Page 26 of Notorious Man on Campus

“We?” Dylan asks. Time for me to take control. I give the group an abbreviated version of the story upstairs outside my room.

“Remember the story about how Jack Hunter had a stalker and they had to throw her out of school?” Roman says.

“This isn’t that,” I say. I’m pretty sure. “She’s not psycho, but she’s wants revenge. And she’s smart, so keep your eyes and ears open. I don’t want to be blindsided.”

“You ever think of placating her?” Dylan says.

“No.” I say it with enough finality to end the discussion, but I don’t miss the disagreement in Dylan’s and Roman’s expressions at my dismissal of the tactic. I don’t need to add that I’m not about to be blackmailed into dating someone I have no interest in, not that I ever have interest in anyone. I skim my eyes past Nyla without looking at her as my body tenses with the half-lie.

My interest in Nyla isn’t healthy. It’s no more than the interest one needs to have in one’s enemy, in the kind of woman who would betray one brother by seducing the other. It’s not exactly what happened, but close enough to make me wary as hell for the rest of my life.

“Now let’s get back to the party,” I say. “It’s not over until I get the band to do one last song.” The signature BMOC house last song, We Are the Champions. It’s cornball as fuck, but I allow it because everyone’s drunk at the end of the night anyway.

Chapter 10

Nyla

The party’s still pretty crowded as we parade down the front stairs into the living room, which is now a giant dance floor with most of the furniture removed. The band is set up against the far wall and they look like they’re packing up. But Brick saunters over and gets the attention of the lead singer. I don’t know what he says, but the singer’s face lights up and he laughs. Then he directs his band to set up for another song.

My eyes stay on Brick until he’s swallowed up by admirers and pals, with that smirk in place and his blue-green eyes focused on whoever is talking to him. Heaving a sigh, I catch Dooley’s attention.

“I’m going outside for air,” I tell him and he nods. But he’s wrapped up anticipating whatever song the band is preparing to play and he’s ready to dance. Dancing isn’t my strong suit, so I head through the kitchen and to the back door.

The back deck should have collapsed by now, judging from the number of people standing on it. The twin kegs of beer made it a popular spot all night long. Some random guy looks me over and lets out a wolf whistle. I smile at him because his appreciation is so obvious and unfiltered and it’s a refreshing change from the enigmatic Brick.

I keep going until I get to the stairs and take the three steps down to the grass where I finally get space and air and I’m alone. Or so I thought.

“Hey there, sweetheart.” It’s what Brick calls me when he’s humoring me, but this guy’s voice does the opposite to me, the word taking on a slimy feel. I turn to him and I recognize him as one of the guys on the team, a big guy. I think he’s a lineman. I nod and walk around the side of the house, heading back to the front yard. He follows. Shit.

“Bored with the party?” he asks, still a few steps behind me. I hurry my pace and reach the front yard where there are… no people. The air is chilly and I can hear the band playing inside. The big lineman invites himself into my space now and touches me, only on my arm, but it makes me jump.

“You’re a real doll, you know that?”

“Thanks.”

“How about if we hook up?” He nods toward the house. I’m horrified at the suggestion and it’s all over my face because his lecherous grin turns sour at my look. “It’s not that bad.” He runs his hand down my arm. “You look like you’d be lots of fun and I can show you a real good time.” Stepping away, I pull my arm from his touch, but he holds onto me.

“I’m not interested.” He frowns and stumbles. I can smell the alcohol.

“What’s wrong with me? I’m not good enough for you?” He falls forward.

“You’re stinking drunk, for one thing,” I say, almost laughing.

“You laughing at me?” He pulls me close, slamming me into his oversize body. “I’m good in bed, sweetheart. You won’t be sorry.”

“I’m already sorry,” I say because it’s the first thing that pops into my head and I’m wondering how the heck I’m going to get him off me. He almost growls in response and holds me tighter instead of letting me go. “Look, I bet there’s plenty of other girls who would be glad to take you up—”

“I want you,” he says, but his words have the opposite effect of flattery. They make me shudder with revulsion and I push him in the direction of the cars.

“You need to get in your car and sleep it off,” I say. But he’s holding onto me, leaning in, probably to keep himself on his feet. I stumble, trying to get out of his hold. I manage to shuffle him to the line of cars and push him against the side of a sturdy SUV, but he wraps his arm around me and gives me a leering smile.

“This your car, baby?”

“Damn it, let go of me.” My voice is sharp and his head snaps back like I slapped him and he’s been half dazed. I wonder if it’s alcohol that has him struggling or something worse.

Shit. I take a deep breath to calm down. We’re out in the front yard and even though it’s dark, everyone can see us. If they look out the window. Someone will help me find him a bed or take him home, right?

“You’re really pretty,” he slurs and tightens his arms. He leans in to try and kiss me.