Hockey With Benefits(82)

And Sarah hurt her.





38





MARA





Cruz came back, dropping down to lay back on the blanket. The air around him felt different. He rolled his head, looking up to the sky. His one knee went up, his other leg extended out. “How long are you going to do this friends with no benefits stuff?” He flashed me a wolfish grin. “Because, gotta say, I’m missing the fuck out of you. Pun intended.”

And just like that, my body was an inferno.

I scowled at him, moving away, though my body wanted to do the opposite. “Dude.”

“God. Don’t ‘dude’ me. Barclay dudes me. Atwater dudes me. My teammates, yes. My brothers, but not you. I’m not a ‘dude’ to you.” He got quiet. “I’d like to be your man. That’s what I’d like to be.”

My gaze shot back to him, and my tongue got heavy. Real heavy.

My heart started pounding.

A whole different feeling slammed into me. Yearning. A desperation. I wanted that too, and my mouth opened.

I was leaning toward him—“Please tell me we’re in time to see live porn.”

The voice was abrupt, jarring, and not wanted.

I blinked, dazed, still in the trance Cruz’s statement brought over me. It took another second before it clicked who was heading our way.

Cruz stood up, his own scowl in place. “Shut the fuck up, Carrington. Keep it moving.”

“What’s your problem, Styles?”

My stomach fell, as I stood.

“Angela. What are you doing with them?”

Flynn Carrington was here, and he wasn’t alone. Angela, Wade’s Angela, was with them, along with three more guys. Flynn was wasted. Stumbling. His hair was all messed. His eyes were dilated, and enlarged, and his clothes were in disarray. His shirt was wrinkled, a corner torn off. His board shorts were dirtied with grass stains, and he was swinging around a bourbon bottle that still had a third left to go.

He stopped, his body swaying forward, and he held up his hands, the liquor swishing around in the bottle from the motion. “She’s with us. We’re hanging out. Having fun. What, Styles? You think you’re too good for us? You think you’re too good to hang out with us.” His eyes got mean and narrowed. They slid to me. “I was serious about the public porn.”

I didn’t look at Cruz, but I felt him.

Carrington’s friends also took notice of him, moving back an inch.

I held my breath.

A whole new stillness came over Cruz, his eyes were locked on the target. Every inch of him was rigid and alert. He was primed, seeing his prey stumbling around in front of him. Waves of danger were rolling off him. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I was tempted to take a step back myself.

“You wanna rethink what you just said, you piece of privileged frat brother shit?”

Cruz wasn’t wasting time.

Flynn blinked, that mean look just doubling. He whipped his bottle at Cruz, who stepped aside. It hit the rocks behind us. Flynn’s head bobbed back before he spat out at the same time, starting for us, his arm raised, “No. Fuck you, Styles! You’re nothing, but a–”

He didn’t even get to say his insult.

I jumped as Cruz was on him, and by on him, he was on him. He went at him, his hand going to Flynn’s throat. He hit him in the back of his leg. As Flynn toppled, Cruz went with him, but he wasn’t choking him. Cruz took Flynn’s arm. He flipped over, bringing Flynn with him, and tossed his body across the beach.

Cruz was after him once again.

He was moving so fast. Flynn’s friends stared, their mouths open.

I cursed but rushed forward and grabbed Angela. I pulled her away, just as Flynn tried to fight back. He threw a punch, but Cruz laughed. He laughed, as he dodged, grabbing Flynn’s arm and he did a whole-body twist again, sending Flynn in the complete opposite direction.

I got it then, what he was doing.

He was using the beach and the motion to fuck Flynn up, but he wasn’t hitting him. There was no physical normal confrontation where his friends would’ve instinctually moved in to pull him off and then it’d be four against one, or two because I would’ve waded in no matter my size or gender. This way, the guys didn’t know what to do and Cruz was landing punches, but he was doing it in a way where no one knew how to handle him.

He knew what he was doing.

I let out a breath, some relief lightening my chest as Cruz grabbed Flynn and lifted him up. They were by a cliff wall, and he slammed Flynn against it. They were far enough away so we couldn’t hear what was being said, but Flynn was struggling, trying to get free.

Cruz was still again, eerily almost frozen like a statue until slowly, inch by inch, he leaned in, his face next to Flynn’s. He was saying something, and whatever it was, Flynn stopped fighting.

Cruz waited, another beat, until he stepped back.

Flynn dropped to the sand, a hand rubbing at his throat, as he lifted his head to look at Cruz.

Cruz said one more thing. I strained to hear but couldn’t. The crashing waves seemed perfectly timed. He looked toward me, his head jerking, and he took a full step backwards, dragging in a breath. He started for me.

Flynn’s friends didn’t run to him. They seemed frozen until Cruz got closer. They stumbled back a step. One went running to Flynn.