Trace tried again; this time she was able to push me onto my back before I flipped her again.
Exhausted, she closed her eyes and sighed when I was back on top.
“I’m tired… I think I got it…”
“Hell no.” I gritted my teeth and leaned down so that the full weight of my body was on her. “You don’t got it, you don’t have it yet. So help me God, I will keep you pinned to this damn floor all day if you don’t fight me like your life depends on it. Go again.”
Her eyes flared with anger as she wrapped her arms around my neck again. Our mouths were inches apart, both of us breathing hard from exertion.
Correction; she was breathing hard from exertion. I was breathing hard from the supreme self-restraint it took for me to keep my lips off of hers and my clothes on my body.
She groaned in agitation.
Son of a bitch.
She groaned again, and really, I wondered, in that moment, would death be worth it? Was a lifetime of friendship with Nixon that meaningless that I would just toss it away for one chance with this girl?
Tracey must have felt me pause. She took her chance, swung her leg around me, and with a loud shout pinned me to the ground.
“Well done.” Shit. Shit. Shit. I needed to get a girlfriend or find a distraction. Anything. So close, so damn close to ruining everything.
“I did it!” Her chest rose and fell with exertion; her sweaty white t-shirt was pressed tightly against her body.
“Yup.” I reigned in the lust. “You were a regular Tito Ortiz.”
“Who?”
I chuckled. “Never mind. Now get off of me before I throw you against the ground again.”
She laughed.
I didn’t.
I was damn serious.
Hanging by a thread. Huh, never understood that expression until now. Fantastic.
Chapter Four
Nixon
I sent Chase a quick text to meet back at our hangout on campus, or as Trace referred to it, the Bat Cave. I had exactly ten minutes to wipe the blood from my body and change my clothes.
On a more positive note, I’d been wiping blood from my hands for the past ten years of my life, so it wasn’t a new experience for me.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and reached for the salt and baking soda. I jerked off my jeans and held them under the cold water, then made a paste with the household stuff. After rubbing everything together I went and tossed them into the washing machine.
I was clad in only my boxers.
“If only it would wash away your sins…” a voice said from behind me.
“Ah, the bastard returns. Tell me, how was Women’s Studies?” I turned around to see Chase and Trace setting their bags on the couch.
“Awesome,” Chase said dryly. “I learned exactly how not to piss Trace off, so that should come in handy one of these days, or like in the next few seconds.”
“Hilarious.” Trace pushed him and then held out her hand to me. “I missed you.”
Was it wrong that I hated how much I missed her, too? I sighed and pulled her into my arms. God, she smelled so good. It always calmed me to hold her. Having her in my arms was the closest to heaven I would ever get.
“How was your day?”
“Better than yours.” She pulled back. “At least I kept my clothes on.”
Chase groaned from the couch.
“You okay?” I looked above Trace’s head.
“Splendid. Ask Trace about her KI class. She kicked my ass.”
Trace wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed me softly across the lips. It still made me feel—unbalanced—when people were touching me. Trace never knew the real reason. I swore I’d take it to my grave. But it always reminded me of his hands, of being strangled within an inch of my life, of being locked in my room without food. It just… it was damn difficult. And although she calmed me down—when she wrapped her arms around me, or when I felt like I had no escape—I panicked.
I slowly undid her hands from behind my neck and kissed her fingers. “I’m liking this conversation. So you kicked Chase’s ass? About time, I’d say.”
“I tried.” Her shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed together.
I tensed. “What the hell happened?”
“Why did something have to happen?” Chase asked behind her.
“Because she’s all… stiff.”
“Me too.” Chase grumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” Chase got up from the couch. “Look, I need to go”—he pointed to the door—“take a break from security detail. I’ll come back and get her for her last class and you and I can chat, okay?”
“Fine.” I watched him leave. Nervousness was making a damn hole in my stomach. I walked Trace over to the couch.
Her eyes were glued to my bare stomach.
“Not my face, Trace.” I tilted her chin up. She blushed and then closed her eyes.
“That was embarrassing.”
“Not for me.” I grinned. “Now, stop objectifying, and tell me what happened in class.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I mean, it was but—”
“Why the hell are you shaking?” I gripped her wrists, probably harder than I should have, and told myself to calm down. “Trace, tell me.”
She was closing herself off, the way she sat on the couch, crossed her legs, and primly placed her hands in her lap—everything was off. That wasn’t the Trace I was used to being with. It scared the living hell out of me.