The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(53)

“They call that out punting your coverage, moron,” Jeff’s voice had spoiled the fantasy he’d been having of Julia splayed out on his bed. Naked and attentive to his every whim. Every desire.

“I know,” he’d sighed as he ran his fingers through his thick head of wavy hair that never quite kept to its original style. “She’s breathtaking. There’s something about her and I want to push her up against the nearest wall and …”

“Like the pathetic loser you are,” Jeff had just continued laughing at his expense. “You better talk to her before she leaves. She’s looking for her jacket right now.”

“I can’t,” he’d whispered. “She’s Blake’s sister. Off limits.”

But Julia was here now and for the life of him, he had no idea why. They’d never shared more than a few sentences in all the years they’d known each other.

Julia’s eyes fluttered open as she heard him start to move.

“Hi,” she whispered as she brought her hands up to rub the sleep from her eyes. As she did so, the blanket fell down around her hips, revealing the layered lace top she was wearing. It had shifted with sleep and a dangerous amount of cleavage was exposed. If it wasn’t for the damn pounding in his head, he’d enjoy the view a lot more.

“Hi, yourself.” He stared. He just couldn’t help himself. Adam wanted to ask her what the hell she was doing in his hospital room, but he waited. Waited for her to explain.

Julia jumped to her feet, the cotton blanket landing in a pool of white at her stiletto clad feet. Where the hell had she been dressed like that? Some party?

“I’m sorry … I thought … your folks. I thought you might be alone. How silly of me.” Her face turned red, and she seemed acutely embarrassed as her hands flew through the air as she stammered. Damn cute. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman so flustered around him.

“I’m sure Heather’s on her way,” she whispered as she started toward the door. “I’m so sorry I bothered you, Adam.”

“Don’t go.”

Adam’s softly spoken plea stopped Julia dead in her tracks. The only sign that she’d heard him was a slight gasp of breath that softened her rigid back. And that ass. Jesus. This woman was just as spectacular from the back as she was from the front. Just like in college.

Thank God he was in excruciating pain and he welcomed it. Felt it completely. Fully. Because it was the only damn thing keeping him from doing or saying something completely inappropriate.

The sound of Heather’s voice jolted him out of his haze of lust over the alluring Julia Wales. “I’m his fiancée. I have to see him right now.”

Heather’s shrill voice pierced the stillness of the hallway. It had to be after visiting hours. Leave it to her to make a scene. Why hadn’t he noticed her selfish flair for the dramatic before? Because he was blinded by her fake smile, fake personality, and knockout blonde beauty.

He inhaled and steeled his resolve for what was about to come. What he deserved for thinking he wanted to spend the rest of his life with someone like her.

“Who are you?” Heather breezed through the door and stopped about two feet in front of Julia, who was trying to escape the room. Escape the drama. Escape him.

But she wasn’t the one he wanted gone.

“I was just leaving.” Julia ignored Heather’s glare as the other woman sized her up with her cerulean blue eyes.

Adam watched her slip from the room and his life. With class. He’d probably never see her again. Now why did that thought hurt more than the thought of the bitch standing beside his bed and her betrayal?

“Adam…”

Heather tried to take his hand and he snatched it away, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive posture. Only a perverse curiosity to hear what lame excuse she’d come up with, coupled with an inability to think straight due to the pain kept him from tossing her out into the hallway on her skinny ass.

“Please what? But then, I already know. You thought when you walked in here, I’d be so overwrought from the accident, my injury, or both that I’d need you. Want you. Hold you. I’ve got news for you, Heather.” He narrowed his eyes at her round ones. The blue orbs pooled with tears. Another attempt at her fake bullshit to pull at his heart strings. But his heart was dead. Dead to her.

“Wha … what?”

“I hate you.” He held his tone steady. Poisonous. Lethal. “Get the hell out of this hospital room. I never want to see you or my cock sucking brother again. If you ever contact me, in any way, you’ll regret it.”

Tears streamed down her face as she stared at him in shock. He glared back at her and held his body motionless until she turned and pranced from the room, wiggling her backside. For that, if nothing else, he cursed. Typical Heather. Trying to manipulate him to the bitter end. Only one good thing had come out of this whole sordid mess. From this day forward, Adam Spencer would recognize a whore when he saw her.

Adam clamped his eyes shut until he heard the swish of the door closing behind her. Closing the door on the idyllic future, he’d imagined. The problem with the fantasy is that the reality hadn’t even come close to living up. He covered his face with his hands, trying to rub the shame and humiliation from his eyes. From his heart. From his soul.

His hand snaked out to grab the remote from the wheeled table. Feeling completely defeated, Adam flipped on the TV. The wreck was being discussed on almost every news channel he came across. So much for ESPN to carry him away from reality.