Rush (8 page)

“Oh, yeah.” Her head rolls. “That was a crazy night.”

“Yeah, I got tangled up in part of that fight on my way out. There were two guys dressed as pirates that helped me out. I’d buy them a round if I knew who they were.”

“I think you’re talking about the Bennett cousins. They’re in the game room,” she says, pointing a long red fingernail in the exact direction that Priscilla took. My brain grinds to a stop. I hope I’m still smiling, but all I can think about is how much attention my long, leggy blonde draws, especially with her hat off. They could recognize her. I should not have let her out of my sight.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” Patrice winks and whirls away.

My pulse beats an erratic rhythm as I push back from the table and dive into the crowd. The game room is an open area off of the hallway that leads to the bathroom, and I’m almost there. Priscilla should be back from the bathroom by now. At the very least I should see her coming my way.

I enter the hallway on full alert. Relief floods through me as I glimpse her profile just beyond two men. She’s stopped at the edge of the game room, peering in. I’m ten paces away, closing fast.

I call her name with an urgent whisper, but she doesn’t budge. Her trance like gaze is focused on two men playing pool, and I recognize them instantly. A rush of adrenaline shoots through my veins as I size them up.

Priscilla moves out from the doorframe and steps into the game room, narrowing her focus on one man. He leans over the felt and shoots. Balls crack and roll fast. My lungs are full, expanded with the breath I’m holding—I want to shout her name, but I’ll draw his attention for sure. He’s literally five feet away from her. All he has to do is look up and there she is, gawking. Damn it, Priscilla. Move!

Chapter Nine

Priscilla

I think that’s him. He stands, cursing his missed shot. One more step and I’ll be able to see the inside of his forearm and check for the tattoo.

“Cha-ching. You owe me fifty bucks.” His partner laughs, pointing his pool cue across the table.

The skin under his tattoo twitches and ripples as he knocks his partner’s stick away, and the inky design registers in my brain. It’s a dragon, and the cone shape I saw the night of the fight was its tail.

“I gotta take a piss,” he says. His gravelly voice scrapes my nerves. An alarm goes off in my head. I am way too close now. A high-pitched peeping assaults my ears. A hand locks on my waist, and my entire body stiffens as I’m swept sideways. I blink, trying to recover my bearings, and when I open my eyes, Preston is in front of me.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says, the tight line of his lips matching the hard edge of his eyes. He’s the source of the whistle, and he’s pressing his body close, carrying me until my back is pinned against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing?” His voice is an angry whisper.

My heart beats a million small pulses, and I draw a quick breath. I counter his anger with urgency. “He’s here and he’s coming.”

“Be still,” he demands. His fingertips slide over my cheek, threading into my hair.

“Pres…”

“Shhh” He interrupts, pinning me with an intense look. Understanding dawns as his thumb moves a slow caress against my neck. Boots scuff the worn carpet, coming closer. Someone has entered the hallway and is moving behind us. Preston’s strong body angles over me, blocking the view of our faces. I get it.

Silvery blue eyes cast a heavy-lidded, sensual look, drawing me deep. A shower of endorphins waves through my body, warming my insides. His face is inches from mine, staring levelly, willing my heartbeat out of it’s panicked pulse and into his steady rhythm. I let myself forget everything else and circle his shoulders as he pulls me closer. God, I want him to kiss me.

My arms tighten, and I press onto my toes, closing the remaining inch. His lips are firm, yet gentle, and he controls the pace. A shadow passes over my closed lids, but I make no effort to draw back. The bathroom door swishes closed, and another stolen moment passes.

What am I doing? I slide my hands off his shoulders, down his powerful arms, lowering my feet to the ground and drawing back. He kissed me out of necessity—to protect me. I kissed him because every cell in my body wanted to in the worst way.

The side of his mouth lifts, and he leans toward my ear. “That’s the second time you’ve kissed me Peep. I think you like me.” I wiggle against him, feeling hot all over.

“I barely like you. Now get off me,” I say, shoving him playfully.

“Barely. Hmmm. I think I’m making progress,” he says, as I start to push past him. The only thing the word “barely” describes is what’s left of my sanity. I wish I was drunk so I had an excuse for my lack of restraint.

His hand locks around my wrist, stopping me. I see it, too—Dragon Tattoo’s partner is talking with someone in the middle of the hallway. We can’t pass, and if we stand here much longer, pirate enemy number one is going to be done in the bathroom. Preston nods me toward a small stairway to our right. It’s dark, but it looks like our only option. We duck in, hopefully unnoticed. He laces his fingers through mine, and I follow him downward into the darkness.

Moonlight slices in through the block windows, casting gray shadows over the stillness. Round tables sit in the middle of the wide space, surrounded by a haphazard arrangement of red leather chairs. Banquet tables lean against the tall frames of three abandoned video games close to the side wall.

