Page 80 of Driven to Love

The blood drained from her face and an icy chill covered her body. Could he have thought it was more than a gesture of appreciation?

“Listen, I don’t know whatever you thought, but I really, really appreciated you coming to my rescue that night. But Corey, come on. You can’t still be upset that I didn’t buy you a pizza?”

Corey’s expression turned somber. Old memories haunted behind his eyes. “I could have used a friend back then.” He tipped his head up. His eyes bore into hers. “I waved at you in the hall. You turned the other way.”

“I’m sure I didn’t see you.”

His expression screamed bullshit.

She shrugged. “What can I say? I was a bitch back then. But it was one interaction. It’s not like we even had a date.”

“No, Greg was more your type.”

She dropped back onto the cot. Greg. How could she have forgotten Greg Miller? He was the starting quarterback for three years and had a full-ride offer to the U of M. He was night and day different from his twin brother. Her gaze dropped to his purple jersey.

Sadness ran through Corey’s blue eyes. No. Grief. Pain. Still present after a dozen years.

On instinct, she leaned forward, reaching for him. Her restraints stopped her.

Right. He took her hostage. Her wrists were chafing from the plastic ties. Between the electrical cords and the ties, she was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

“Corey, I—” It didn’t matter that she didn’t have words. From the look on his face, she could apologize until she was out of breath. He wasn’t going to listen. But she had to say it, if not for him, for her. “I’m sorry. Sorry you lost your brother. Sorry I was a bitch. Sorry we never had pizza and became friends.”

Her life might be in danger, but she couldn’t lie and say they would have dated. Old Addison wouldn’t have gone out with a guy less than an eight on the hotness scale. And while Corey was a solid seven now, he was not even a five back in school. He could have been great, but she wasn’t mature enough to see it.

She locked gazes with him. Tried to convey all the regret she was feeling. “Can we start over?”

A dry laugh filled the room. “I think it’s a little late for that.” He leaned in. The knife flashed in his hand.

Shit. She’d forgotten about the weapon. She opened her mouth to scream, and he pressed the knife to her throat.

“Of all the things I wanted to do to you, slitting this pretty throat wasn’t number one.” Corey ran his other hand down her cheek. His focus shifted from her eyes to her mouth.

“This isn’t going to bring Greg back.”

His eyes flashed, and spit flew from his mouth as he laughed. “Why would I want him back? The golden child… the star athlete… the bully.”

It hadn’t been grief in his eyes, but envy.

He cupped her face. His fingers dug into her cheeks.

Hell, no! She suppressed her trembling at his touch. She wouldn’t go down this way.

His focus locked on her mouth. He stroked a thumb over her lower lip.

Addison held her breath and chopped down—hard.

His curses filled the tiny space. The knife clattered on the cot.

Addison searched, her fingers on a mission for the blade.

“You bitch!” He slapped her.

Pain radiated through her cheek. She scowled at him, but inside, a thread of relief burst in her chest as her fingers touched the sharp edge of the blade. Palming the knife, she shifted her weight to conceal the weapon. Her hands and feet were bound, but she was able to move her legs. Scrunching up her knees, she kicked with both feet, channeling all her strength behind the action.

The move caught him off guard. She feverishly worked at the ties with the knife, but by the rage in his eyes, she didn’t have much time.

He dropped his head to the side and cracked his neck.