Текст книги "Fall Into Forever"

Автор книги: Beth Hyland

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FALL INTO FOREVER
BETH HYLAND

For my wonderful family.

chapter one

When I am silent, I have thunder hidden inside.

~ Rumi

Ivy

I’m standing in the bathroom of the biggest party off campus, but I don’t have to pee. I grip the edge of the counter and try not to hyperventilate. I gasp for air, but all I can manage are a few shallow breaths. It’s like my brain knows I want to scream, but it won’t let me take a deep enough breath to make a fool of myself.

Don’t cry. Don’t freak out. It’ll only make things worse.

I can vaguely hear my old therapist admonishing me to change my affirmations from negative to positive, but right now, under these circumstances, that’s totally impossible.

Pinching my eyes shut, I drop down in front of the sink cabinet and tap my head against the wood. Not hard, but hard enough. I’m hoping it’ll help me think of what to do.

One. Two. Three.

The wimpy part of my personality wants me to climb inside the tiny space under the sink, fold my head to my knees, and wrap my arms around my shins.

I want to hide. Disappear.

The new me, the person I’ve sewn together with the parts I want to be, is unraveling at the seams, the threads joining them suddenly weak and brittle. I read this dystopian book once where people were actually constructed from parts of others who were unwound. That’s me right now. A disjointed, incomplete person. Take a piece away—I won’t notice. Take two. It doesn’t matter.

Classic heavy metal blares from downstairs and rattles the floor beneath me. The front door slams over and over as more students come and go. There’s talking, lots of laughing.

They’re the kind of people who don’t have a bunch of shadows hiding inside them. People who can have fun. People whose only challenge on a Friday night is what to wear to an eighties theme party.

If only that were me.

I may look like I belong with them, but deep down inside, I don’t. They don’t live with secrets and forgotten memories like I do.

My shoulders feel heavier than they did before. I tighten my hold on the countertop to keep from falling backward on my butt.

Come on, Ivy. Get a grip. You can’t stay here all night.

For the first time since coming into the bathroom, I notice that the toilet seat and lid are up. I’ve always had this irrational fear that I, my cell phone, or my keys will somehow fall into a toilet bowl if it’s open. I force myself to stand, reach over with my foot, and kick it down.

The noise jolts me, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

My reddish-brown hair hangs in limp waves past my shoulders, the corkscrew curls all but gone now. Twin tracks of mascara are running down my cheeks. I don’t recall actually crying, but it’s obvious I have been. How long have I been in here, anyway?

I turn on the faucet to wash my hands and splash my face with water. Maybe that will help.

My stomach clenches with revulsion when I see the only towel in the room. It’s dirty and hangs crookedly on the rack over the toilet, limp and damp from use. Soap scum coats the sink and drain, even though you can tell someone tried to wipe it off with something. Probably that towel. A bar of Irish Spring sits in a waterlogged soap dish with—um, sick—a curly black pube clinging to the top.

No splashing my face with water. I turn off the faucet.

Someone pounds on the door and I jump. My gaze darts to the latch below the knob. Should it be turned to the left or the right? I did lock it, didn’t I? The crystal knob rattles, but the door doesn’t open. It’s still locked.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Come on. Hurry up.” It’s a guy, but I’m pretty sure it’s not him.

I don’t answer. Maybe he’ll go away. I need more time.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Not when part of the past I thought I’d left behind is playing quarters in the next room.

At first I couldn’t figure out why he looked so familiar. It took me two, maybe three seconds to figure it out. He's taller. More filled out than the last time I saw him. And he has a bushy beard that he didn’t have before. But I guess that makes sense. Lincoln Falls High has this tradition where all the senior guys who play a sport grow facial hair. Or, I should say, they try to grow facial hair. Some of them shave it off at the end of the season (thank God, because I hate beards), while others keep it all year long and look like the Duck Dynasty dudes in their Senior Prom pictures.

Maybe I can leave without him seeing me. I’ll open the door and hustle past the room where I saw him. My hair is long and thick enough that if I pull it over one shoulder and lean forward slightly, it’ll cover the whole side of my face like a curtain. If I’m lucky, I can be outside in like, twenty seconds, and then I’ll text Cassidy that I want to leave.

My heart rate has dropped from the about-to-have-a-heart-attack-and-die mode to just the really-freaked-out mode. Taking a deep breath, I reach for the door handle. My palms are sweaty, so I wipe them on my jeans and notice the teal polish on my toes.

