All Played Out (Rusk University #3) (6 page)

I panic and turn away from him, only to meet Stella’s amused smile.

“First time drinking beer?” she asks.

I nod. “It’s awful. Why would
anyone
drink it?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Torres says as he steps up beside me. “You get used to it.”

“Why would I
want
to get used to it? That would be akin to punching myself just to get
used
to pain.”

He shrugs. “That might make sense for fight club or something like that.”

Stella smacks his arm with the back of her hand. “Dude. First rule.”

He laughs, and they both drink their beer, and I have absolutely
no clue
what they’re talking about.
This
. This is why I don’t do parties. Reflexively, I take another sip of my drink, and immediately regret it. Groaning, I force myself to swallow.

Proud of myself, I say, “Hey, I didn’t gag that time.”

It’s Stella who spits her drink out into the sink this time. She gasps, “Oh my God.”

“What? What did I say?”

I look at Torres, and that same blazing look is back in his eyes, and I swear I can feel my blood heating. Surely one sip of beer isn’t enough to heat my skin like his was heated earlier . . . is it? It shouldn’t be possible to actually feel the warm blood rising to the surface, should it? Curious, I lift the long-neck bottle back to my lips for another drink. I make a face, but force myself to take a few swallows. As soon as I pull the bottle away from my lips, Torres snatches the beer right out of my hand.

“Let’s get you something else to drink. Before you kill me.”

“Kill you? How on earth would I kill you?”

“One swallow at a time.”

“Oh God, Torres.” Stella groans, pushing at his shoulder. “You’re terrible.”

“What? It’s the truth!”

He moves past me to the counter, where he grabs a cup and a few bottles. Stella’s eyes meet mine, and she points at Torres’s broad back. “Watch out for that one.”

But despite her warning, she walks away, leaving me alone with him. I stare after her as she heads out of the kitchen. Ryan makes a move to follow her, but she glares, and moves to stand with Brookes by the front door. My eyes search for Dylan and Silas, but they’re no longer in the kitchen.

I gulp, suddenly wishing I had that beer back just so I’d have something to do with my hands. The chaotic atmosphere of the party is even more stressful than Torres’s presence, so I turn and settle for watching him as he mixes. He starts with lemonade, and then adds liquor from a glass bottle that I don’t recognize. He tips in some cranberry juice and two more kinds of liquor.

“What is that?” I ask.

“A Bad Decision.”

“Then why are you making it for me?”

He shoots me a lopsided smile, and I’m forced to acknowledge that maybe the warmth creeping up my neck has far less to do with alcohol than I wish it did. “No, sweetheart. It’s called a Bad Decision. The drink. It’s my own special invention.”

He hands me the cup and I stare at it warily. He moves closer to me, nudging the cup closer to my mouth with his finger.

“Why should I trust you?”

He seems to enjoy my suspicion.

“Always gotta fight me. Just try it. It’s sweet. I guarantee you’ll like it much better than the beer.”

I take a deep breath, think of my list, and then lift the cup to my mouth. The flavor curls over my tongue, tangy and sweet. “I can’t even taste the alcohol,” I say.

He smiles. “That’s why it’s called
Bad Decision
. Because too many of those will sneak up on you.”

I take another sip, simultaneously watching him lift a beer,
my old beer,
to his lips. If you’d described the scene to me two weeks ago, my first thought would have been
ew, germs.
Now . . . it makes my mouth go dry, and I find myself watching his mouth long after he lowers the bottle. I clear my throat and take another sip to wet my inexplicably parched throat. I don’t know why anyone would choose beer over something like this. I tell him, “It’s really good. Thank you.”

He’s looking away from me and out at the party as he says, “For you, Nell, I’ll make as many bad decisions as you want.”

Then his gaze tracks back to mine, and he winks, and I know if I touched my skin now, it would be burning.

Chapter 6

Mateo

N
ell blushes, and my throat constricts because she reminds me so damn much of Lina. If I were already buzzing, I might even believe that I was dreaming or hallucinating or something. It’s just so fucking unreal.

