“How much have you had to drink?”
Ignoring me, she grabs the buckle on my belt and gives it a tug.
I push her away. “Can you just answer the question?”
She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “Enough, but not too much, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to discern whether she’s BSing me or not. I may be my father’s son, but I’m not a total asshole. “How much?”
“Do you want me to recite the alphabet backward to prove it to you? Jesus. Did you change your mind and you’re looking for an excuse to get out of it? Because we can—”
Okay, she seems sober enough. “I haven’t changed my mind. I want to be with you. Got a lot on my mind, that’s all.” At least that much is true.
Don’t get me wrong. Tina’s hot, but sex isn’t an emotional thing for me. It’s fun, sure, but once it’s over, it’s over. Besides, I prefer hooking up with a girl at her place. That way, I can go home when I’m done and not worry about pretending I like to cuddle.
I pick the green condom from the deck. She lies back on the bed and tears open the packet. When we’re done, I’ll take a quick shower, then head back downstairs to see what the guys are up to. I’ll have just enough time to eat something, then jump on my motorcycle and head to the campus radio station. I usually don’t work Friday nights and definitely not White House party nights, but the station manager had a family emergency and I agreed to cover for her at the last minute.
As we have sex, my body goes into autopilot. It feels great, and like I said, Tina is hot, but my mind is focused elsewhere.
She moans against my neck and rolls her hips beneath me. Her hair itches my nose, so I turn my head aside without breaking my rhythm.
“Yes!” Her nails dig into my skin. “Oh my God, yes.”
I speed up my tempo. I’m almost there, too.
Just then, the door opens behind me. Damn. I thought I locked it when we came in.
“Occupied,” Tina calls out, laughing, as if we’re in a motel room and the maid is knocking.
The door slams shut before I can see who it is. It’s not the first time someone’s barged in on me having sex. And I’m sure it won’t be the last.
Ivy
I’m not sure what planet I thought I lived on when I decided to climb out the second story bathroom window—certainly not one with a strong gravitational pull—because the ground is waaaay further down than I imagined it’d be. It’s obvious now that the guys I saw last month got on and off the roof by going back through a window.
I’ve been up here for a half hour, maybe longer, trying to find a way down. I crawl crablike across the wet surface. My theory is that if one limb slips, three others are still making contact. You know that flat part I remember seeing? It turns out to be not very flat after all. Whoever said desperate times call for desperate measures knew what they were talking about, because I’m bordering on sheer desperation right now.
At least it’s not still raining.
Someone shouts from the front yard. I’m pretty sure it’s too dark for anyone to see me back here, but I’m not about to turn around and find out. I just want to get down. If I live, which I’m seriously starting to wonder about, I’ll go sit in my car and wait for Cassidy.
I reach for the branches of an overhanging tree. If I can grab it, maybe I can spider-monkey down the trunk.
“Hey.”
I freeze. Someone has spotted me. Crap, crap, crap. How in the hell am I going to explain this? Glancing around, I see no way out of the situation. But now there’s laughter coming from the same direction. Good. It’s just random people partying. No one’s seen me after all.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Okay, I can’t let myself get distracted like that again. I need to get off this roof ASAP before anyone does see me. Stretching out my arm, I reach a little further until my fingers brush against one of the thinner branches. I’ve…almost…got…it...
“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me?” It’s the same voice. And, oh my God, it’s eerily familiar.
I jerk my head around and almost lose my balance. Throwing my weight backward so my center of gravity is away from the edge, I end up flat on my ass. My hands, feet, and knees are covered in dirt and moss from the roof. Might as well make it my butt, too.
A guy with a messenger bag crisscrossed over his chest is standing on the ground below me. It’s too dark to see his face, but at least I know it’s not Aaron. This guy is much taller.
“What the hell are you doing?” he repeats. “Are you crazy?”
I bristle. What’s it look like I’m doing? Reading? Tanning?
I rub my hands together, brushing off the dirt. “Getting some fresh air,” I reply flippantly.
He must think I’m a legit crazy person. Which, if I’m being honest with myself, I pretty much am. No sane person would be doing what I’m doing right now.
“You’re going to kill yourself.” He glances behind me, probably looking for an open window, but he’s not going to find one. The one I climbed through is on the other side of the house, beyond where I almost broke my neck trying to get past the two dormers. “How did you get up there, anyway?”
“Just go away and leave me alone.” The last thing I need is to answer a bunch of questions. The roof appears lower at the next corner, so I shift my shoes to my other hand and start to make my way over there.
“Wait! Wait!” In one swift motion, he ditches the messenger bag, only it turns out it’s not a messenger bag. It’s a guitar case. “You need to slowly turn around and go back up there. Think you can do that for me? I’ll go inside and open up one of those windows.”
He sounds like a psychiatrist trying to talk a jumper away from the ledge. “What are you? Some kind of wannabe fireman?”
“I’m just trying to help you,” he says slowly, enunciating each word carefully, as though he wants to make sure I understand him.
“Then lean on that tree so I can reach the branch.”
He makes a sound of disgust. “And then what? Watch you fall and break your neck? ’Fraid not.” Holding up his hands like an invisible force field that will make me stay put, he calls over his shoulder toward the street. “Hey, I need some help back here.”
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss, dropping to my belly, trying to ignore the fact that the front of me is getting wet. The last thing I need is for anyone else to see me up here. Especially Chase’s brother.
Somewhere around the front of the house, a car door slams and an engine starts up. I lift my head in time to see the red glow of taillights heading down the driveway.
Cursing under his breath, he turns his attention back to me. “I don’t trust you not to try to get down on your own if I go for help.”
Does this guy have a Clark Kent complex or what? “I can take care of myself.”
He takes a few steps toward the house, disappearing from my line of sight, and I hear rattling under the eaves beneath me. I don’t dare lean over the gutter to see what he’s doing.
“Can you kneel down and swing your legs over?”
Hope leaps in my chest. “Did you find a ladder?”
“No, a trellis, but I think it’ll hold you.”
I crawl to the edge and peer over. “I don’t see it.”
“It’s right under the eaves here,” he says, pointing.
Great. It is Jon Priestly. The guy from the front porch. The second-to-last guy I want to see.
“If you dangle your legs over, I can reach up and help you get a toehold.”
I consider it. I really do. But twelve to fifteen feet seems much farther up when you’re looking down. “I can’t.”
“Why not? I’m right here. I’ll make sure that—”