Page 50 of Forced Proximity

A hand snakes behind my neck, tugs me forward and Conner pushes his mouth against mine. I’m hit with the smell of cigarettes, alcohol and testosterone. What in the fuck? I jam my forearm in-between his arms and push his shoulder back. ‘Jesus Christ, Conner! Not okay.’

Did that seriously just happen? Holy shit, I close my eyes for two seconds and he did that? My body rages, and I wipe my mouth with my palm.

Conner smirks. ‘Oh, you’re one tough bitch. I love it. I bet you could throw me around in the bedroom.’ His tone is dark and my stomach clenches. I drop my purse on the pavement. ‘You’re fuckin’ strong, too. What are you – one fifty? One sixty? Muscles everywhere. Your ass in that dress, though, shit.’

This is not happening. The very last thing I need is for Conner to do something even more stupid. I pin him with a sharp gaze. ‘Go back inside. Now.’

He sneers. He fucking sneers, and I feel the thing. Call it intuition, the universe or God, but it’s the second playfulness turns menacing. His eyes darken, his pupils dilate and the pulse in his neck accelerates.

Conner licks his lips, stares at my chest, then my mouth. ‘You wanna go? Let’s go into the alley. No one will see. We don’t have to tell Justin.’ He grabs my waist and I shove him back. He stumbles a few inches, then straightens.

‘Conner, listen to me.’ I pin him with my stare. ‘I promise this will not end well for you. Go back inside.’

He leans forward. Hair on the back of my neck stands up and my pulse slows. Without breaking my gaze, I toe off my heels and stand barefoot on the pavement.

‘God, that’s sexy as hell,’ he says, with a chuckle, then slides his tongue back and forth on his bottom lip. ‘You could dominate the shit out of me.’

And then, he lunges.

Chapter 24

Justin

The thumping club music is loud. Unfortunately, not loud enough to drown out what Ivy and her friend are saying. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but the only person I’m interested in chatting with is Doc. I flick my gaze through the crowd, to the wall and the bar, and my gut drops. Doc’s gone.

I leap up and beeline to Jack. ‘Where’s Doc?’

‘She left. Shift’s over.’ His stoic voice offers zero other details.

I check my watch. 12:05 a.m.. Dammit. I’d been ogling Doc all night like a love-struck teenager and was only momentarily distracted by the fake laugh and imposing questions from the studio receptionist. She left without saying goodbye? Doc has never left a shift without saying goodbye. Why did I touch her like that? I mean, I know why I did, but how shitty am I to think I had the right to do that, when she’s done nothing but draw hard, strict boundary lines since she started? Maybe she’s still outside. I have to find her. Now. ‘Which door?’

‘The northwest corner,’ Jack says. Where the hell is northwest? When I squint, he points to the left. ‘Over there.’

I split, and vaguely hear a muffled, ‘Jesus Christ, Justin. Wait!’

I weave through the crowd like I just caught a pass and am heading to the endzone. Before Doc leaves, I have to see her, apologize and explain my actions on the dance floor.

For once in my life, I’m just going to be honest and tell her while dancing, my emotions took over, and I lost in myself in her vanilla scent and silky-smooth skin. With her body so close to me, it took every ounce of my strength not to push her up against the wall and taste the lips I’ve been thinking about for weeks.

But then I did it – I put my hands on her thigh, without consent. The thought of her being so offended that she abruptly ended the dance makes me sick. So many men in Hollywood, hell, everywhere, do this. And now, me. Fuck.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter to someone that I bump into. Behind me, Jack’s pleas for me to stop fade into the crowd.

I throw open the side exit door, my heartbeat thudding in my chest. Where the hell is she? Behind the ropes to the left, people fill the sidewalk. No Doc. The rest of the sidewalk holds a handful of pedestrians. Shit. Is she gone already? She left less than five minutes ago. I pivot sharply, jog the other way, and freeze, squinting at the bodies on the otherwise empty sidewalk.

What the … I sprint harder than I’ve ran in years, my body blazing, taking in the scene. A barefoot Doc, gripping Conner’s wrist with one hand as her elbow drives into the back of his triceps. Conner dropping to his knees, trashing, yelling.

My feet pick up speed. Doc says something, Conner lifts, slowly, and stands against the wall, rubbing his arm. Doc steps several feet away from Conner, not breaking her gaze. She’s fierce as hell, but she looks so tiny next to him. Rage burns through me.

‘You stupid bit—’ Conner’s words are cut off by me slamming into him and gripping him the way Doc taught me on the mats.

Heavy breaths, shoving hands, yells fill the space. My ears ring, drowning out Doc telling me to stop. Red fills my vision, my throat is on fire. Doc jumps in between us, her arms strong, holding us apart.

‘Justin. Enough!’ she says, levelheaded. She’s sandwiched between Conner and I – two former USC football players who each outweigh her by at least fifty pounds and tower a good six inches – but she holds a straight back, steady arms and firm voice. ‘Go back inside. I have this under control.’

My heartbeat thuds in my ears. ‘No fucking way am I leaving you. What did he do to you? Are you okay?’ Conner must’ve forced himself on Doc. She would’ve never attacked him without cause. Hot lava courses through my veins. I’m going to rip off his skull. Doc’s hand pressing firmly on my torso is the only thing keeping me from a full-on assault.

‘Conner, you need to leave,’ Doc says, her voice authoritative and freakishly calm.