“How long do you think we need to hide down here?” I grip his hand and inch closer, trying to ignore the eerie feeling.

“Shhh…someone’s coming,” he says. Light bursts, illuminating a tulip-shaped fixture. The bulb settles into a dim glow and footsteps knock steps.

“This just keeps getting worse,” I whisper.

“Or better,” he says. He pulls me toward the video games, moving quickly. We skirt behind them. An inhale of dust sticks in the back of my throat, and I stifle the urge to cough. His determined profile reflects on the black screen of the Millipede game as we shimmy beside it. He presses his back to the wall, centers his shoulders, and opens his arms to me—as if it’s the most natural thing in the world that I should kick up a leg and dive right in—and when I don’t he ignores my hesitation, grasps my waist, and pulls me to him. It’s not as if I have much choice here. If I don’t press against him, there’s a chance they’ll be able to see me. He raises a silencing finger to my lips and points to a one-inch crack between the wall and the Millipede machine—if I lean against him, we’ll both be able to see what’s happening—a good enough excuse for me. He turns me gently in his arms—the whimper echoes in my head again, and I cave, resting against his chest.

“Much better,” he whispers over my ear, settling his chin on my hair as we peek through the crack, waiting.

Patrice—our waitress—appears in the sliver. She’s inching one of the round tables to the center of the room, scrunching her elf-like features at the effort. A moment of panic lands in my chest. Is she setting up for something? Gripping the table’s edge, she leans low and squares it off. Centering it under the light, she lifts a hip, sits, and crosses her legs. She unbuttons the top of her shirt and pulls out her cell phone—she must be taking a break. But she keeps unbuttoning. Maybe she’s hot?

The light flickers, as if someone is wiggling the switch. I stiffen at the sound of heavy boots descending, and Dragon Tattoo Pirate invades the picture. Warning signals course through my body as I measure the distance we’d have to travel past them to make it back to the stairway. We’re trapped down here. I let out a shaky breath, and Preston’s arms band tighter around me.

“You ready for me, baby?” the pirate says to Patrice. She scoots her ass to the edge of the table as he rocks on his heels, jutting his hips forward, transfixed by her unbuttoned shirt.

“Do I look ready?” she says.

“How long you got?”

“The usual. Fifteen minutes,” she replies.

“Ahh, you look good, sweetheart. Show me your tits.” My brows spike, and I drop my jaw. Preston raises his hand to cup my mouth—a gentle reminder but the red-light alarms are going off in my head. They’re going to get it on. Right here. Right now. And I’m going to have to stand here wrapped in his arms and listen to it all. Oh. Holy. Hookup.

Pirate steps between Patrice’s legs, grabs her thighs, and jerks hard as if he’s strapping her on—because he is. Her head bobs back, and she laughs. I’m out. I can’t watch this. I squeeze my lids shut. Heat washes up my neck, and I take the hand resting over my mouth and raise it to cover my eyes. He curls his body closer—smiling against my temple.

“How do you want it, baby?” the pirate grumbles. “Like this?” Clothing brushes skin, a zipper loosens, and he grunts. “Fuck yeah,” he groans, and then again, lower and more demanding, “Fuck yeah…move those hips.”

Oh my God. I grab both of Preston’s hands and press them to my ears. He turns me until I’m facing him, pulling me closer to his chest. His big palm rests over my cheek and ear, muffling the crude words. Minutes pass. I tap my fingers against his shoulder and raise an “are they done yet” look. A vein in his neck moves as he peers through the crack. He returns with a half smile, mouthing out the word, “No.”

My forehead drops to his collarbone, rolling onto the warm skin of his neck. He exhales, feathering a breath over my hair, and I feel a weightless imprint of his mouth against my temple. Was that a kiss? Did he do that on purpose? His hand answers, moving a soothing stroke up my back, spreading a sensation over my skin that feels hot and cold at the same time.

Why does he have to be so achingly sweet? Why can’t he be a dick? Then I could just stay mad at him. I wonder if there’s really someway he can help me redeem my soccer career so that it ends on the field—possibly even the National Championship field—rather than the gutter. Thoughts come and go with no clear path as he holds me.

Minutes later, his body straightens, and I look up to see him squinting through the peephole, nodding his head. The light disappears. He shifts and lowers his mouth over my ear. “Show’s over,” he says, a smile in his voice.

My fingertips grip the swell of his bicep as I shake the tingling sleep out of my leg. “Thank God.” We slither out of the narrow space and step gingerly through the dark. A thud sounds as the tip of my boot hits the first step. I bend a knee, ready to claim the path to freedom and light again explodes around us. I flinch.
Damn it.
What now?

