Brutal Obsession (32)

“They just need a better goalie,” Miles argues. “The rest is fine.”

“Well, their forwards were shit,” Steele says. “Not that I’m mad about that.”

“I’m just saying, if they want to get ahead, they’ve got to up the ante. Stop more shots.”

“They should just stop…” Steele pauses, attention bouncing from me to Greyson. “Hey, Violet.”

My face flames, and I step over Erik’s legs to get to the empty spot in the center of the couch. Greyson disappears into the kitchen, and I sink into the cushions. Realistically, I wish I had thought better of my plan. I should’ve just gone to sleep to pretend that this never happened.

But… nope.

Steele leans over the girl beside him. “You okay?”

I stare at him. “Don’t I look okay?”

“You look satisfied,” the girl says. She twists to glance over her shoulder back the way Greyson had gone. “He doesn’t strike me as the giving type.”

“Just because he didn’t make you orgasm doesn’t mean he’s incapable.” Erik snorts. “Unless you had to finish the job yourself, Violet?”

I shake my head slowly. Of course she’s slept with Greyson before. At this rate, I’m not surprised. Paris is probably on that list, too. And half of the other hockey-player-chasing girls I know.

“I just blew him,” the girl mumbles. She folds her arms over her chest.

Steele laughs. “Low standards, sweetheart. Stick with me.”

I quirk my lips. “You don’t seem like the giving type either.”

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump. A second later, Greyson is leaning over the couch and forcing my head around to look at him. He stares into my eyes, letting me and only me see his anger.

I raise my eyebrows. If he didn’t want me to insinuate that I gave Steele a blow job—which I did because Greyson made me—then he shouldn’t have put the dick in my mouth.

I think I communicate that just fine, because Greyson’s lips twitch. And then he vaults over the back of the couch, landing beside me. He grabs my hips and hauls me onto his lap. I don’t miss that he’s growing hard under my ass, and I try to get off him.

He bands his arm around my waist, keeping me still.

Well.

I finally take a breath and relax against him, and he relaxes, too. Like he’s content now that he knows I’m not going anywhere.

But I can’t look my best friend in the eye. She’d know something is up. And Greyson was right—I think they can literally smell the sex on me.

“So, um…” I swallow. “Maybe I should head back to the apartment. Or get a hotel.”

“Nonsense,” Greyson answers. “You can’t go back tonight. Not until we can check it out.”

I frown. “We?”

He pats my thigh. “If you want to sleep, I have a bed.”

“You’re going soft on me.”

He leans forward, teeth against my neck. “Never.” His breath fans across my skin, raising goosebumps.

Willow shakes her head and glares at Knox. “You told her you’d take care of it—not that she needs to stay here. We’re going home.”

She stands and holds her hand out to me, wobbling slightly.

I hesitate.

I love my best friend. I do. I love that she always wants to keep me safe, and that she tries to do what’s best for us. I love that she’s fierce and loyal and smart. But I’m afraid that the man in the mask might return, knowing we’ll be there—or, worse, we’ll go back and he’ll have ransacked the place again.

Everything was locked when I left, but I don’t know if that’s enough to stop him. If he’s determined enough, he could break down our door, or jimmy open another window.

“You want to put your best friend in danger?” Greyson whispers in my ear.

I shake my head sharply and ignore him.

“Violet,” Willow says. “Come with me. Don’t worry, caveman, we won’t leave. Yet.”

His grip on me eases slightly. I take her hand and let her pull me out of his lap, and she drags me into the kitchen.

Immediately, she seems more sober.

Maybe there’s a difference between her being happy-go-lucky buzzed and drunk, and she was just riding that line. But now it’s clear that she hasn’t been overdoing it, because her expression is clear. And accusatory.

She narrows her eyes. “You went upstairs with him. Alone.”

I lift one shoulder and glance away. “I…”

“Are you okay?” She steps closer. “No offense, but you look like he twisted you like a pretzel… and that you enjoyed it. You have bite marks…”

I slap my palm over my neck. I knew I should’ve just stayed upstairs. Freaking hell.

“Everything is fine,” I assure her. I’m not quite sure that’s true, though, but I won’t be bursting her bubble. Or, even worse, worrying her. “Yes, we had a little thing. It was consensual. And hot. So, we’re good.”

“And you want to stay here?”

I bite my lower lip, running my tongue over it. I don’t want to stay, but as Greyson said: I don’t want to put her in danger.

I say as much, and she nods.