When Rivals Lose Read online

  Pulling my hand away, as if his touch burns my skin. In the same motion, I get up. The chair falling over behind me, the sound of it making every head in the class turn in my direction.

  “What’s wrong?” Banks asks, his face etched with concern, while I gather all my stuff and shove it in my backpack.

  “I… I’ve got to go, wrong class…” I mumble. Grabbing my bag, I scurry out of the class, my heart pounding like a jackhammer against my chest.

  Escaping the room, I run past the two guys standing guard at the door without looking back.

  “Hey, where are you going? Did something happen?” One of the guards calls after me.

  “I just want to go back to the dorm.” I don’t bother explaining myself any further. It’s none of their business anyway. I know they’ll follow behind me, but I don’t really care. I drown out everything around me and speed walk across campus and back to my dorm.

  When I burst into the room, I’m disappointed to find Shelby standing beside her bed, a pile of laundry before her. I had hoped to be alone.

  She’s mid-fold, her eyes widening when she sees me.

  “Hey, you’re back early?” she greets, and when I don’t respond right away, and instead walk over to my bed, she asks, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, just couldn’t take another second of class,” I mumble tossing my backpack onto the floor before throwing myself down on the twin-size mattress.

  “And why was that?” she questions.

  I’m about to start telling her about Banks and about the snippet of memory I recalled, but I get this churning in my gut that tells me not to. Something in the back of my mind tells me to keep this to myself until I know the whole story, so instead, I decide to lie.

  Groaning, I say, “I just didn’t get anything the professor was saying. It’s useless, I’m not remembering anything.” The lie glides off my tongue easily, one would think I lie all the time, and maybe I did, before.

  “I don’t know why you go anyway. I mean, I know why, but you can do other stuff around here to jog your memory. College isn’t all about classes.”

  “Then what’s it about? What else can I do to help?”

  “I told you already,” she rolls her eyes, “We went to parties before. We should go to parties now, it might help you remember something, and if it doesn’t, maybe it’ll help to meet people, to get out and about.”

  I remember her telling me these things, but honestly, I don’t want to go to parties, and it’s hard to believe that I enjoyed going to them before. But Shelby has no reason to lie to me, so it has to be somewhat true. Gazing up at her face, I can see the excitement growing in her eyes as if she knows that I’m about to give in and agree to go with her.

  A second later, I say the words, “Okay, I’ll go with you.”

  And she breaks out into a giggle, slamming down onto the mattress beside me.

  “Yes! This is going to be so much fun. I swear, Harlow, you loved dressing up and going out. Gah, I can’t wait to help you choose your clothes.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight to her chest, “I missed you, Harlow, I really did, and I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

  * * *

  It takes a little finagling to get out of the dorm without my bodyguards finding out. Thankfully the university told them that they can’t stay inside the dorms, so after a short while they leave to head to their rental, and that’s when Shelby and I make our break.

  When we arrive at the frat house, the place is packed, even the front yard is brimming with people. Inside is even worse, and by the time we make it to the kitchen, I’m ready to turn around and go back outside. Shelby keeps a tight hold on my hand like she knows I’ll bail at any given second. As I look around the room, trying to take in the sights and see if anything about this place or the people here jolt an emotion or even a memory, I feel eyes on me.

  Across the room, someone is staring at me. I know it. I can feel the heat of their gaze creeping up my back. Turning my head in their direction, and my gaze collides with chocolate brown orbs.

  In the endless sea of people, it shouldn’t be all that surprising to make eye contact with someone, but this isn’t just someone, this person’s eyes are like melted chocolate, and brimming with concern. They captivate me, grab onto me, and refuse to let go. Breaking eye contact, I let my gaze roam over the stranger’s body, realizing he looks just like Sullivan and Banks.

  Leaning into Shelby, I ask, “Who is that?”

  “What?” Her eyes follow my line of sight.

  “That guy standing in the far corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest, who is he?” I ask again.