From the minute I’d met Lina in sixth grade, I’d been half in love with her. She was smart—smart enough to be the best in every class and to give a thorough tongue-lashing to anyone who tried to mess with her. She had more confidence and control than any pubescent teenager should have, and it was hard not to put her on a pedestal, because she shined so damn bright.

And I was just another Mexican kid. Nothing special. I wasn’t that smart. We didn’t have much money. I was scrawny and entirely uninteresting.

As we got older, she grew into her strong features, started dressing more femininely, and her body filled out in all the right places to match those new clothes. And
bam
. Just like that, she was the smartest
and
prettiest girl no matter what room she walked into.

Or she was to me, anyway.

In my head, I’d been courting her since middle school, but in reality, I didn’t make a move until late sophomore year. I’d bulked up for football, and I’d learned how to talk to people, how to be
interesting
. I didn’t fade into the background anymore. We sat next to each other in a class. One of her friends was dating one of mine, so we got thrown together a lot. We started talking. Flirting. And then somehow, miraculously, she was mine.

This girl that I’d wanted for so long. We were together, and it was fucking special.

Until I fucked it all up.

And a girl like that doesn’t give an idiot like me a second chance. She’s way too smart for that.

And Nell . . . she has the same kind of strong features, same figure, same dark hair. From the side, I might even believe she
was
Lina. And I can’t help but feel like she’s a second chance of a different kind.

When I come back into focus, I realize I must have been blatantly staring at her. She’s determinedly not looking at me and gulping at her drink so fast that she’s nearly polished it off already.

“Hey. Easy,” I say, taking hold of her wrist. “It may not taste much like alcohol, but trust me, it packs a punch.”

“Right.” She nods. “Of course.”

“So . . . you and Dylan are roommates?”

“Yes. Since the beginning of last year.”

“Are you part of her hippy group?”

“Hippy group?”

“You know, all her activism stuff. Is that how you two met?”

“Oh. No. We had a class together freshman year. We both have an interest in making the world a better place, but Dylan does that by working with people. I . . . don’t.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Well, nothing much yet. But I’m studying for a career in biomedical engineering.”

“Biomedical engineering, huh? What is that? Like . . . designing medical equipment?”

Her eyebrows lift, and she turns so that she’s facing me, leaning her hip against the counter. She cocks her head to the side, and I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing, but I’m suddenly far too distracted by the perfect view I have down her shirt, and those damn pigtails that make my blood rush south.

It’s a good thing I’m wearing a snug pair of compression shorts beneath this damn loincloth.

“It can be, yes.” She sounds impressed, and I’m grateful that all those years spent chasing after Lina made me take more interest in studying. “It’s a growing field, but it can encompass everything from inventing or operating medical equipment to prosthetic design to research. It covers basically anything where the study of machines and technology meets the study of the human body.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re a genius.”

She pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and answers, “I’m not a
genius
.”

“Look around the room, sweetheart.” I pause to let her view some of the alcohol-induced stupidity going on around us. “In this place, I think Darwin would definitely deem you among the fittest to survive.”

A brilliant smile blooms across her face, and I send up a silent thanks to Mrs. Ehrhardt, my high school biology teacher, for being such a hard-ass and never letting me get away with sleeping in her class.

“I think it’s safe to say that you would also be considered in that top tier.” She fidgets with her cup, but doesn’t lift her eyes to mine.

“Oho.” I grin. “A compliment. Softening to me already.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. I lean down until my mouth is close to her ear and ask, “You think I’m fit, girl genius?” All I can think about is how well I think
she’ll
fit against me. What I wouldn’t give to fill my hands with her perfect curves.

“Don’t be absurd. It’s perfectly clear that you know you’re . . .” She trails off and gestures primly in the direction of my bare chest.

“It’s perfectly clear that I’m what?”

“You’re an athlete. So, of course you’re in very good physical shape.”

“Personally, I prefer your physical shape, but thank you all the same.”

