Reese
Marco caught my arm as I walked into Boldt Auditorium, stopping me from following Smith down the hall to the storage room where we kept the marching snares. I tugged sharply at my elbow to free it, but he held on tight, his fingers digging into my bicep almost hard enough to leave a bruise.
“Woah there, hotshot. Practice doesn’t start for another ten minutes, and I need to have a quick word with you.”
I stared at his hand pointedly until, after one last harsh squeeze, he released it. When it fell back to my side, I didn’t give him the satisfaction of rubbing it or even looking to see if his handprint remained behind, reddening my tanned skin. Asshole. I fixed a blank expression on my face and waited impatiently for whatever it was he needed.
“I’m not sure if they told you NADs yet, but one of the things you’re expected to do for the upper classmen is clean their rooms once a week. I’m talking dusting, vacuuming, taking the trash out, changing the sheets—everything. We drew names last night, and I ended up with you.”
He paused as if expecting a reaction. I refused to give him that pleasure. “Okay,” I said evenly. “You have my contact info in triplicate on all those forms we filled out last week. Text me your schedule sometime, and I’ll handle it.”
Slipping his hand in the back pocket of his skinny jeans that failed to give him any kind of rock star credibility, he withdrew a dull silver key and pressed it into my palm. “It better be spotless, Reese. Or you’ll be on the bench or off the line before your classes even start.”
“Oh, Marco.” I smiled sweetly and patted him on the cheek, ignoring the throbbing in my arm from his manhandling. “Don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Unzipping my gym bag a few inches, I tossed his key inside and let it slide to the bottom, where I’d worry about finding it later beneath the crumpled receipts and old gum wrappers. “Is that all, lieutenant?”
Indecision flattened into annoyance on his scowling face. Without another word, Marco shouldered past me and continued down the corridor, then ignored my existence when I slipped into the room after him.
Smith looked at me quizzically as he adjusted his harness and checked his drumsticks. “You okay?” he asked. His eyes narrowed a bit and he touched my arm lightly, skimming his thumb across the lingering redness below my sleeve.
I twisted the other direction, so my arm wasn’t as visible, and forced a shrug. “Bumped into something. It was no big deal.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but then shook his head instead. “Right.” He left it at that and handed me my stick bag. “I already checked it for you. And your rig.”
“Thanks, Robin.” I flashed him a quick smile as Laird entered the room and the assembled group quieted, his commanding presence demanding it without him having to ask.
Laird huddled with Marco over a clipboard in the corner while I finished double-checking my gear. Then I assumed the default drummer position, arms crossed over my chest with a pair of drumsticks in one fist.
When he turned to face us, shifting to take the same stance as the rest of us, his eyes trekked across the room restlessly, as if he was searching for something.
Until they landed on me.
And stopped.
I sucked in a breath as shamrock green eyes held mine captive, and when his gaze wandered down my body, like he couldn’t help himself from taking a longer look, a tingle zipped down my spine and took up residence low in my belly, warming me.
Self-consciously, I lifted my hand to rub at my cheek, that small action seeming to jerk him back to the present, and his attention dipped briefly back down to the clipboard in his hand before focusing on a spot somewhere to my left.
“Right. NADs, if you’ll look around, you’ll notice there’s only seven of you left. And, for those of you who aren’t math majors, there are seven vets. This is the part of the audition process where you get assigned to a vet who will be in charge of making sure you know what the fuck is going on and that you don’t embarrass us. If he asks you to do something, you do it. If he asks you to do something not related to drumline, you do it. It’s really that simple.”
Marco took half a step forward, his shoulders loose, and sighed. “I’ll sacrifice myself and take Hotshot over there.” The wink he shot at me was anything but reassuring, and distaste rose like bile in my throat.
“Actually,” Laird responded before I could do more than flick my eyes at Smith, who was frowning, “as captain, I’ll go first. And, Marco, since I know how much you’re threatened by Reese’s dick being bigger than yours, I’ll take her.”
I froze. He did not just say that. Around me, the new guys coughed and turned away, while the vets hooted and took turns punching Marco and Laird on the shoulders in glee. Nobody looked at me but Marco, and his eyes burned with a fire that promised retribution.
But what the fuck? Shouldn’t he be glaring at Laird? I damn sure was, because this was all his fucking fault. Or maybe this was part of some kind of twisted plan to make my life so miserable I quit, because there’s no way Marco was going to back down after that declaration.
“Holy shit,” Smith breathed next to me. “I’m not sure whether you should be scared of what’s coming your way as a result of that, or flattered as hell by the compliment he just paid you.”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know when I decide.” I ducked my head and shuffled over a few steps, until Smith’s lean back formed a buffer from being in Marco’s direct line of sight.
“I don’t think hiding is going to help disguise your giant cock, Batman.” He flashed me a sympathetic look. “I’m not sure what his strategy was with that little move, but if you didn’t already have a target painted on your back, you sure as fuck do now.” He took a giant step to the side, blowing my cover. “If there was ever a time to grow some lady balls, now would be good.”
No special treatment, I reminded myself, painting a bored look on my face and slouching in a show of indifference. He’s nothing I can’t handle.
Marco shrugged off Bubba, who was still hanging on his shoulder, and cast one last murderous look my direction. I blew him an insouciant kiss, and I swore steam came out his ears. “Whatever. She’s Laird’s problem now.” He huffed out a short laugh. “I’ll take Smith instead. Bubba, your turn.”
