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He ushers me into a handicapped stall at the back of the bathroom and fists my long, dark hair into his hands as I drop to my knees in front of the toilet.
“You should leave,” I say. “I don’t want you to see this.”
He tightens his grip on my hair, and for a second, I’m reminded of how rough he can be in the bedroom. Not the time to think of that, Briana.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he growls. “Just get it out. You’ll feel better.”
I don’t have time to think about it before the contents of my stomach make an appearance in the toilet. Beads of sweat dot my forehead and slide down my neck and between my breasts. The room is still spinning, my body on fire from the war raging inside me. After I flush the toilet, Julian releases my hair. He balls some toilet paper in his big hands and wipes my mouth for me. What a nice gesture for such a shitty man. He didn’t seem to give a crap about me when he was kicking me to the curb.
Taking the paper from him, I clean up as much as possible and then lean back against the brick wall. I’m too ashamed to look up at him. I feel like I’ve gone to hell and back again and somehow lived to tell about it. Tears stream down my cheeks, most likely stained with streaks of mascara. My lips feel swollen and cracked, so rough they hurt when I run my tongue across them.
Surprisingly, Julian sits next to me on the dirty bathroom floor in his expensive dark jeans that probably cost his daddy five hundred bucks. “Do you feel any better?”
“Not much,” I admit. “My head is killing me. I feel like someone beat the shit out of me. It’s like a train is running through my skull.”
“Do you have anyone who can look after you?”
His question takes me by surprise. He knows better than anyone that I have no family and only one friend.
“No, Sadie went home for the weekend. Her cousin’s wedding is tomorrow night.”
“You can’t sleep for too long when you have a concussion. There’s a chance you won’t wake up.”
“I’ve survived on my own for years. I got it covered.”
“The worst is yet to come, Bri.” He shakes his head. “You're so stubborn.?
??
I smirk at the bastard. “And you're a trust-fund dick.”
His expression softens, his green irises so clear and bright when he locks onto me. “You can stay with me if you want.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “And get in the way of your philandering? I think not.” A beat passes before I add, “But thanks for the offer, I guess.”
“I’m not a philanderer.” He chuckles. “I forgot how eccentric you are. Who uses words like that?”
“Me,” I counter. “So, I guess you prefer womanizer, then. That does seem to suit you better.”
“Not quite,” he groans.
“How about player or Lothario?” He doesn’t speak, only blows out deep breaths as I continue, “Not like you would know what I’m talking about. That would require you to pay attention in class. Not everyone has a rich daddy who can pay off the professors because he doesn’t feel like waking up early with the commoners.”
“Knock it off, Bri,” he grumbles. “You know, I was trying to do something nice for you. Why can’t you just stop talking nonsense for one second? You always think you’re so much better than everyone.”
I snicker at his last comment, pointing a finger at my chest. “Me? Better than everyone? You’ve got to be kidding me, Richie Rich. I’m not the one who acts like they own the ground they walk on.”
“No, I don’t,” he mutters, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a Lo-whatever-io.”
I chuckle at his attempt to say Lothario. Stupid jock.
With one eye open, I glance over at him. His jaw is set like stone, his full lips pressed so tightly he looks like a statue of perfection. “Then, what do you call hooking up with seven girls in one week?”
His nose scrunches in irritation. “That rumor is unfounded.”
“I know guys like you, Julian. I’m sure it’s based on some merit.”
“You don’t know shit about shit,” he hisses. “It’s not true.” He throws his hand out in front of him. “Go ask my teammates if you don’t believe me.”