“How do you manage to make
everything
dirty?”

“It’s the curse I bear. I just can’t help myself.”

“Yes, well . . . I’m going to help myself to some fresh air. I think that”—she pauses to fan at her face a few times—“the alcohol has made me too warm.”

I want to tell her it’s not the alcohol. Or I want to believe it’s not anyway. Surely with all the blushing and her nerves, she must be feeling the same connection to me that I’m feeling to her. Or is it only that I’ve teased her too much? Did I take it too far? Damn it. I just can’t help it. I like the fire in her eyes when she’s flustered. It’s almost as much of a turn-on as that damn outfit.

I finish off the last of my beer,
her
beer actually, and say, “I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, thanks. But . . . I wanted to make a phone call. I’ll come back in a little bit.”

I frown. I’m almost positive she has no intention of making a phone call, which means I was right. I’m screwing this all up.
Again
.

With Lina . . . I had years to get to know her, to figure out how to talk to her. We were at ease with each other. Nell is most certainly not at ease with me. And I can already tell she’s a complex girl, and I’m going to have to do a hell of a lot better if I want to get to know her.

“Okay,” I say. “Just be careful. It’s dark out, and there are a lot of people around. If you need anything, come find me or one of the guys.”

She nods, takes two steps away from me, and hesitates. Then she turns and says, “Thanks for the drink.”

As if watching her walk away weren’t frustrating enough, the bounce of that short skirt just below her delectable ass is enough to give a healthy man heart failure. If I don’t find a way to get my hands on her tonight, I’m likely to go insane before morning.

T
IME DRAGS AFTER
Nell leaves, and no matter how many conversations I get pulled into, nothing holds my interest. Partying is what I do. Interacting with people is my strong point. And that makes Halloween pretty much my favorite day of the year. And yet . . . all I want to do is kick everyone out, put some gory movie on Netflix, and be alone with my thoughts.

God, this girl is messing with my head.

Maybe it’s because for the first time since Lina and I broke up, I’m not looking at the world in terms of distractions. All the things that used to entertain me, the things that helped me get over her . . . now they’re just annoying the hell out of me, and I wish I could drown them all out.

I’m half tuned into a conversation with Brookes and Ryan and a few more people about next week’s game when I spy Silas across the room. He gives Dylan a peck on the cheek and then takes her cup and heads for the kitchen, presumably to get her a refill.

I walk away from our group without making an excuse. Zay calls after me, but I wave him off. I dodge around people as quick as I can, and snag Dylan’s wrist before anyone else can pull her into a conversation. She freezes up, whirling around to face me, and I immediately let go of her arm.

“Sorry. I . . . Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s fine. You just caught me by surprise. What’s up?”

“I need you to tell me about Nell.”

Her brows furrow, and for a few silent seconds I think she might actually help me. Then she bursts into laughter.

“I’m sorry, Torres. But you’ve got to be out of your mind. There is absolutely zero chance that I’m going to help you hook up with my roommate.”

“Come on. I’m not that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were bad. You are charming and funny and incredibly loyal. But you’re also a flirt. And you’re easily distracted by new, shiny, scantily clad things. And Nell is . . . she’s different. She may not seem fragile, but she is. And I would like to continue hanging out with all of you
and
keep my roommate. I’m not sure that would be possible if I let you anywhere near her.”

My spine locks up, and the tension starts creeping up around my shoulders, down my arms, all the way to my clenched fists.

“I’m not going to hurt her.”

“Listen, I respect that you’re up front with girls about your nonrelationship style. But Nell hasn’t dated much. I don’t know how she’d handle being with someone like you, so I think it’s better if it just didn’t happen.”

“You can’t stop me from pursuing her.”

And that was the dumbest thing I could have said. Dylan straightens, squaring her shoulders and giving me an intimidating stare. I can see the protective fire in her eyes, and combined with her Statue of Liberty costume, she definitely doesn’t look like anyone you’d want to mess with unless you’d like to get clobbered with a fake torch.