Page 8 of Protégé King

The fraternity headquarters resembles a castle on the outside, but the inside is just a house, and not even a special house. Or so Sally tells me. I’ve never been here before. I don’t even want to be here now. We head up a long concrete stairwell and Sally wraps her arm around me. “Twins,” she declares, meaning our little black dresses, when we are far from twins at all. She’s tall, I’m not. I have long brunette hair and she wears her blonde hair in a bob cut to her shoulders. Okay, it is a little longer than a bob, at least in my mind, but it hangs like one, straight with a perfect edge.

We continue our upward climb, and music vibrates through the walkway, promising a loud, rowdy party. At the top of the stairs, a tall, good-looking guy greets us. Sally waves at him and then me. “She’s with me,” she says. “And broke up with her boyfriend, which means she’s single. You should come say ‘hi’ later.”

I roll my eyes. I don’t need her to find me a new man. So far, I’ve had three, all of which were self-absorbed and demanding in ways that pulled my attention from my future. I don’t need that or them.

Nevertheless, the dark-skinned, handsome guy looks me over, smiles and says, “I will.”

“Perfect,” Sally declares and pulls me inside the doorway of the castle.

Once we’re inside, the music isn’t as loud as I expected, thrumming rather than thumping through the room. People mingle in cliquey groups and random people hang all over each other.

“I’m going to find Max,” Sally announces, jabbing at my arm. “Get us a drink, will you?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer. She rushes forward, and I’m dust in the wind.

I’m not upset that she’s left me here in a den of horny boys because they sure aren’t men, not yet. She’ll be back. Sally is loyal and protective of me and our friendship. She wants to see Max, but he’s not her world. Sometimes I’m not sure Sally has found her world at all.

Someone bumps into me and I use the push that follows as motivation to head toward what I think is the kitchen. I’ve made it halfway across the room when I stop dead in my tracks, my heart thundering in my chest—no, pounding. This sensation is most definitely more pounding than thundering. Heavy, steal my breath, pounding.

Damion is here. He’s standing under the archway leading to another room and he’s watching me.

Chapter Four

Alana

The room spins and blood rushes in my ears.

I blink and expect him to vanish, but Damion’s still here, in this room, still the boy I grew up with, but not a boy at all—the same, but different than I remember. More man than boy. Taller. His jaw sharper. His muscles so much bigger. But it’s still him. He still has the dimple in his chin, the wave to his hair. The sharpness to his cheekbones.

Heat settles low in my belly.

My knees are weak just seeing him.

It’s illogical. It’s irrational. Years have passed, and other men have followed—men have followed. Not boys. Damion was a boy when I knew him. This reaction I am having right now, in this moment, is insanity. I am not a seven-year-old in a closet kissing the neighbor anymore. Or even a teen on a porch being sucked into the fantasy of the good-looking boy next door. I refuse to let him get to me.

I rotate on my heel and walk toward the kitchen and away from him, seeking out Sally, or rather the drinks she’s compelled me to locate. His eyes are on me, following me, and I can feel his shock at my departure. No, Damion, I will not fall at your feet. I will not giggle like a schoolgirl because he stands before me. Nope. Not going to happen. I travel down a long hallway and enter the kitchen. Sally is standing around the island with a group of guys, and none of them are Max.

“I found a drink,” she says, holding up her glass.

Before she knows what happened, I’m in front of her, claiming her cup, downing the contents, and choking on the bitter bite of too much tequila and not enough whatever else was mixed with it. I’m in full grimace when someone catches my arm and rotates me. Damion. “Are we really still doing this?”

I’m already feeling the heat of the alcohol slide over my face. I toss the empty cup at his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He grits his teeth, and before I know his intent, he’s captured my hand and he’s walking with me in tow. I double-step, trying to keep up, and the room is officially spinning. There’s a reason why I don’t drink often. I’m a bad drinker. I can’t get chill and just enjoy myself. I get awkward and clumsy, and my feet and language skills no longer work. But in my head, I’m still processing enough to know that downing that drink was a mistake.

Especially when he reaches the bottom of the stairs, throws me over his shoulder, and starts climbing upward. There are hoots and hollers, but all I can do is squeeze my eyes shut and will this to end. Everything is spinning, and his hand is on my ass, holding my skirt down. Otherwise, it would be at my neck. His hand is on my ass. This is going nowhere good and I can think of nothing else right now but his hand on my ass and the blood rushing to my head.

I’m aware of us reaching the top level and him cutting down a hallway.

The next thing I know, we’re in a room and he kicks the door shut. He lowers me to my feet and I shove against his unmoving chest. “Don’t throw me around like I’m one of your dolls to be played with.”

“Can you just let it go? We were kids.”

“It was only three years ago, Damion.”

“A lot has changed in three years.”

“So you’re not a player anymore? Because you were a player when you were in diapers. I just pretended it didn’t matter.” I try to walk away.

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