Crap. Cassidy convinced me to wear these three-inch heels tonight because, paired with my skinny jeans and this cute teal H&M top I borrowed from her, I looked hot. (Those are her words, not mine.) Now I’m regretting that I let my vanity listen to her, because I won’t be able to run very easily. I slip them off and hook one finger under the back straps. Standing on my tiptoes, I try not to think about the skanky tile floor touching my newly pedicured bare feet.

Someone pounds on the door again. “Hey, Rickmeister, do you have a key? I think some chick’s in here getting sick.”

I just about jump out of my skin. And my bladder shrinks. I’m not saying I pee my pants, but I almost do.

“No fucking way,” another male voice answers. “Not another one.”

There’s more pounding and the door handle rattles again. My heart is seriously about to leap out of my chest right now. I take a step backward. The countertop presses into my butt.

“Hey, you in there, unlock the door.” This is a different voice. Which means there are at least three of them. There’s probably a crowd forming.

There is no way in hell I can go out there now. Everyone will be looking to see who locked herself in the bathroom and possibly puked her guts out. And by everyone, I mean him.

What are the chances that Chase’s brother Aaron would show up at PSU? And why now—just when I was really feeling like my life was getting back on track, and my past was in the rearview mirror?

But maybe what I’ve put together here is just a joke. A house of cards, ready to topple over in a light breeze.

No one from Lincoln Falls goes to school here. That’s one of the main reasons I picked PSU. He’d better not be a current student here. Surely I’d have seen him before now, right? Plus, my mom would’ve heard that Aaron was here and told me. Wouldn’t she?

But then, if she thought it would lead to another so-called meltdown, maybe she’d just say nothing and hope it wouldn’t come up. She’s always had a close personal relationship with her friends Denial and Avoidance.

I glance desperately around the room, looking for some options. The shower curtain is clear, so it’s not like I can pull it closed and hide in the tub. Which, if I’m being truthful, is a stupid idea anyway. Speaking of stupid ideas, there’s a door that I’m pretty sure is a closet, but I open it anyway.

Yep. A closet. Full of shelves. Nowhere to hide.

The window above the toilet is open a few inches and doesn’t have a screen. But more important, if I stand on the toilet lid, I’m pretty sure I can pull myself up and climb through. It occurs to me that this is an old house and windows in old houses are notoriously sticky.

I push on it. The window slides open easily without even squeaking.

If that’s not a sign I’m meant to do this, I don’t know what is. I mouth a silent prayer of thanks.

A blast of frigidly cold ocean air hits me in the face. Not realizing I’d been holding my breath, I let it out slowly, inhaling and exhaling a few more times. I feel slightly less trapped.

But now what? It’s dark and I can’t see much. I could step out and literally fall to my death.

And then I remember seeing guys on the roof when we came to the Christmas party here last month. Two of them were singing carols with a megaphone, while others threw beads and hard candy, like they were on a parade float. A piece hit me in the shoulder when a few of us were walking around outside. I hesitated, because I’m a serious candy freak, but kept walking when I realized it was butterscotch. I hate butterscotch.

To make a long story short, the roof has a lot of flat parts.

Careful not to touch the towel, I step onto the toilet. If half-wasted guys dressed like nuns and priests can walk on the roof of this house, surely it can’t be that hard.

* * *

Two hours earlier…

When things don’t go the way you planned, something needs to change. Hoping a situation will magically get better without doing anything different has gotten me into a lot of trouble. I once heard that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting different results. Let’s just say I’ve had my share of mental health “issues,” so I’m sensitive to stuff like this.

“What?” Cassidy yells above the music, leaning closer and cupping her hand to her ear.

“I think we should leave.” I blow into my bare hands. It didn’t occur to me to bring gloves.

She rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated look. “It’s not that cold, Ivy. Besides, we just got here.”

My roommate and I, along with a bunch of other people, are standing on the covered porch of the huge old house. With the rain coming down in sheets, we’re waiting to get into the first big off-campus party of winter quarter. Everyone’s huddled together trying to stay warm and dry, talking and laughing about what they did over the Christmas break. None of them look as cold as I feel.

“Yeah, twenty minutes ago.”

