Page 10 of Embrace

He watches me for a minute before speaking again.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks, then scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t really know what the move is here. It’s my first time partying with my tutor.”

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I’m not your tutor.”

“Right.” He nods to himself, and I’m barely fighting a smile. “And you’re sure about that?”

I twist off the faucet, giving up on the beer stain. “Yes, Kian. I’m sure.”

“Is there something you need? I can help. I’ll help you with whatever. I scratch my back, you scratch yours.”

“You mean you scratch my back, and I scratch yours,” I correct automatically.

His grin spreads fast. “Sick! So you’re in?”

“What? No—I was just…” I stop. “I don’t need your help with anything. Well, unless you count scaring off douchebags.”

“I can do that,” he says.

I blink. “Do what?”

“Scare off douchebags. I’m good at it. You saw me just now.” He blinks innocently.

“That’d be a full-time job. I don’t exactly have the best reputation around here. I’m sure you know that.”

Kian leans in, but still far enough that he’s careful to not invade my space. “What reputation?”

I think he’s being dense, or purposefully cruel, but neither seems like him.

“Oh come on,Campus Mattress?” The memory of that name crawls up my spine, forcing a shiver.

We were sophomores when Sierra saw it on the Dalton gossip page. It wasn’t up for long. I think Sierra threatened someone to get it taken down. Which was a blessing, because if my dad ever got an inkling, I would have never left my room.

“That’s messed up,” he says, and I almost think he’s talking about my past. “Who the hell would say something like that?”

Oh. “It’s…whatever. That was the hot topic for like five minutes.”

“Still. These assholes have no right talking about you like that.”

He’s so earnest it almost startles me. No one’s ever said that to me—other than Sierra. It was like screaming into a void while the same frat gods became campus legends for sleeping with girls. I knew the rules were uneven, but some naive part of me still believed they wouldn’t apply here.

Kian offers me a beer, and I shake my head. He doesn’t take one either. Leaning against the counter, he eventually perches on top, effortless and carefree. And so damn big. He fills the space without trying.

I glance around the party and I realize I’m keeping him here. “Your friends are playing Jenga.”

He doesn’t even glance in their direction. His attention startles me, and before I can make an excuse to leave, he says, “By the way, I would.”

“Would what?”

“Tell off any asshole who comes near you. You don’t deserve that.”

You don’t deserve that.

My heart knocks against my rib cage. “H-how do you know what I deserve?”

My words hang there, but he doesn’t answer, just looks at me like that’s my answer.

He slips off the countertop and suddenly it feels wrong to let him leave.