigrid flies over to me.

“Get out of here now,” she hisses. I smirk. She didn’t know James was coming tonight, and no doubt she doesn’t want him to see how good I look naked.

“But my three hours aren’t up,” I whine, and proceed to waltz back over to my circle of boys, who seem to know exactly why all the girls are flipping out and look thoroughly displeased about it.

By the time James walks through the front door, I’m back on the counter, regaling them with more of Fiona’s Nudist Colony Adventures.

I make a point not to notice him, although I could have heard Sigrid purring at him from a million miles away. I chance one glance over my shoulder and she’s apparently finding it difficult to hand him a beer without wrapping herself around him first. So much for no touching.

Now that James is here, the party notches up. The music gets louder, everyone gets a little drunker as soon as possible. Suddenly all the girls are dancing and shoving away any boy who tries to join them, tossing looks over their shoulder at James. But James, I am pleased to see, isn’t looking at any of them.

He’s only looking at me.

Buck naked and surrounded by hot men.

And the next time I chance a glance over, he’s heading straight in my direction, with a fuming Sigrid in the background. He muscles straight into the center of my harem, earning himself disgusted looks from every single member.

I look him up and down, feigning disinterest. “Jared, isn’t it? No, James. Jim. Jimmy. Jimothy. Can I call you Jimothy?”

“I told you to put some clothes on,” he says darkly.

“And I told you to fuck off, but you didn’t listen to me, so why should I listen to you?”

“You haven’t told me to fuck off.”

“I have now,” I say lightly. Damien and Calem high-five. James spares them such an icy look that their arms wilt downward like flowers.

“Leave,” he growls at them.

Damien puffs himself up like the world’s lamest chicken. “We’ll leave if Fiona wants us to.”

“Leave,” James repeats. The word sweeps over the room like an icy cold breeze from the asscrack of Antarctica. He’s really got the serial killer vibe going on. Even I have to resist the urge to jump up and run for the hills. I don’t blame my harem for scattering, leaving me sitting naked and undefended on the counter, at the mercy of James Reid.

I point at him. “You scared away my harem.”

“Those guys were looking at you like you’re a piece of meat.” His tone is thick with disgust.

“Technically I am a piece of meat. Plus bones and stuff. Also, don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?”

I expect him to scoff at this, to shrug it off or deny it. Instead he cuts his eyes away from me. “I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I shouldn’t have jump—”

“Jump-started my car for me,” I interrupted loudly, fully aware that Sigrid is straining to listen in on our conversation even if she is across the room. “You’re right. You should have just let me take it to the shop. Some things should be done by professionals.”

A ghost of a smile traces its way upward from the corner of his lips. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile, and damn, is it dangerous. I swallow and look away. “Although—even though I know that I shouldn’t have let you near my car, and you’re definitely not coming near it again, you don’t need to apologize. At the time, I really wanted you to jump-start my car.”

My phone buzzes. I glance down. A text from Iris.
Think of a better euphemism. You’re not being subtle.

“Did you just say I’m not a professional?” he asks, leaning one-handed on the counter so that his thumb is bare inches away from my thigh. He’s close enough to count the goose pimples that appear on my skin.

“Definitely an amateur,” I smirk.

His hand inches closer. “Why don’t you call me next time your car needs some work done and I’ll show you more of what I’m capable of.”

Code red. This is dangerous. Gravity is pulling me forward and I’m one more sexy word away from kissing him in front of Sigrid. I pinch my thigh, shocking me back into the present. I’ve never gotten high on someone’s presence like I have on his.

I hop off the counter. “Damien!” I call, brushing past James. “Where’s my drink?”

My whole body is throbbing. Pinpricks of heat are digging their way into my eyeballs. I’m drunk and I’m horny and I’m thinking it’s time to add a new line to Fiona’s Wall of Sex. This time I’ll even know his name.

Damien materializes out of nowhere, a glass in his hand. I give him the once-over. Six foot three, more muscles than he knows what to do with, hair a little on the short side, but I can work with it. I take the drink and push it into James’s chest.

“That’s your reward for fixing my car,” I smirk as I take Damien’s hand and lead him toward the stairs.

On the sixth step, I hear a cracking sound. I glance back. There are two girls fussing over James and one cleaning up broken glass around his feet. His fist is clenched. He shattered the glass in his hand, and he’s looking like he wouldn’t regret doing the same to Damien’s head.

Bastard thinks he owns me. Well, I’m about to show him that I’m the only person who owns me.

I pull Damien into the bedroom with the open window and shut the door, locking it. I turn to him with a grin. “Now we won’t be interrupt—”

He lunches at me, catching me up in his arms and gross sloppy-kissing me. I splutter through the sudden onslaught of boy-saliva. “Take it slow, this isn’t a cake-eating contest.”