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“What are we going to do with her, Thatch?” Wells asked, biting his fist. He peered over me. “I can think of a lot of things.”
“Fucking touch me and—”
Dark hair, Thatch, grabbed my face. His fingers bit into my cheeks so hard he forced my jaw to relax and my mouth to open. Cool air hit my tongue until he breathed heat over it.
“I could think of a lot of things too,” Thatch said, making my tongue come out more. He bit at it, and I hissed. He laughed. “But since your memory fails you, how about we backtrack.” He settled an arm above my head, smelling like whiskey and flesh, sex. Something cool lingered beneath that, aftershave maybe, but this guy had definitely gotten laid sometime before whatever this was. I could literally smell the fuckboy on him. He wet his lips. “Sophomore year. You took a couple pictures of my buddy Wolf.”
My heart kicked at my chest, airflow nonexistent, and both boys laughed at this point.
“She remembers now, bro,” Wells crooned, and Thatch nodded.
“I see that too.” Thatch dragged his finger down my throat, and he didn’t stop until he pressed his knuckle into my cleavage. I shot elbows at him, but Wells got them. He then proceeded to grab my throat, and I choked, hacking. I kicked out my legs, but the two locked their hips against me, both boys impenetrable forces.
I gasped at a thought.
“Thatcher Reed,” I croaked out, tugging from the far-off spaces of my brain in desperation. My brow shot up at the dark-haired boy. “You’re Thatcher Reed,” I breathed out before facing the blond. “And you’re Wells Ambrose.”
I remembered them now, hard since they’d been wearing helmets the day I’d seen them. They’d aided Ares in that fight, two of the first, along with Dorian Prinze. Only their last names had been on their backs that day, but the news coverage that followed had certainly filled in the blanks. These were Ares Mallick’s teammates.
Friends.
“And the memory has fully returned.” Thatcher gave his leg a short round of applause with one hand. His other was preoccupied considering he still had it gripped on my fucking jaw. He leaned forward, his sharp earring brushing my cheek. “You should know our names before we have you screaming it.”
I wriggled, Wells really,reallybouncing now. I screamed, ramming my elbows into solid muscle, and somewhere above it all, I heard another voice, a throat clear.
It came from the doorframe.
Ares Mallick lounged casually against it, a beer in his hand, his eyes narrowed. He took a sip before pushing off the frame. “What’s going on here?”
Though his friends had stopped their pursuit, their hands definitely hadn’t left me. Thatcher faced me. “Found a redheaded weasel, Wolfy.”
“Yeah, remember this girl?” Wells yanked me forward, displaying me, and Ares came more into the light. He looked different than he had this morning, his curls up, his jaw clear of errant strands. His hairstyle displayed his undercut, and without his casual hoodie and high-tops, he appeared older. I mean, he had already. It’d been three years since I’d seen him, but the white tee and gray jeans he sported tonight hugged every inch of muscular definition through his lengthy body. He somehow managed to become even bigger than the already large boy I’d seen on the field that day, and the way he dominated his space definitely got my attention. His friends hadn’t let go but they were listening. Wells pushed me out. “Can you believe this shit? This is the girl who—”
“I remember her.” Ares drew off his beer again before tipping his bottle forward. “But I’m kind of wondering why you have your hands on her.”
His friends’ jaws dropped, both of them. They exchanged a glance with each other before Ares exchanged his beer with me. He got me by the arm while he handed his beer bottle off to Wells.
Wells blanched. “Wolf—”
“I’ll take care of it,” Ares said, but I noticed his gaze didn’t leave me. This was the second time he’d stood up for me, and though, again, he didn’t have to, I was certainly grateful for it this time.
I had been the last time, too, despite not having said it and, well, my actions. There were probably a lot of things that could have been different that day, and though I didn’t regret taking the pictures, I could have handled the situation a little better.
And maybe said thank you.
I one hundred percent would today, watching as all three boys exchanged a look between them. Wells and Thatcher in particular stared long and hard at Ares before easy grins touched their faces. I wasn’t sure what that was about, but soon, both boys placed them on me.
Thatcher tipped his chin at me. “You would have been better off with us, dollface,” he stated, then nudged Ares. “Cuz this dude? A fucking animal.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “Fuck you.”
Thatcher drew forward, his finger out. “I’d be careful, bitch, or I’ll take shit out on you after my boy does.”
I’d liked to see him try.
Asshole.
In any sense, he was mistaken as Ares and I had already buried the hatchet. This was something I might have been able to mention had he and his friend not had their fucking hands on me.