You have to be on the list or vouched for in person by someone who lives here. Guess they think that’ll stop the cops from busting them. But Cassidy’s cousin forgot to put our names down, which we didn’t find out until we got to the front of the line, so we’ve been waiting for him to come get us. Cassidy doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, even though her family used to live in Hawaii up until a few years ago. As a transplant from California, I haven’t built up my cold weather calluses yet. It’s like going barefoot for the first time in the summer. It hurts until your feet toughen up.

“I’m developing a serious case of frostbite. I think it could be fatal.” I let my teeth chatter for effect.

Cassidy puts her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Don’t be so lame. It’ll be worth it once we get inside. Trust me.”

I hope she’s right. Although I’ve been to a few parties since I started at Pacific State University in the fall, they’re not really my thing anymore. But since I don’t have a lot of homework yet, I couldn’t use that as an excuse not to come with Cassidy.

The guy and girl at the sign-in table are wearing mullet wigs. “Welcome to the FA Eighties,” the dude shouts to the people next in line. “Name please.”

Two guys in PSU baseball caps and high school letterman jackets step forward. I can’t tell if they’re still in high school (which would be weird) or if it’s just part of their costume.

“What does FA mean?” one of them asks.

“Fucking Awesome Eighties,” the sign-in dude says without looking up from the pages. He makes a check mark next to their names. The girl hands them each a red plastic cup and they head inside.

The guys who live here are known for throwing outrageous themed parties. The one last month right before the break had a “religious” theme. I say that in quotes because, apart from the costumes—Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Moses, Buddha, druids, even a pope—it was far from saintly. At least you don’t have to come in costume, because I’m not really the cosplay type.

The opening guitar riff from “Back In Black” pierces the night air. Cassidy lets out a little squeal, puts her hands on her knees and starts to shake her butt.

“Oh my God!” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Are you crazy?” Is my roommate seriously starting to twerk? If so, I am sooo disowning her. She’s not even buzzed—this is the normal Cassidy. I glance around. People are staring, not quite sure what to make of her either.

“Come on,” she says, trying to get me to dance with her.

I hold up my palms. “No, no, and no. I think you’ve got your decades mixed up.”

Undeterred, Cassidy continues to dance, and sure enough, a few others join her. I step back and watch, shaking my head. Cassidy is one of those self-assured people who doesn’t think twice about doing something totally crazy that draws attention to herself. I guess that’s what makes her so fun, even if she mortifies the hell out of me sometimes.

A girl from my humanities class last quarter is right next to me, laughing. I can’t remember her name. Kako, maybe?

“Is that your roommate?” she asks.

“Yeah, she—”

Kako starts taking pictures with her phone and I lose my train of thought.

“Are you…going to post those?” I ask warily.

“What?” Kako yells, not taking her eyes off the phone display.

“Online. Are you going to post those pictures online.”

“What?” she repeats. “I can’t hear you.”

I look around and realize that others are doing the same thing. When Cassidy makes devil horns and sticks her tongue out at someone taking a picture, I know I’m overreacting. I just need to relax. Not everyone is as concerned about online privacy as I am.

“Never mind.”

After the song is over, Cassidy comes back, laughing and out of breath.

“Nice,” I tell her. “Very classy.”

“If you’d joined us, you’d be much warmer now. You need a drink, Ives. A serious one. As soon as we get inside, we’re going straight for the keg.”

They call this place the White House, because it’s, well, white, and it’s a mansion. Someone’s grandma lived here until she moved to a nursing home a few years ago. It’s basically like a frat house for the grandson and a bunch of PSU guys, without the rules or the social obligations.

Cassidy catches me checking the time again. “Would you just relax? Tate said he’d be out in a minute.”

“You sure he’s not dogging us? Maybe he doesn’t want to corrupt his sweet, innocent cousin.”

She makes a face at me. “I’m sweet, but hardly innocent.”

“Tell me about it.” I lean against the pillar and cross my arms. “You’d better not be texting me another XOX tonight. I spent way too long in the TV room the last time. I ended up watching a bad sci-fi movie on Netflix with those two guys who live on the third floor, and I really don’t feel like doing that again.”

“I told you earlier Will was coming over. It’s not like you didn’t have any warning.”

“Five minutes is ample warning?”

“Try thirty.”

“Ten. Maybe. And that’s being generous.”

“Okay, fifteen.”

You can’t win with Cassidy. She hates losing an argument. “Whatever. The point is, you didn’t give me much time to make other plans.”

“He’s not here tonight, anyway. He went home for the weekend.” Something in her voice doesn’t sound quite right.

