I follow Knox, Miles, and Greyson into Haven. My mood is black. I’ve been listening to asinine comments about Aspen the whole fucking evening. Guys who think she’s now fair game. Their wallets opened and their brains fell out.
Maybe I should let someone else try to fuck her and see how they do. She’s a wildcat when she wants to be—the lake house party taught me that. But she seems softer nowadays. More inclined to be nice and take my dick like a hooker.
So I turned her into one.
“Oh, shit,” Greyson laughs, glancing over his shoulder at me. “We’re late to the party.”
She’s on the bar. Lying across it like it’s a fucking bed. And she’s got a shot glass between her teeth, and another cradled between her tits. Which are very well near exposed by how low she’s pulled her shirt.
Dress.
Fuck.
I grit my teeth and storm forward, but Knox grabs my arm. “Hey, chill out, dude. This looks like a meltdown in progress, don’t you think? She’s spiraling. Which means your plan worked.”
I wanted her to be embarrassed to go out in public. I wanted her to be ashamed of being accused of having sex for money, that she’d swing completely in the opposite direction—like wearing turtlenecks and four layers to hide her curves.
Chase King, the football asshat who keeps talking to her, puts his lips around the edge of the shot glass in her mouth. He takes it from her and tips his head back, then removes it from his stupid, dumb mouth and smirks at her.
One of his teammates does the same to the shot glass between her breasts.
I’m going to beat the fuck out of both of them.
And I’ll consider my next move with Aspen, because labeling her like this has backfired. Spectacularly.
Knox and Greyson drag me to one of the U-shaped booths, pushing me into the center to keep me from escaping. Unfortunately, it gives me an excellent view of Aspen. And the way the football douchebag—not Chase, the other one—lets his hands linger on her when he helps her off the bar.
She leans into him.
And then her gaze collides with mine.
Her smile is slow and wicked, and the tension that’s been curling through me finally reaches a crescendo.
“Big fucking mistake.” I shove at Greyson to move. “Let me out.”
“You gonna show your cards now?” Greyson asks, his voice mild. “Are you going to storm over there and punch them, getting yourself suspended from our next game for fighting? And then Aspen will know that all she has to do to get a reaction from you is to flirt with someone else. How do you think your father will take that news?”
It’s irritating that he’s right. I sag back in the seat, and he nods.
“We’ll get payback later,” he assures me.
Knox orders us drinks. It seems like my gaze on Aspen only makes her behavior worsen. She smiles at every damn guy who walks up to her. She’s perched on the bar stool in the shortest black dress I’ve ever seen, her hair in bouncing curls around her shoulders. Her friend sits beside her, soaking up the attention that sloughs off Aspen and hits her.
Seems like the friend doesn’t care one way or another about how it comes to her.
“Look around,” Knox adds. “Every girl in here is glaring at her like she kicked their puppy. She’s diverting attention, and they hate it.”
He’s right. While the guys are attracted to her like bees to a flower, the girls around Haven seem like they want to stab her.
Aspen ignores them. Or doesn’t notice.
I catalog every face. Every guy she puts her hand on, touching their arm, their hand, their waist. And every guy who touches her. Every place. Her waist, her arm, her thigh.
“See?” Greyson smirks. “Now retribution will be so much sweeter.”
I drain my drink. Order another. Rinse and repeat, the alcohol blurring my rage. Aspen gets drunker, too. Her smile slips a few times, the mask cracking. I stare and stare, hoping that she feels the weight of it.
I flag down a waitress and ask for Aspen’s tab. I pay it, because if there’s one thing I’m not going to do, is let other assholes buy her more drinks. I order the waitress to deliver a message to the bartender: Aspen and her friend are cut off. Aspen’s eyes are half-lidded even now, her movements slowing.
She’s so fucking drunk—and they would’ve kept going, too.
Aspen seems bewildered that there’s no bill to pay, and I relish the uneasy exchange between her and the bartender. Finally, they leave.
The guys and I follow them out.
Knox and Greyson are loud, unperturbed by my silence. They don’t give a shit that I’m not joining in. Miles is quieter than usual beside me, too. I glance over at him, wondering what his deal is. But he doesn’t so much as bat an eye under my scrutiny.
They leave me at the top of Aspen’s street, heading for the hockey house. We have a game in two days, and Coach has been working us twice as hard to make up for our loss. If we lose again, we may as well kiss any hope of the national championship goodbye.
Aspen and her roommate are walking—stumbling—toward their apartment.
I stop outside and watch the lights in the living room go on. I settle across the street, the spot familiar from the last few times I’ve done this. The kitchen is at the back of the apartment, through the living room, and they’re not clear through the curtains. But they’re lingering, maybe drinking water to stave off a headache in the morning.
Eventually, though, the light goes off. Aspen’s bedroom light turns on next, and I catch her shadow as she passes the window. Copies of her keys are burning a hole in my pocket, connected to the ring that holds my own. Seemed fitting to add hers there, since I plan on using them often enough.
I pull open my phone and go to the website.
A white window pops up instead.
Error, page not found.
I grunt and log in to the back end. It shows up there just fine, but there seems to be a glitch. Still, I can access the log of submissions Aspen received through that contact form. Some are creepier than others, and my gut churns. It seems the website caught a wider net of psychopaths than I intended.
What I wanted was for the girls at school to hate her, and the guys to be… intrigued, maybe? Or scared off of her. Who wants to date someone who would spread her legs for anyone? Allegedly.
I guess we’ll find out the impact of that tomorrow, outside of the nasty looks she was receiving tonight. Damage done.
I delete the page and then the whole account. I go onto her social media and swipe through photos, my jaw tensing. Her most recent few, posted in the last two weeks, have blown up. A hundred comments on each.
That will be dealt with, too.
I chew on how to solve the problem of keeping assholes away from her. It takes a little while for me to come to a conclusion, but I smile to myself as I pull up another website. Once that’s done, I give Aspen twenty more minutes to fall asleep.
Then I move. I get into her apartment with ease and lock the door behind me. I slip through the long kitchen and living room, to the short hallway that leads to Aspen’s room, the bathroom, and her roommate’s door. Both of which, except the bathroom, are closed. It’s quiet in here, the silence seeming to echo inside my skull.
Without further delay, I step into her dark room. I don’t need a flashlight—I have the space memorized. But seeing her on the bed, on top of the covers and still in that fucking dress, spikes my anger again.
I’m going to mark her as mine. Soon.
But right now, my hands will have to do.
