Score (Skin in the Game Book 1) (19 page)

"No thanks, I'm good. I-I've got to go."

He tipped his head to the side and eyed me curiously, but then nodded. "No problem."

I didn't realize until then that he was wearing a Shorty's T-shirt with his name emblazoned on it in white letters.

Sebastian
.

I let the syllables roll around in my brain, making sure not to whisper them out loud no matter how badly I wanted to. Because I had a serious problem on my hands.

"Can I talk to you?" Andy's low, clipped tone bit into my ear and I flinched.

Sebastian eyed Andy and then me assessingly before turning to make his way back toward the bar without another word. That was good. The last thing I needed was for my boyfriend to beat the crap out of some poor guy just for being nice. But my relief faded as quickly as it came when Andy wrapped his hand around my forearm tight enough to make me wince.

Annnd that was going to bruise, no question.

“The curse of pale English skin,”
Echo had said the last time I’d sported fingerprints on my wrist.

Shame overrode my alcohol-induced haze and threatened to choke me. "Where are we going?"

Andy glared at me, gray eyes like two chunks of coal, so dark they were almost black. He didn't bother to answer as he yanked me toward the restrooms.

Echo—who was either completely oblivious to the situation or pretending to be because it was easier for her that way—called after us, "I'll sign us up at the beer pong table."

I didn’t have the chance to answer as Andy pushed forward, elbowing his way past two girls in line at the door marked "Shawties." One of them complained and he snarled, "Shut it, cow,” before rapping on the door incessantly while the other girl behind us tried to comfort her friend after Andy's snide insult. He ignored them and kept right on knocking until the person in the restroom came out with a scowl on her face.

"Chill out, asshole."

He didn't respond to her either, and dragged me into the bathroom. I sent the shorter girl who had tears in her eyes a sympathetic smile and mouthed an apology, shame wrapping more tightly around me when she looked like she felt even sorrier for me than she did for herself. Before I could think on that too hard, the door slammed closed between us and Andy leaned down until his face was level with mine.

"What. The. Fuck," Andy ground out through gritted teeth. I could smell the beer and bourbon, sour on his breath, and it made my stomach churn. He pressed me hard against the wall and punched the paneling behind my head loud enough to make my ears ring.

"Calm down,” I whispered desperately, close to pleading. “Look, it was nothing, I—" The words died on my lips as I realized I wasn't sure which thing he’d seen that had infuriated him. Was it the bartender with the wandering eye or Buzzcut Sebastian with the lips from heaven that had gotten Andy so mad? Maybe both. Maybe neither? Could have been some other imagined slight that had blown up in his mind to be a betrayal. Generic excuses rattled around in my head like a pinball, but I was afraid to voice any of them for fear of making things worse.

The thing about Andy was that, before, most of the time? He was great. Funny, witty, smart. Handsome and polite, and my parents loved him. They couldn't wait for us to graduate from college and get married. And I thought I couldn't wait for that too. But lately, especially when he drank, his temper got the better of him and over the past few months I'd gone from being irritated by his possessiveness to being downright scared.

Two weeks ago, things had taken a dark turn when he'd finally crossed the line and put his hands on me. It was just the one time, and it hadn’t been a punch—more of a hard grab and a shake—but it was enough.

Now this.

I wasn't scared anymore. I was terrified, and the look on his face and the spittle coming from his mouth as he shouted at me wasn’t helping.

"You can say whatever you want to, Olivia, but we both know the truth. If you didn't want the attention, you wouldn't dress that way. So what am I supposed to do when guys stare at you like they want to fuck you, and think they can paw all over you?" The pulse in his neck pounded furiously and I bit my lip hard to keep from bursting into tears. "Do you know how that makes me look? Like some kind of bitch-ass punk, that's how."

He nailed the wall behind my head again with his fist. At least now I knew the root of the problem. If I could diffuse the situation and get out of there, we could talk it through tomorrow when he was thinking clearer. It was long past time that I stopped hiding my head in the sand and dealt with this head-on, but I wasn’t going to do it when he was wasted.