  Shelby’s face sours, “Oliver Bishop. We don’t associate with them, Harlow. They’re trash.” Them. That makes me think of what Matt said, “Sullivan and his brothers,” I suppose that explains why they all look alike. Sullivan, Banks, and Oliver must be the brothers. Brothers I’m supposed to stay away from.

  “Everyone keeps warning me away from them,” I bite my bottom lip, the memory from earlier entering my mind once more. Banks said we in that memory… were his brothers with him that night? Did they all threaten me? Even though I tried to forget it earlier, now I wish I had held onto it, maybe I would remember the whole thing then.

  Still biting my lip, I feel compelled to look back over at the elusive Oliver, but as I do, I realize he’s no longer standing there. My heart skips like a stone skipping across the water.

  Where did he go? Is the first question that pops into my head, and the second is, why do I care? A pop song filters through the speakers, and Shelby squeals with excitement, her eyes glittering in the bright lights.

  “Oh my god, I love this song,” she shouts, either ignoring my question or having not heard it at all. As she bops her head to the song, belting out the lyrics, she tugs me along, until we reach the island that is scattered with cups and liquor bottles. There’s a beer keg centered in what would be the breakfast nook area with about five frat guys around it. They’re all laughing at something that one of the guys said, distracting me momentarily.

  That is until I feel a heat creep up my back, it feels like the sun is beating down on me, and I release Shelby’s hand and whirl around, to find Oliver mere feet away, a smile ghosting against his lips.

  Up close, he looks even more handsome, like an older version of Banks and Sullivan. Each of the brothers reminds me of those Roman soldiers from the 15th century, all muscled, and beautiful, only missing their togas, and a sword, and shield.

  Their faces angelic-looking, with sharp jaws, and high cheekbones. Their teeth perfectly straight, and white, and their hair styled to perfection as if they just walked off the cover of a romance novel. No one should be able to look as good as the three of them do, and yet, they do.

  “Nope, I don’t think so,” Shelby interjects, but Oliver rolls his eyes, ignoring her, and closing the distance between us in one single step.

  “She can talk to who she wants to, you aren’t her keeper.” Oliver’s words are directed at Shelby, but he doesn’t look away from me as he says them.

  “You’re trouble, Oliver, and Harlow doesn’t need trouble,” Shelby growls “go away.”

  “I…. I know you…” I blink slowly, speaking more to myself than him. Inhaling slowly, the zingy scent of citrus, and rain fills my nostrils calming me almost instantly.

  “Yes, you know me,” he smirks. His smile makes me want to smile, and I don’t really understand why. “Why are you here? You hate parties.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Oliver, and don’t tell Harlow what she likes and doesn’t like,” Shelby snaps at him like a momma bear protecting her young. “Come on, Harlow, let’s go outside,” she grabs my arm and starts pulling me toward the back door before I can even protest. A dark look crosses Oliver’s face, but he doesn’t make an effort to stop her. Not even a second later, I’m walking into the cool night air, a shiver rippling down my spine.

  “Ugh, those Bishop boys are so annoying.” Shelb
y rolls her eyes. “Stay here, and I’ll go inside and make you a drink, and seriously, stay away from them, they’re nothing but trouble, plus you’re supposed to hate them.”

  “Supposed to hate them?” I ask, but Shelby doesn’t answer me, and instead, walks back the way we just came. I stand there for a minute or two by myself, and when she returns with two red cups in her hands, I smile.

  “Here, drink this, let loose, and let’s enjoy the night.” I take the cup from her hand and take a big sip, letting the fruity liquid soothe my nerves.

  “Mhh, that’s really good,” I admit.

  “Of course it is, it’s your favorite,” Shelby winks, and I take another drink, gulping half the liquid down without thought.

  We talk for a bit, laugh, and dance, and before I know it, my cup is empty, and I’m feeling a whole lot better. As if the alcohol gave my mind a break from trying to remember something and make sense of everything, I feel a bit calmer, more at ease, and suddenly, I want another drink.