Preston’s forearm circles my waist, and I collapse backward against his chest. His body remains still, listening, and a voice echoes at the top of the stairwell. His head pitches toward our hiding spot, and he starts to move, but I hesitate, trying to think of another way out.

He stops and motions to our hiding spot with another firm nod. I’m frustrated, and I don’t like him bossing me around, so I mock his nod and glare back. His arms lock around me, and he picks me up in one swooping motion, carrying me. I grunt and huff out an angry whisper as he slides sideways into the space. “All right. Put me down, jackass.”

He loosens his hold and leans over me, a threatening look on his face as he presses a single finger to my mouth. I snap my jaw at him, quick, like a rabid dog, pretending to bite him. He flinches at my unexpected movement, then turns his mouth into his arm, muffling his laughter as his whole body shakes. I punch his chest, and he captures my fist in both of his hands and raises it to his smiling mouth, kissing my knuckles. I yank them away and sink to the ground, crouching with my back to the wall as he stands above me.

The room fills with voices. One. Two. Four… I count at least five distinct male voices. Chairs are moving around a soft shuffling sound. “Deal the cards, Bennett. Queens nipples are getting stiff.” Preston rubs the back of his neck with a frustrated hand, and I drop my head on my knees. We’re stuck. Again.

A minute later, he’s crouching in front of me, holding up his phone and arching a brow. He moves the switch to silent. I flip open my small crossbody purse, lift my phone, and do the same as he starts a text thread.

Looks like we’re here for a poker game. I’m going to text Carson and tell him to grab my jacket and leave some money on our table upstairs. They can call Uber if they want to go.
I cast him a hesitant look, and nod. He types in a series of texts and responds to a few, then taps my thigh with his foot and points to my phone. I flip it up and see his message.

Can I sit behind you?
Against the wall is the only position where his big form will fit comfortably. I bite my lip and look up at him as if I’m thinking hard about it—payback for manhandling me. He smirks, raises his phone and types something else in.
Please?

I give in and scoot my butt away from the wall. He pivots, swinging a careful leg and straddling my position. Knees rise as he sinks behind me, surrounding me with warmth. His arms circle the top of mine and he holds his phone eye level for me to see his typing.

Thanks.
I nod. Another text.
Want to make out?
I snap my head around and see him silently cracking up, then typing again.
Kidding. How about a silent movie?

He taps the iTunes icon, then the movie reel,
Stand Out Hits
. He scrolls through a series of titles. I slip my hand into my purse and offer up the white cords of my ear buds. His face lights with enthusiasm, and he squeezes me in his arms. I pick at the tangled cords as he points to possible flicks. I shake my head no to
Mission Impossible
, no
way
to
Sleeping With Other People
, no to
The Last Witch Hunter
…
Burnt
pops up. Bradley Cooper. Yes. I nod enthusiastically. He hits the buy button and balances his iPhone on his knee, mouthing, “Chick flick.” I plug the cord in, offer him a bud, and wiggle obnoxiously until I’m comfortable.

I feel his mouth against my forehead, whispering my name, his fingers under my chin, lifting. I blink the sleep away, looking up at him as he reaches for the earbud hanging in my hair. “You fell asleep,” he says quietly, “The game just ended, they’re gone.”

“Oh, sorry. I always fall asleep at movies,” I whisper back, a little disappointed with myself. “It’s because we have to get up so early for practice.” I start to sit but his hold tightens.

“Let’s just wait a few minutes and make sure no one else is coming down. They’ve been making trips to clean up for the last ten minutes,” he whispers.

Without the movie or the unwelcome company, I’m suddenly aware of the position I’ve slid into against his big body. I’m half lying on him, my hip pressed against his groin, the side of my arm molded to the hard muscle of his abs and chest.

We’re silent a long moment, and all I can think about is the heat flowing through me. “Did you like the movie?” I whisper.

He hesitates a long moment, then he blinks slowly and the atmosphere around us feels different. “Honestly, it was kind of hard to concentrate on the movie with you lying on top of me, Peep.”

My senses jump to full alert, and I freeze. I’m shocked by his confession—and then again, I’m not. I’ve been sitting here thinking the same thing. A hollow feeling swirls low in my stomach as he measures my reaction. I should sit up, push back, look away. But I fucking can’t—and I don’t want to. Maybe it’s the need I have to soothe the ache of my upset life—honest to God, I can’t think straight when he looks at me like this—is it possible for him to be the remedy to the problem he caused? My lips are folded in, sliding, and he’s watching.

His thumb rises to my chin, and he leans forward, tilting my face to meet the warm touch of his lips, and I feel his tongue—o
h God, I feel his tongue
—spearing my lips, parting them with eager strokes. A wave of hot pleasure blasts over me. I want him. I shouldn’t, but I do. I return the stroking motion, angling closer and reaching a hand to his shoulder.