I frown. “Will went home? Why so soon?”

She pretends to be examining her nails, but I can totally tell she’s not. “We only Skyped once during the break.”

“Just once in four weeks? I figured you guys would be talking every day.” They were getting pretty damn serious toward the end of last quarter. Will even spent Thanksgiving with her family.

“Yeah, so did I. But every time I texted him, he said he was busy and didn’t have time to talk. It was really…weird. I think he might have hooked up with his old high school girlfriend.”

“Why do you think that?” I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned this before now. Maybe that’s why she insisted on coming to the party. She needs something to keep her mind off the fact that Will might be cheating on her.

She shrugs. “I wish you did some kind of social media, Ivy—then maybe I’d know if I was being paranoid or not. Over the break, I stalked him online and…”

Stalked?

I’m suddenly boiling hot with this scarf around my neck. I tug on it to make it looser. “What? So I can…stalk…him, too?”

“I want to know what you think. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I mean, he can be friends with an old girlfriend without wanting to hook up with her again, right? Maybe that’s all it is.”

“I suppose it’s possible…”

“But not probable,” she finishes for me. Her shoulders sag.

I don’t want to go all negative on her and agree, but I think she’s right. Why else would Will not want to talk to her during the break? Before I can reply, a string of obscenities erupts from inside the house, followed by a few loud grunts. Sounds like an argument has just gotten physical.

The two people at the sign-in table jump up in unison. “What the hell?” the guy says, stomping toward the door. “If it’s one of those high school kids, I’m going to be so fucking pissed.”

“They’re letting in local high school kids, but they make us wait outside? That is sooo lame.”

“Maybe it’s someone’s little brother and his friends,” Cassidy says. “Ryan visited me my freshman year and got so sick at a party that he puked on my neighbor’s bed and passed out in the men’s bathroom. The RA found him in the shower at six in the morning, wearing leopard-print underwear and nothing else.”

I laugh. “Poor Ryan. What kind of a big sister are you?”

“He was supposed to be staying in my friend Steve’s room, but he wandered off.”

The music stops. Now we can really hear the fight. I’m envisioning someone getting slammed up against the wall and furniture being knocked over.

We press our faces up to the glass next to the front door. It’s frosted and all we can see are a bunch of shapes. But the shapes are—

Cassidy and I jump out of the way just as two guys come crashing through the door and fall at our feet. Instantly, people from inside and outside the house crowd around us.

“Are you fucking crazy?” The guy on the bottom is trying to wriggle free. He’s the smaller of the two. Wiry, with long arms and legs, he flails against his opponent, but the guy on top is much stronger.

From this angle, I can’t see the stronger guy’s face, just his broad back and shoulders. His black T-shirt stretches tightly over tattoo-covered biceps. I wouldn’t be surprised if the shirt had a graphic on the front for an MMA gym, because this guy is definitely tough. None of the smaller guy’s punches seem to be having much of an effect on him.

Grabbing fistfuls of the skinny guy’s shirt, the stronger guy hauls him to his feet. Dark hair hangs over his forehead, obscuring his face. He reminds me of a wild animal, ready to rip out this guy’s throat. I seriously wouldn’t be surprised if he let out a growl right now.

“Oh my God,” a girl behind me whispers. “That’s Jon Priestly.”

“Which one?” her friend asks. “I’ve never actually seen him in person before.”

“The hot one, silly. The one beating up that other guy.”

Jon Priestly? I take a closer look. He’s obviously someone well known at PSU, but I’ve never seen or heard of him. Maybe he’s one of the football players. He definitely looks like one. Unlike the tiny college I transferred from, which was basically an extension of high school, playing at a Division One school like PSU is a big deal. Many of the players go on to play professionally.

“Get the fuck out of here,” the guy named Jon is saying.

“But it’s not my fault. Brick said—”

“I don’t want to hear your lame-ass excuse, Chris. You’re done.” He points toward the road. “Out.”

I have no idea what this Chris guy did, but since he’s the weaker of the two, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. I’ve seen anger like this before and believe me, it’s not fun being on the receiving end. In fact, it’s terrifying. I clasp my hands together to keep them from trembling. I’m so close to what’s going on it’s like I’m a part of the action with the anger directed at me.

My head throbs as bits and pieces of another fight flash in my head.

No. Don’t go there. You can’t.

