Page 28 of Notorious Man on Campus

“No. The guys know better than to step out of line. Like I said, Sam is a freshman who needs to be dealt with before he makes another mistake.”

“Well you dealt with him.” I smile. “Job well done.” No use wishing his reasons were more personal, that he intimidated the shit out of the drunk guy for me. But maybe he’s hiding his true feelings, as usual. This is the second time Brick has come to my rescue and I wonder if his motives run deeper than he’s admitting.

“Now I need a drink,” he says. He moves his eyes over me and I see a flick of something more than cool assessment. Then I remember I’m all decked out and run a hand through my disheveled hair automatically.

“I have a private stash in my room,” I blurt because I’m channeling the true owner of these designer clothes, let’s call her Designer Nyla, because she’s so not me. I would never invite a guy into my room for a shot. I would never have a bottle in my room, except I do tonight courtesy of Dooley, the makeover magician. My fairy godbrother.

Brick studies me, and as usual I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But I can tell what he’s feeling. The heat coming off him, the sensual pull as he nods in a soft slight movement I feel like the thunder of a full orchestra in my chest.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

He nods. Then he smiles. “Payback. You rescued me first.”

I laugh.

“Let’s have that drink.” Not that I need it because his heart-stuttering smile, the one I’ve only ever seen a handful of times aimed at me, is heady enough to make me higher than a dozen shots of Jägermeister.

Chapter 11

Brick

Taking her hand, I pull her in the front door behind me, aware that she’s in some kind of stupor, judging by the radiant smile she flashes at me. But so am I. My stupor—or stupidity—is stress induced, trying to keep control of the party, my teammates, myself. It’s time I let loose now that it’s past midnight. I lock the front door of BMOC House behind me though the party is still going. No one else is allowed in, only out. I can finally relax. Next week is our bye week and we have tomorrow off as a reward for winning. After we pass through the dance floor and dining room, where I’m congratulated, patted on the shoulder, and high-fived another dozen times, we spill into the kitchen and I let go of her hand.

The kitchen is filled with people, including Dylan and Allie. I don’t want them to make anything out of me and Nyla, don’t want them to get the wrong impression about what we’re doing, what’s going on. Whatever that is. I don’t know what the right impression is, only that I want to keep her away from any more drunken horny guys and out of trouble so I don’t have to rescue her again. It’s what Majik asked me to do and not something I can hand off to Dooley.

Sharing a shot together in private to acknowledge the evening’s mutual rescues is a perfectly innocent thing to do.

Too bad my cock and I don’t feel innocent in the least. Not that I’m worried, because I have full control over my swelling cock. Always have, even when drinking. With my confidence intact and a low buzz humming through my system, I lead Nyla through the crowd, past Dylan as I slap him on the back.

He turns and darts a glance past me at Nyla. She’s right up against my back, the heat of her infusing me with more desire than I ever remember having from just a girl standing close.

“What are you two up to?” He smirks and I smirk back in a less friendly way.

“Not what you think. Some asshole just tried to maul her so I’m making sure we stick close.” Dylan frowns and nods. I’m holding back the story because I don’t want to get into it tonight. Nyla’s bound to feel some aftereffects. Damn it. I know this kind of thing can be traumatic. Fuck if I know how to handle it. And fuck if I don’t feel a driving need to handle it anyway. I’m responsible. Majik expects me to take care of Nyla and protect her from the assholes and I barely did my job. My forced cool numbness wears off, and I can feel my heart pound fast like I’ve just become aware. The danger and trauma Nyla must have felt punches me in the gut, blindsiding me like a defensive end on a ghost play. Fuck.

I cannot afford to care. She’s not mine and never will be. I don’t want her. Or anyone.

“Good idea,” Dylan says. “Any new cell phone incidents?”

I shake my head. “I locked the front door. Check the back and have the band announce last call in half an hour then they can play We Are the Champions.” He raises his eyes in surprise because it’s still early by our house party standards. We don’t usually shut our parties down unless the police force us to.

“Guess it’s for the best. Will do.”

Taking Nyla’s hand in mine, I feel the heat shoot through me, but I force myself to hold on and head in a roundabout way to the recesses of the kitchen where the storage area and Nyla’s room are tucked away behind the back stairs. I’m surprised her door isn’t locked when I open it and step into the darkness, tugging her inside with me. She pulls the door closed behind her and we stand face-to-face in the semidarkness, moonlight streaming through the window and reflecting in her eyes. I see the desire there shouting at me as loud as daylight.

“Nyla.” I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to make her back off, to quiet the leaping of my dick in response to her closeness, the flat-out seduction of her nearness. The answer to her call springs from me, my response more extreme than her question. I back up.

Shaky with resistance and the need to touch her, I palm the wall and flick on the light instead. It’s a round overhead fixture that glares down on us, reprimanding me for looking at her the way I am now. But I manage to keep control, if not my cool, as my pulse thuds.

“About that drink,” I say and turn away from her, theoretically looking for her stash but more because I can’t stand the pull of those eyes. Moving away from her, I wander into the room, glancing everywhere but at the bed. Strategic mistake, seriously fucking stupidity to come into her room. I’ve been here before and that should have been enough warning not to come back.

“Right.” She rushes to a shelf near her desk and pulls a bottle and two shot glasses from it, spinning around with a twitchy smile as if she’s nervous. Her nerves put me at ease because I’m a sick bastard. I don’t trust her, but I can see right through her. She can’t get to me unless I let her. And I’m not going to fucking let her.

“Jägermeister. Courtesy of Dooley. He brought it over earlier when he brought me all these new clothes.” She smooths her hands down her body, forcing me to follow with my eyes. I gulp down a shot of desire.

“Great.” The word sounds coated with nails as I spit it out. She doesn’t look at me as she pours the two shots, until she turns and holds one out to me like Eve holding out a shiny red apple. But this is no Garden of Eden and my mouth is parched, so I take the drink.

Strategic fucking mistake number two? Fuck yeah. But I can’t bring myself to walk to the door and leave. Somehow it seems like that would be an act of cowardice. I’m here to protect her, to reassure her and make sure she’s not traumatized by the fucking stupid drunk rookie, Sam Denard.