I grabbed his arm and tried to keep my voice calm in spite of the fact that my stomach was roiling and the alcohol in my system was about to make a reappearance down the front of my shirt. "Andy, I'm not dressed any different than most of the girls here. And the guy who grabbed me caught me to keep me from falling. He works here. He was just doing his job."

His mouth twisted into the ugly smirk I’d seen only once before, two weeks ago, and I knew shit was about to get really mean. Would he seriously hurt me this time? The fight or flight instinct hit hard and, heart slamming against my ribs, I ducked underneath his arms to make a grab for the door handle. I'd just gotten it open a crack when he kicked it shut again.

"Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” He pulled me away from the door and shoved me against the wall again, this time crowding me until I had to crane my neck back to see his face. His hand closed over my throat, and his voice dropped low. "If you ever embarrass me like that again in front of my boys, I will make you regret it. Do you understand me?"

In shock, body shaking like a leaf in the March winds, I nodded, ready to say anything to make him let me go. His grip wasn't tight, but it was enough that it chilled me to the bone. Brutal violence was right there, under the surface, waiting to erupt, and I was one false move away from giving him an excuse to unleash it.

"I asked you a question. Do you understand me?"

I wet my lips and croaked out half a "yes," but before I got any further, the door flew open, squealing on its hinges and slamming against the wall so hard, the whole room vibrated.

"I'm going to give you three seconds to let her go."

I couldn’t see past Andy’s rugby-wide shoulders, but I recognized the voice and the sound of it sent bile rising in my throat.

Sebastian. My knight in shining armor for the second time that night.

Jesus, Andy was going to kill him.

“One.” Sebastian’s voice was serious as a heart attack.

"Who the fuck are y—"

"Two."

But three never came. One second, Andy's hand was around my throat, the next he was flat on his back, sprawled across the filthy tile floor, lip split and gushing blood.

Sebastian took my chin in a surprisingly gentle, steady grip and examined my face. "Are you okay?"

I tried to talk, but the words were stuck. My teeth chattered uncontrollably and my whole body felt numb. It took me a few seconds to pull myself together and finally manage a firm nod. He released me reluctantly, his perceptive gaze taking in far too much.

"Do you have a friend here who can take you home?"

Odd how in that moment I noticed the strangest, most minute details, like everything had been amplified by a thousand. The way his skin smelled of clean sweat and sports-scented deodorant. The clenched tightness of his stubbled jaw that belied the concern in his crystal blue eyes. The way he never even looked down at bleeding Andy to see if he would get back up and fight. It was like nothing else mattered, except for me.

"Hey, you with me? How many fingers am I holding up?"

His low, husky tone had grown more urgent and he held three fingers in front of my face. I took a steadying breath and tried not to think about what had happened, or what the ramifications would be. Instead, I focused on the strong, capable hand in my line of sight, knowing he needed a response. "Three."

“Okay, that’s real good. Now we’ve got to get you out of here.” He laced his fingers with mine and tugged me toward the door. “Let me see if I can talk my boss into letting me cut out long enough to take you home, all right?"

"N-no. It's okay.” Panic made my voice sound shrill and reedy, but I’d already caused this guy enough trouble. No way was I going to get him in hot water at his job on top of it. There was also some part of me that knew, if I spent even one more minute with him, it would send my already hella-fucked-up life into yet another tailspin. I cleared my throat and tried to work up a reassuring smile. “I do have a friend here. If you can help me find her, I'll get a ride."

He eyed me dubiously, but his gaze was already growing shuttered and the loss of that warmth made me feel empty inside. When had a guy last looked at me that way? Like he was really seeing me?

Andy groaned from his parking place on the floor and I shoved my savior toward the exit, dimly aware of the heat of his skin seeping into my icy hands.

“Go,” I whispered urgently. “Neither of us will want to be here when he gets up.” Although at least one of us was going to have to face him sooner or later.

And it wasn’t going to be pretty.

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