  “What is this? I want some more,” I tell Shelby.

  “I’ll get you some, stay here, girlfriend,” she laughs, clearly a little tipsy herself. I watch her walk back into the house before looking around the back yard. There are a ton of people outside, most of them playing drinking games. A few couples are dancing on the grass, the atmosphere out here seems more chilled than inside.

  Scanning the crowd, I hope to spot Oliver again, but no matter how much I look, I don’t see him anywhere, it’s almost like he disappeared.

  “Harlow?” An unfamiliar voice calls startling me, and I twist around faster than necessary, coming face to face with some guy that I don’t know. He’s holding a red cup in his hand, which he extends out to me, “Shelby asked me to give this to you. She said she’ll be right back.”

  “Oh, okay…” I take the cup from his hand and watch him turn and walk the other way. Weird. Not dwelling on it, I take a sip from my new drink and look around for Shelby.

  Where the hell is she?

  I take a few steps toward the door that leads back into the house when someone steps in front of me, cutting me off and causing me to stop or run head-on into them.

  “Hey, Sexy, glad to see you back on your feet again,” the guy that cut me off says. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t tell why. I think he was sitting at the table inside earlier. Maybe I even knew him from before, either way, I already don’t like him. Not only because of how he called me Sexy. No, there is something else about him that I don’t like. Something that leaves me feeling sick.

  “Thanks,” is all I say as I push past him, trying to get inside.

  His hand snakes out at the last minute, and he wraps his fingers around one of my wrists tugging me back toward him. “Not so fast, I wasn’t done talking yet,” he slurs.

  Now that he’s close, I can smell the alcohol on him, it pours from his mouth, causing my nose to wrinkle with distaste. He smells like a damn distillery. “My friends and I want you to come back to our place. There are three of us, three fat cocks, just the way you like it,” he snickers, peering over his shoulder, at what I would assume are his friends.

  His statement leaves me feeling sick, my stomach churning, bile rising up my throat.

  He talks as if that’s something I like or something I did before.

  No way would I have had a threesome, right?

  “Let me go,” I growl into his face, wrenching my arm from his grasp. I take a few unsteady steps backward. “Don’t fucking touch me again, asshole.”

  He holds his hands in the air as if he’s surrendering, but something tells me that if we weren’t at a party with a bunch of people watching us, this situation would have ended a lot differently. Turning, I walk away from him, and into the crowd, suddenly feeling safer there. I take another gulp of my drink, hoping the cold liquid will cool my heated blood. That guy’s an asshole, a douchebag.

  For a moment, I close my eyes and forget about the world around me. I almost laugh out loud. I’m trying to forget when all I’ve been doing for the last few weeks is trying to remember. Sucking a deep breath of air into my lungs, my eyes flutter open again. I feel different. There is a weird feeling in my stomach that seems to be spreading throughout my limbs at a rapid pace. Taking a few steps, I notice how my legs are wobbly and unsteady, like a newborn fawn.

  Did I drink that much alcohol?

  People run into me, as I make my way back inside or am I running into them? My perception is off. I can feel my mind becoming more clouded by the second. With each step I take forward, I become more confused, more unsure, less coherent.

  What the hell?

  I look up to see if I’m still going in the right direction, but I can’t make out the door anymore, all I see are people dancing, talking, and drinking. The world is carrying on around me while I’m slowly slipping away, and there is nothing I can do about it.

  “Changed your mind, sexy?” The creep’s voice from earlier filters into my ears while clammy fingers circle my wrist, pulling me away from the dancefloor. I want to scream, but nothing comes out. I want to fight him, but my limbs won’t move. Panic floods my veins, and all I can think of is how stupid I was to come here.

  5

  Somewhere in my panic-stricken state, and confused mind, meaty fingers are replaced with soft hands. The smell of sweat and alcohol is replaced with the clean scent of citrus and rain. The terror I feel inside, replaced with an eternal calmness.