I rub my temple, aware that I need to shut it down quickly, otherwise I’ll end up with a debilitating migraine—one that could last for days. Not good at the beginning of the new quarter. The medication I take does help, but I only have one or two pills left.

“Ivy, are you okay?” Cassidy whispers, her eyes wide. She’s looking at me like I’m the one who just got beaten up. My face must be ash white.

“I’m fine,” I mutter. With the crowd pressing in around us, it’s not like I can easily turn around and leave, anyway. I continue watching, even though I don’t want to. When you mix alcohol and male egos together, the resulting cocktail is often a bloody and violent fight.

Chris adjusts his baseball cap, angling it backward. “God, you are so fucking uptight, Priestly. I said I’d get it.”

“You’re too late. Your promises don’t mean shit anymore.” Jon’s tone is knife-edge sharp. I wouldn’t want to cross him.

“That’s not true,” Chris is saying. “I—”

Jon jabs a finger at him like a weapon. Chris jumps backward, just out of reach. Scratch what I said about him looking weak. The guy is small, but he’s wiry and quick. The fight isn’t as one-sided as I thought.

“You owe a bunch of money,” Jon says. “And the fact that you didn’t pay when you said you would has caused a lot of problems. Problems that someone like you couldn’t begin to understand.”

“Seriously? You need to relax. It’s not like you can go to the Bahamas on three hundred bucks. Besides, I never said I wasn’t going to pay. I said I was good for it and I am. But it’s going to have to wait till next week, when my dad puts money into my—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jon holds up his hands. “You’re using your daddy’s money to buy weed? Does he know he’s funding your extra-curricular activities?” He’s looking at Chris like I look at someone who’s hawked up a loogie on the sidewalk.

Cassidy and I exchange glances. So this fight is about weed. Jon sells it and Chris buys it. Neither of us smokes weed, but we’ve both tried it—a fact I learned about her on the second day we met, along with a bunch of other details that usually take weeks for strangers to share with each other. Like the number of guys she’s slept with (five). She’s lactose intolerant and gets diarrhea if she eats dairy. Also, her mother made her get one of those under-the-skin birth control implants right before she left for college because, in her mom’s words, “College is one big sex-fest.” We had a good laugh about that.

“Who cares where I get the cash? Am I right?” With a cocky expression, Chris looks around at everyone, flapping his arms like a football player trying to incite the crowd for the next play. I can’t tell if anyone is agreeing with him or not. He turns back to Jon. “I said I’d pay and I will. Money is money.”

Jon shakes his head, his eyes flashing with anger. His whole body is tense and flexed, his hands balled into fists. A few black leather bracelets are stacked around one wrist. Either that, or it’s one long cord that he’s wrapped around and around. I tear my gaze away. I have a thing for guys who wear man-jewelry, but I definitely don’t want to be jonesing for this one.

“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” Jon says through clenched teeth.

“You need to chill. What’s one more week? The bitch is loaded.”

Jon’s punch is lightning fast. It hits the guy in the face and knocks him into the porch column next to me. I try to jump away, but the sea of people is as solid as a brick wall. Blood splatters, making a fan pattern on my cute white jacket. A few people in the crowd scream, including me.

Jon glances up, and for a split second, his gaze locks on mine. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. All the oxygen has evaporated from the surrounding air as well as from inside my lungs. It’s like I’m the one who’s had the wind knocked out of me, not his opponent.

I’ve never seen eyes like his before. So vibrant. So stunning. You’d expect someone with hair as dark as his to have the dark eyes to match, but his are a pale, crystal blue. Like cut glass lit from within. And right now, they’re icy shards, freezing me in place.

It takes me a moment to catch my breath, for the blood to flow into my fingers and toes again. By that time, his attention is back on the guy he just hit.

Chris touches his mouth and nose. His hand comes away covered in blood. “What the fuck, Priestly? You broke my nose.”

“Actions have consequences,” Jon says. “That’s one of them.”

“I can’t believe you actually broke my nose.”

The way he says it makes me wonder if they hang out or might have been friends at one time. Guys are weird. They can be best friends one minute, then beat the crap out of each other the next.

Gingerly touching his nose, Chris mumbles under his breath, “You’re such a fucking loser.”

Jon lunges forward again and grabs him. The crowd parts as he drags him down the steps like a rag doll. Away from me. I can finally breathe again.

Once they’re out on the lawn, he gives the guy a hard shove. “You promised to pay, dickwad. Or didn’t your daddy teach you that? Stella’s not running a charity. Now, get the fuck out of here before I break something else.”

