Twisted Love (Twisted #1)(2)

I paused, sure I’d heard wrong, but nope, there it was again. Another moan.

My eyes widened in horror. “Are you having sex right now?” I whisper-shouted, even though no one else was around.

The sandwich I’d scarfed down before I left for my shoot threatened to make a reappearance. There was nothing—I repeat nothing—grosser than listening to a relative while they’re mid-coitus. Just the thought made me gag.

“Technically, no.” Josh sounded unrepentant.

The word “technically” did a lot of heavy lifting there.

It didn’t take a genius to decipher Josh’s vague reply. He may not be having intercourse, but something was going on, and I had zero desire to find out what that “something” was.

“Josh Chen.”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me.” He must’ve covered his phone with his hand, because his next words came through muffled. I heard a soft, feminine laugh followed by a squeal, and I wanted to bleach my ears, my eyes, my mind. “One of the guys took my car to buy more ice,” Josh said, his voice clear again. “But don’t worry, I got you. Drop a pin on your exact location and keep your phone close. Do you still have the pepper spray I bought for your birthday last year?”

“Yes. Thanks for that, by the way.” I’d wanted a new camera bag, but Josh had bought me an eight-pack of pepper spray instead. I’d never used any of it, which meant all eight bottles—minus the one tucked in my purse—were sitting snug in the back of my closet.

My sarcasm went over my brother’s head. For a straight-A pre-med student, he could be quite dense. “You’re welcome. Stay put, and he’ll be there soon. We’ll talk about your complete lack of self-preservation later.”

“I’m self-preserved,” I protested. Was that the right word? “It’s not my fault there are no Ub—wait, what do you mean ‘he’? Josh!”

Too late. He’d already hung up.

Figured the one time I wanted him to elaborate, he’d ditch me for one of his bed buddies. I was surprised he hadn’t freaked out more, considering Josh put the “over” in overprotective. Ever since “The Incident,” he’d taken it upon himself to look after me like he was my brother and bodyguard rolled into one. I didn’t blame him—our childhood had been a hundred shades of messed up, or so I’d been told—and I loved him to pieces, but his constant worrying could be a bit much.

I sat sideways on the bench and hugged my bag to my side, letting the cracked leather warm my skin while I waited for the mysterious “he” to show up. It could be anyone. Josh had no shortage of friends. He’d always been Mr. Popular—basketball player, student body president, and homecoming king in high school; Sigma fraternity brother and Big Man on Campus in college.

I was his opposite. Not un popular per se, but I shied away from the limelight and would rather have a small group of close friends than a large group of friendly acquaintances. Where Josh was the life of the party, I sat in the corner and daydreamed about all the places I would love to visit but would probably never get to. Not if my phobia had anything to do with it.

My damn phobia. I knew it was all mental, but it felt physical. The nausea, the racing heart, the paralyzing fear that turned my limbs into useless, frozen things …

On the bright side, at least I wasn’t afraid of rain. Oceans and lakes and pools, I could avoid, but rain…yeah, that would’ve been bad.

I wasn’t sure how long I huddled in the tiny bus shelter, cursing my lack of foresight when I turned down the Graysons’ offer to drive me back to town after our shoot. I hadn’t wanted to inconvenience them and thought I could call an Uber and be back at Thayer’s campus in half an hour, but the skies opened up right after the couple left and, well, here I was.

It was getting dark. Muted grays mingled with the cool blues of twilight, and part of me worried the mysterious “he” wouldn’t show up, but Josh had never let me down. If one of his friends failed to pick me up like he’d asked, they wouldn’t have working legs tomorrow. Josh was a med student, but he had zero compunction about using violence when the situation called for it—especially when the situation involved me.

The bright beam of headlights slashed through the rain. I squinted, my heart tripping in both anticipation and wariness as I weighed the odds of whether the car belonged to my ride or a potential psycho. This part of Maryland was pretty safe, but you never knew.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I slumped with relief, only to stiffen again two seconds later.

Good news? I recognized the sleek, black Aston Martin pulling up toward me. It belonged to one of Josh’s friends, which meant I wouldn’t end up a local news item tonight.

Bad news? The person driving said Aston Martin was the last person I wanted—or expected—to pick me up. He wasn’t an I’ll do my buddy a favor and rescue his stranded little sister kinda guy. He was a look at me wrong and I’ll destroy you and everyone you care about kinda guy, and he’d do it looking so calm and gorgeous you wouldn’t notice your world burning down around you until you were already a heap of ashes at his Tom Ford-clad feet.

I swiped the tip of my tongue over my dry lips as the car stopped in front of me and the passenger window rolled down.

“Get in.”

He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but I still heard him loud and clear over the rain.