When I catch a whiff of him, I realize he’s the source of the nauseating cologne. Given that he’s rubbed all over me, I’ll have live with the smell until I take a shower. He holds a drink out for me, and grins like a fool. There’s food in his teeth, pepper or poppy seeds. I’m not sure, but it’s repulsive. I go against my better judgment, force a polite smile and reach for my waiting drink.
In a flash someone clasps down on my wrist and lifts the drink out of my hand.
“No, thank you, buddy. She’s had enough,” Brady shouts through the music, and shoves the drink into the guy’s chest. Alcohol sloshes over the top of the glass and lands on the guy’s shirt.
Wordless, I stand rooted to this spot, completely flabbergasted. The glass falls to the floor. Miraculously it doesn’t shatter, just rolls away.
The guy looks at Brady, as shocked as I am. “Whoa, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he yells.
It is then I realize Brady still has a hold of my wrist. What in God’s name is he doing here?
The rage and anger pouring out of Brady is palpable; his skin paling and jaw twitching. This could get ugly quick. “How drunk did you need her to be? Go prey on some other unsuspecting female. Leave this one alone. She’s off limits. You fucking got that?”
What is happening? I gape at him in disbelief as anger vibrates through my skin. Brady Hunter doesn’t get a say-so in my goddamn love life. Last time he had any involvement in this area of my life, I ended up with a big ol’ fat broken heart!
And yet, as much as I hate to admit it, I’m kind of elated Brady showed up. The stench from the guy’s two-dollar bottle of Axe cologne is nauseating. It’s time to cut him loose.
If Brady gets rid of him, I don’t have to come up with a creative way to do it myself. Now I just have to find a way for the two of them to make nice so things don’t escalate.
The guy starts to sidestep Brady to speak to me, but Brady stops him with his free hand. The guy stops in his tracks and gestures toward me. “Maybe we should ask her what she wants.”
Brady’s chest lifts. “If you want to keep your face intact, I suggest you don’t ask her anything.”
Brady’s sending him a warning, and for this guy’s sake, he better take it. Brady’s always been hot-tempered and I’ve seen him in many fights, but I’ve never seen him lose.
Before I can form words, the guy swings at Brady. Brady releases my wrist and moves quickly enough that the guy barely clips his jaw. Brady’s return punch is instant and lands right on the guy’s nose. He shrieks in pain. Blood gushes, spurting out between the guy’s fingers while he holds his face. He stumbles backward until his knees give and he falls.
Yelling ensues as people bend down to help the guy stand. With unsteady legs, I start to make my way over to him to see if he’s alright. Brady grabs my hand and carts me behind him until we are outside the club. Because I have to run to keep up with Brady’s long strides, I nearly fall over but manage to c
atch myself. We don’t stop until we’re on the side of the building. It’s pouring rain. This is the way my night is going. It never rains here, but tonight it is fucking raining.
I rip my arm from Brady’s strong grip, and whirl around, glaring at him. “What the hell was that about, Brady? Jesus Christ, I think you broke his nose.”
Brady throws his hands up, and lets out an irate blast of air. “Fortunately for him, that’s all I did. That dirty bastard should be thanking me for not killing him.” He casts his eyes over me, and I look up at him. He’s insanely pissed. “Don’t you know better than to take drinks from strange men in bars?” His voice sounds overly concerned for someone who doesn’t give a crap about me.
Guh! I do know that. Goddammit! My head is swimming in alcohol, clouded and confused. I haven’t been thinking clearly. When I open my mouth, I taste the rain before I speak. “I wasn’t going to drink it.”
I’m lying my ass off, and the disbelief on Brady’s face is clear. “Good thing! That douchebag put something in it. When I saw who he took it to, I completely fucking lost it.”
His “swoop-in-and-save-the-day” gloating is sending my anger to new heights. “Why do you care anyway, Brady? It’s obvious you hate me just as much as I hate you.”
He’s pacing. Drops of water spray out around his face as he rakes his fingers furiously through his dark wet hair. “Fuck this shit!”
Brady closes the gap between us, and marches toward me, his boots slapping against the wet ground. Nervously, I back away from him until the cold bricks of the wall bump into my back. I inhale a long fortifying breath, and glare anxiously at Brady. My heart pounds in my throat, and I struggle to swallow against it.
With one arm on each side of me, his palms flatten against the bricks behind me. I’m completely caged in. Our noses practically touch as hot breath mingles between us. Rain droplets fall from his dark lashes and land on his cheeks. The tear-shaped drops catch in his stubble, changing directions like a pinball. I breathe in through my nose and smell whiskey on his breath, mixed with a scent I’ve loved my entire life: Brady. As his heated gaze burns into me, I shake away my thoughts, knowing how wrong he is for me.
“Is that what you think, Tor, that I hate you?” His fiery eyes burn into me, and my body trembles as desire rages like an inferno ready to ignite my skin.
I blink twice, pour a cold bucket of water on my thoughts, and hang my head. “You helped Jake cheat on me.”
He puts his fingers under my chin, and lifts my head. “I’m finished playing games with you,” he whispers. I shiver and tell myself it’s from the rain. “Jake was always a cheat. I just sped the part along where you found out what a complete prick he is.”
“You’re such a liar!” I will not cry. “I hate you, Brady!”
“Do you, Tor?” His fingers leave my chin and slide down my neck. His index finger presses into my flesh just below my collarbone. When he begins trailing it down my skin, chasing a raindrop, I ignore the heat burning inside me like red-hot coals, and shake my head stubbornly. His finger stops when it reaches the curve of my left breast. “Look right here and ask yourself if you honestly hate me.”
Brady’s right, I definitely don’t hate him. I wish I did, though.