Page 30 of Ricochet

Callum rolls his eyes and grumbles, “For fuck’s sake.”

“And that was?” I ask as I scowl after Jesse, willing him to trip and maybe break a bone or cut open an important artery on something sharp.

“My roommate.”

He downs what’s left in his cup and reaches for the bottle of whiskey to fill it again. I nearly reach out and grab his wrist to stop him. But I can’t. I know exactly how that would go, and I’m not willing to cause a scene.

He’s notmine.

“On that note, it looks like I’ll be walking home.”

Putting the cup to his lips, he tips it back. I watch as his Adam’s apple moves with a swallow.

“Let me give you a ride.”

He might not be mine, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting him walk home drunk.

Callum empties his cup yet again, then tosses it into the nearest trash can. When he looks back at me, his expression is more weary than hostile. “Stop, Stone. Just fucking stop.”

He starts to walk away, swaying a little to one side.

If he wasn’t drunk before, he definitely is now.

“Stop what?” I ask as I follow him through the crowd.

He doesn’t answer, and he doesn’t slow down as he heads for the front door of the house.

“Callum! Tell me what I’m supposed to stop, and I’ll stop.”

Maybe.

After weaving and stumbling his way past people, he manages to get a few steps ahead of me and out the door. I rush after him and down the porch stairs. Once we’re in a more open area on the front lawn, I grab onto his arm.

I anticipate the fist that comes flying through the air as he spins around. With his sluggish movements, I’m able to duck and avoid it. When he nearly tumbles over from the inertia, I pull him upright and maneuver him out of sight of the frontdoor. Shoving him against the nearest tree, I pin him against the trunk with my forearm against his chest.

His eyes darken as his pupils dilate.

The beast in me wants it to be fear.

The protector in meneedsit to be something else. Want. Desire.

Surrender.

“You’re drunk,” I snarl in his face. “You need to fucking chill.”

His body slumps as the fight leaves him, his chest heaving beneath me. His face turns down into a frown, and his next words come out like a desperate plea. “Stop trying to save me.”

Never.

“Don’t be dramatic,” I tell him, calming my tone, not wanting to set him off again. “I’m not trying to save you. It’s just a ride.”

His eyes bounce between mine, searching for the lie.

If he looked hard enough and long enough, he’d probably find it.

He’d also probably see glimpses of all the thoughts running through my head while I have him in this position. Trapped. At the mercy of whatever I wanted to do with him. Coming apart with the world of pleasure I could give him. Convincing him he really does want to belong to someone, that he really does want to be mine.

All the thoughts that are becoming increasingly harder to resist.

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