The rest of the NADs were claimed by the other vets, with Charlie pairing off with his brother, Cade, a move I was surprised they allowed. It reinforced my opinion that Cade was probably getting one of the field positions, regardless of talent. Not that Cade was bad. He wasn’t. But I was better.
After we finished our warm-up, we started working on the two opening songs. The first show we were doing this year was a medley of Bon Jovi’s greatest hits. Once we’d worked out the major kinks, we headed down to the practice field to begin blocking out the choreography.
I was lagging a bit behind because the women’s restroom was on the other side of the building and I’d had to make a quick pit stop. Quickening my pace, I jogged down the sidewalk to catch up, the snare harness thudding against me with every step, when Marco stepped out from around a corner abruptly, his giant foot landing in front of mine. It was too sudden and I couldn’t stop my forward momentum, but all I could think was, protect the snare. I twisted as I fell, landing half on the sidewalk, half off the curb on the blacktop parking lot that skirted the field.
Stars danced around the edges of my vision as I struggled to pull air into my lungs, the snare resting heavy on top of me. My left hip throbbed where it’d landed right on the edge of the curb, taking the brunt of my weight. I sucked in a ragged breath, pinching my eyes closed to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. I refused to let him see any sliver of weakness, no matter what the cost.
When I cracked my lids open again, Marco’s face hovered above me, his expression impassive. “I hope you didn’t fuck up the drum. Being careless with the equipment is a pretty good way to get cut.”
I climbed to my feet, biting the inside of my cheek when my knee buckled on my first attempt to straighten up. It didn’t escape my attention that he didn’t offer to help me rise, instead standing there with his arms crossed and his own rig safely on the grass a few feet away. Snatching a pair of sticks from my bag, I played a quick four measure solo, proving the drumhead was still tight.
My lips twisted in an ugly imitation of a smile while my fingers flexed against the lip of the drum. “Guess I didn’t notice you there. I’ll have to watch out for you better next time.” I forced out the strangled apology for him purposefully knocking me down, distaste curling my stomach, and a look of dark satisfaction stretched across his face. I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was the same expression he had when he came. Fuck, this was the kind of bullshit he got off on. There was no mistaking it now, and I’d literally fallen right into his trap. Reese 1, Scrotum Breath 1.
He held my gaze, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver of unease that slid down my spine. “Yeah. You’d do good to stay out of my way.”
I moved ahead of him, my left side throbbing with every step. It didn’t help that the snare rested along my hips, so that every movement I made prodded the point of impact. But I kept my pace steady, my gait even, because I could feel his eyes burning into me as I continued down the sidewalk, and I refused to let him see me struggle.
Guys like Marco preyed on the weak, if for no other reason than to make themselves feel better, bigger. Being lieutenant of a college drumline was probably going to be the pinnacle of his musical career, and no doubt he was trying to squeeze every ounce of power he could from the position. The fact that a freshman girl threatened him so much reflected his own insecurities, I reminded myself, as I hurried to the far side of the field away from him. If I wasn’t good, he wouldn’t care.
But I was good. And we both knew it.
I compartmentalized the pain, learned the maneuvers, and made it through the rest of the day. Smith tried to stall me when we put away our equipment after practice, concern evident in the angle of his eyebrows and the tilt of his lips, but I waved him off. “Girl stuff,” I muttered, pressing a palm to my lower abdomen. When he backed off, I made a stealthy escape, knowing I was nearing my breaking point.
The only detour I made was to Sammy’s, the popular deli on the edge of campus. Nothing made me feel better than a hot turkey-and-cranberry sub, and if there was ever a time for comfort food, it was tonight. The line wasn’t bad, only half a dozen students deep, but by the time I’d collected my sandwich and filled the largest Styrofoam cup they had with Cherry Coke Zero, I was having to bite my lip with every step.
Stopping to poke a straw through the lid and add a handful of napkins to my tray, I tensed when I heard my name spoken from right behind me. I whirled around too fast and my hip protested the sudden motion, my knee partially giving way beneath me.
Laird’s arms shot out, his hands catching my hips to steady me and I couldn’t stop the yelp that tore from my throat. “Careful there, Reese, mind if I join—”
His words cut off abruptly, his attention focused on where the fabric of my shirt was bunched up beneath his hand. Below it, the purple bloom of a fresh bruise darkened most of my side. Swallowing back a groan, I tried to back up, but he tightened his fist, and the cotton-blend material digging into my skin stopped any further movement.
“What. Happened?” He spat out the words like they tasted bad.
I licked my dry lips, heat rushing to my face. “I tripped earlier at practice, and—”
“And why the fuck didn’t you say something then?” he finished for me.
I sucked in a sharp breath and lied again. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”
He yanked my shirt higher and tugged the waistband of my shorts down an inch. The discoloration was larger than the span of his oversized hand.
“Hey, Palmer?” Laird didn’t look away as he called out to the guy behind the sandwich counter. “I’m gonna need you to repackage her order to go, and get me one of whatever she ordered as well.”
“What? Stop. It’s fine,” I gritted out, swatting his hand away and readjusting my clothing.
“Were you not listening at practice earlier?”
I paused. “When?”
“When I told you that if your vet tells you to do something, you fucking do it.” His forced smile was tight, but his eyes spoke volumes. Those shamrock green irises warned me away and promised me everything at the same time.
A skinny guy with freckles, whose name was apparently Palmer, took my tray from me and disappeared into the back.
“And what are you telling me to do exactly?”
“You’re coming home with me.”