Page 15 of Unloved

I catch her easily, barely resisting the urge to pick her up by her waist and set her back on her feet—just because I can. Like a little advertisement for my skills in the bedroom.

Look, sweetheart, see how strong I am? I can toss you around so easily. I’m gentle, though, but I’ll be aggressive, if you want.

I’ll be whatever you want me to be.

“Sorry,” she says, quiet and shy, her tan skin flushing slightly as she tilts her head back a little to look up at me. Her hair is long, dripping down her back like a waterfall of curls, with little colored butterfly clips swirling through the strands. Then I realize it’s the same girl who ran into me—or was it away from me?—at the library last week.

I put on my signature grin, watching it work its magic as her pupils dilate and her cheeks somehow flush further.

“You’re good, princess,” I murmur, all charm, ready to see if she’ll pull me back into the bathroom she came out of or take off down the stairs like Cinderella—considering it’s almost midnight. I rub my fingers through the bottom loops of her springy curls. “Need some help?”

“Nope!” Sadie snaps at me.

She goes to pull the girl away from me, but my mysterious stranger’s slender hand grabs hold of my wrist behind her back.

I smile down at her grip on me, my other hand tracing along her fingers and taking note of the delicate pearlescent manicure shimmering against my skin. I like noticing details like this, the work people—especially women—put into their appearance.

I don’t hear the conversation between my captain and the figure skater, but the girl lets me go too fast and makes a stumbling turn for the stairs. My eyes trail her, feeling a little giddy about the prospect of following her down. She seems fun, full of light.

My body starts to relax justlookingat her.

But only for a second, before both Sadie and Rhys are barking out a warning to steer clear of her.

I raise my hands up in surrender, fully intent on listening to them—at least for now.

When I turn back to the stairs, she’s already stumbling her way down, a little drunker than I first assumed.

Okay. I can’t “steer clear” of her when she’s got no one watching her.

“Whoa. Easy,” I laugh, pulling her to me quickly before she can tumble down the stairs.

“Sorry.” She flushes, looking up at me with glassy eyes. “I’m dizzy. And”—her brow furrows—“stairs are hard.”

Once she’s got her balance back, I follow her down into the living room and then to the kitchen, where she knocks into someone else.

“Damn, babe, buy me a drink first,” an equally drunk asshole says, settling his hands low on her waist to help her balance after she’s ricocheted off him. “C’mon, over here.”

“Nope,” I call, diving between them a little roughly. The guy lets go of her instantly, and she bumps into someone else as he looks me up and down, eyes glazed and flickering. “Back off,” I growl, feeling testy now.

“She grabbed me,” he argues, words slurring. I turn around, shaking my head because I’m definitely not in the mood to fight anyone, especially not idiots with drunken misplaced courage.

“Hey, Ro,” one of his friends says, voice softer. Definitely someone I’ve met before, but I don’t remember his name. “Leave her alone, guys,” he tells his friends.

“You know her?” I ask.

“Freddy, hey,” he says. I shake his hand but don’t say anything because I can’t remember what his—

“Mitch!” she shouts, grabbing his biceps with a big, dazzling smile. “I didn’t know you were here.”

Mitch blushes a little underneath his backward hat but looks up at me apprehensively. “We had organic chem together last year. She was on a project with me—is she okay?”

I raise my hands. “I’m just watching out for her. Her friend’s upstairs talking to Rhys.”

Mitch nods and turns her back around toward me, essentially dumping the responsibility for the beautiful—albeit very drunk—princess with butterflies in her hair back to me.

“Hey,” she says, looking up at me curiously, pausing slightly as though she’s actually getting a good look at me for the first time in the brighter light of the kitchen. “Freddy.”

“You know my name?”

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