A low murmur runs through the crowd. “Stella?”

“Who’s Stella?”

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he dumped her.”

Chris lobs a few more parting insults, but when Jon starts after him again, he storms across the lawn with as much swagger as he can muster. He jumps into a shiny black Beemer parked halfway down the driveway and floors it. Gravel sprays in a wide arc, hitting a few nearby cars. I’m glad I parked around the block. Even though I have a POS car, I’d have been pissed if it got pelted with rocks.

Jon rubs his bloody knuckles as he turns back to the house. “Party on,” he says, and everyone laughs.

The music returns, and people are laughing as they line up again to get inside. It’s like the fight we witnessed was just a blip—a rock breaking the surface of the water, making a momentary ripple. I wonder if stuff like this happens all the time at the White House. No wonder the place has a reputation.

Jon stops to talk to a group of girls standing at the foot of the porch steps, their faces turned up to him like he’s some sort of rock star. Yeah, he must be on the football team.

“Are you okay, Ives?” Cassidy repeats her earlier question. “And your jacket. Ugh.”

I plaster on a smile and try to sound lighthearted. “Well, that was interesting. Does that happen often?” I take off my blood-splattered jacket and hold it by the loop in the collar. “I’m fine. But I don’t think this is.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” the girl behind her says. “I hope it comes out.”

Cassidy agrees. “Maybe we can dab it with water once we get inside.”

It’s a two-hundred-dollar North Face jacket that I bought at Nordstrom Rack for seventy-five bucks of my own money. It’s really cute. Slim, like a shell, not bulky but very warm. I’ll be pissed if it’s ruined. “That’s what I get for wearing white, I guess.”

It pains me to say that. Growing up, my mom never let me wear anything white, saying it stained too easily and that I was too messy. Even in high school, she bitched about me buying anything completely white. Seriously, white shorts are the cutest, but no, I didn’t have a pair. So when I first went to college, I went on a white shopping binge. Skirts, shorts, jeans, tops.

I’ll probably need to call her for stain removal advice. I’ll tell her I got a bloody nose or something, which wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. After the accident, I was getting them once a week or so. Then again, I don’t want her worrying about me. That would be worse.

Jon’s coming up the steps now, all five girls in tow, one hanging off each arm. They’re each wearing matching pink T-shirts that say something about…church? Okay, that’s weird. Must be a sorority joke. Moving aside to let his entourage pass, I lean back against the porch pillar as Cassidy talks animatedly to that girl. As soon as she’s done, I’m going to tell her I want to go. I can feel the beginning of a headache starting to form at the base of my skull already.

Cassidy stops in midsentence and stares just over my shoulder. Something strong closes around my upper arm and pulls me around. However, instead of swiveling, the heel of my shoe slips on the wet porch floorboards. As if in slow motion, I’m falling headlong into a hard male body, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I hit that muscular chest with an umph and slide cheek-first down the black T-shirt, stopping literally inches from his belt.

And the bulge below it.

Oh my God. I am so freaking embarrassed right now.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” Long-fingered hands cup my elbows and set me back on my feet. “You okay?” Jon’s voice is soft and tinged with amusement, but not cruel. Totally different from when he was talking to Chris.

“I’m…uh…fine.”

A clean scent, faintly spicy, fills my nostrils and lungs, invading my body, and courses through my veins like an illegal substance. He doesn’t loosen his grip or step away, and although my teal top has long sleeves, my skin burns where his hands are touching me. He steals away my breath, my energy, my very essence.

Without blinking, he holds me at arm’s length and lets his gaze travel slowly over my body. Every inch of me tingles. And I mean every inch. My toes. The backs of my knees. Between my legs. My belly. My ears. My scalp. All my senses are on complete overload and for a split second I feel myself teetering. If he wasn’t holding onto me, I’d have to place a hand on the pillar to steady myself to keep from falling again.

He’s a good six or seven inches taller than I am, which is impressive, since I’m five foot eight. I’m used to looking guys straight on, or at least almost straight in the eye, so it’s a weird sensation for me to crank my head up like this. He’s got black gauges in his earlobes the size of a medium-tipped Sharpie. A bruise is starting to form under his left eye. Guess he took a few blows after all.

I should say something to fill the awkward silence between us, but nothing that’s not completely stupid comes to mind. Nice right hook or Good fight don’t seem appropriate.