Page 21 of The Seven Month Itch
For the first time in a long time, I can breathe.
A cry rings through my ears at the start of Adina Howard’s “Freak Like Me.” It takes a second to sink in that I’m the source. My body sways to the beat on autopilot as the lyrics pour out of me like it’s 1995. I had no business singing about a freak in the morning and a freak in the evening when I was seven—I was clueless what a freakwas—but those were the days. Tootsie Rolling to songs for grown folks with a Kool-Aid Burst in one hand and Gushers in the other at one of many cookouts.
Large hands wrap around my waist and pull me against a hard body. I turn but freeze when a forearm snakes across my chest to keep me in place.
My captor presses his mouth against my ear. “Didn’t mean to startle you but couldn’t stay away.” His arousal strains against my butt as he grinds against me. “You’re perfect, you know that?”
Minus the fear in my eyes, we look like a couple caught in an embrace. The group I was with is nowhere in sight.
Great.
I push back on his thigh to put space between us. “Please let me go.” He doesn’t budge when I attempt to peel his arm off. “Let me go,” I say again in panic. My body shakes at the threat of danger. I want to scream, but who would hear me over the music?
“Relax, baby. I won’t hurt you.” He tightens the hand around my waist and kisses my neck.
Nope, not happening. Adrenaline forces me to act. His hands drop when my foot collides with his. I turn and let my fists take over. “What part ofnodon’t you understand?” The audacity.
I crane my neck to see his face and gulp when I reach his eyes.
I’m pretty tall, but this mystery assaulter towers over me. He’s lanky—six foot five if I had to guess—and could pass for Adrien Brody’s less attractive older brother. His bloodshot eyes make it hard to tell if he drank too much or is high. Either way, I’m out of here.
The creep holds his jaw and grabs my arm when I try to bolt for the door. “Stupid bitch. I see you like it rough.” He pulls me close with a steel grip I’m sure will leave bruises. A slow smile forms. “That’s not a problem for me.”
“Get off!”
The music drowns my screams. I make another failed attempt to free myself when a dark hand the size of a bear paw connectswith Faux Brody’s face, sending him across the floor. Bodies freeze midmovement and take in the scene.
“Let’s see if you have a problem withthat, fucker.”
Tears fall at the sound of Miles’s voice. His eyes remain fixed on my assaulter’s unconscious body. With clenched hands and a wide stance, he’s ready to strike.
He peers down at me with hyperfocus. “You okay, kid?” I hate that nickname, but I welcome it with open arms tonight. He relaxes at my nod and keeps a hand on me like a shield. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. There are too many people in here.”
Despite his ability to annoy me to no end, Miles is a good guy. He might run from commitment, but he’s also loyal to a fault. Five years my senior, he’s always treated me like his pesky little sister. With that comes protection from a guy whose build rivals a UFC heavyweight. He’s a terrifying dude, but he has a soft side he tries to downplay.
“I’m fine,” I say with a sigh. “Not thrilled with Sir Gropes-a-Lot, but I’ll live.”
We scoot to the side when security rushes to apprehend the motionless bastard on the floor. Blood leaks out of his now purple nose. It looks broken, and I’m jealous I didn’t deliver the blow myself.
“I wish I’d knocked him out.” My body tenses at the memory of his touch.
Miles brings me to his middle. We don’t always see eye to eye—in life or with our height difference—but I take comfort in his embrace. “Easy there, Ali. Your shots popped his head back, but he was still a bigger guy.”
“Justice! Are you okay?” Emma pushes through the gathered crowd in a frenzy and charges into me with a hug. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. Her nails dig into my back. “I’m so sorry I leftyou. I thought you were okay with those girls.” Her voice cracks. “Some friend I am.”
I take her hands in mine. She’s shaking, unable to meet my eyes. “Hey, none of that, okay? This isn’t your fault.” I pull her into a hug. “We’ve had enough of ’90s night.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and turn to Miles. “Buy you a drink?”
He nods. “I’ll never turn down a threesome.”
Chapter 10
Justice
Agroup of men in suits gives us the once-over on their way to the bar. Minus the drunk monkey and the random baby, we look like extras fromThe Hangover—a hot mess of characters, and in pajamas, no less. Miles is Mike Tyson, Em’s eyes are still puffy from crying, and me? Well, let’s say I look how I feel: dazed and confused.
What a freaking night.
I finish my whiskey in four gulps.