  Without knowing how or even why, I know that I am safe.

  “Don’t ever touch her again…” A familiar voice growls the sound vibrating through me as my ear presses against a warm, firm chest.

  “We were just having some fun, Oliver. Don’t get so butthurt.”

  “You are lucky there are people here, if it was just you and me, your jaw would be broken right now,” Oliver threatens the creep. “Maybe some fingers too…”

  He doesn’t say anything else, just wraps his arm around me and starts leading me somewhere. My legs barely work, and I know he is half carrying me. At one point he just picks me up as my movements become more sluggish.

  The music and the noise of the party fade away until it is almost completely silent around us. The only thing remaining is the steady rhythm of Oliver’s beating heart.

  I’m not sure how I got there, but the next time I open my eyes, I’m in the backseat of a car. My body feels heavy and useless, my limbs weak like they have boulders tied to the ends of them. When I try and sit up to look around, I realize I’m not alone. Oliver is with me, and I’m lying across his lap, his arm cradling my head.

  “Hey there,” he whispers, his fingers brushing over my face, making my skin tingle and something deep in my mind sparks with life.

  “You want us to make you feel good?” I can hear Oliver’s voice in my ear, but I’m not sure if this is real or a memory.

  He runs his hand up and down my inner thighs. My heart starts to beat rapidly desire pooling deep in my gut.

  “Yes,” I say breathlessly, my tongue darting out over my bottom lip to wet it.

  “I want to touch you,” Oliver purrs.

  “You are touching me,” I tease, even though I know exactly what he means.

  Grinning he uses his hand to nudge my legs apart.

  “I want to touch you here,” he murmurs and lets his thumb ghost over my shorts covered pussy. Taking the hint, I spread my legs further for him. He takes the invitation and trails his fingers over the fabric before he dips his thumb into the waistband of my shorts and starts to pull them down...

  “Are you okay, Harlow?” Oliver asks, dragging me back to reality. “You’re breathing funny… please, tell me you are okay.”

  “I’m okay,” I say, my voice comes out weird and broken, but at least I got the words out. Trying to keep my eyes open, I want to look at his face, but my vision is blurry, and I can’t make out all of his features. So I close my eyes and try to remember him instead, but when I do, it’s not Oliver I see… it’s Banks.
r />   “You want us to make you come?” Banks asks, his voice unnaturally deep as he pulls away just enough to speak.

  I’m so confused… is Banks here? No… I think I’m dreaming or remembering something. Unable to hold onto reality, I let my mind pull me under, drawing me in, deeper and deeper.

  “Yes, please,” the words come out on a gasp because right as I’m speaking them, Oliver slides one of his thick digits into my slickness.

  “Fuck, Banks, she’s tight as hell.” Oliver’s voice is strained, the muscles in his neck tight. He looks like he’s ready to explode.

  Slowly the puzzle pieces fall into place, painting a larger picture in my head. I was with both of them, Oliver and Banks. I was lying across their laps, while they were touching me… and I liked it. I wanted it, even asked for it.

  I try to open my eyes once more, I want to ask Oliver what happened between us, but my eyelids are just too heavy, my head too muddled. I feel his hand cup my cheek, his thumb running over my skin gently, and I take comfort in that. His touch is tender, kind, and before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep.

  The next time I open my eyes, the fog circling my head has lifted a bit. My mind is clearer, my thoughts sharper. I’m still in the back seat of a car and Oliver is still holding me in his lap, although his eyes are closed now, his head tilted back resting on the backrest.

  For a long while, I just lay there staring at his sleeping face. It is completely dark outside, but there is a streetlamp not far from us that shines enough light in the car to let me see how peaceful he looks. So angelic, I don’t want to wake him, but I also want to talk to him. Need to talk to him.

  “Oliver,” I whisper calling out to him. Stirring lightly, his eyes blink open and like two magnets drawn together, our gazes collide.