Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

She’s going to get hurt, and I’ll hate myself forever for it.

Nina walks out, wrapped in a robe. Her knowing gaze passes between me and Ever—and those shorts—putting a smirk on her face. But it vanishes when there’s a loud bang on the door. Ever slams her head on one of the refrigerator shelves, and I stop to kiss the spot she’s rubbing on my way to the door, natural as breathing, but my blood pressure is spiking like a football. “It’s probably the locksmith, but stay in the kitchen. Just in case.”

“Nina!”

“Just kidding, it’s your ex.” Both girls go wide-eyed. They’re nervous in their own home, and that fact causes anger to belt me across the middle. At least until Ever pulls a knife out of the chopping block and batter’s up, taking the bluntest edges off my rage. “Whoa. Good thought.” I take her arm and lower it, unable to resist kissing her nose. “But let’s see if we can handle this peacefully first.”

Yeah. Right.

Giving them what I hope is a reassuring look, I cross to the door and glance through the peephole, long enough to determine the guy is drunk and talking to himself. He’s also attempting to slide his key into the lock, which makes me really grateful I’m there—enough to make my knees feel like jelly for a few counts—because the chain on the door is weak at best, so he could’ve gotten in pretty easily. Before the cops had time to arrive. Quietly as possible, I disengage the flimsy chain, flip the deadbolt . . . and then I sneak attack the motherfucker.

My fists are twisted in his collar and we’re across the hallway before he even knows the door is open. “Drop your keys. Do it now.”

“What?” Metal hits the floor with a satisfying series of clanks. “Who are you?”

“I’m . . .” Ever’s friend? Ever’s boyfriend? Ever’s nothing? “It’s complicated.” I strengthen my grip. “But let me explain to you what isn’t complicated. This is your last time in this building.” I let that sink in. “You’re going to take your girl-pushing ass down the stairs, Uber back to 450 East Twentieth Street—that’s right, I know your address—and never come near Ever or Nina again. Not even once. Or next time, I won’t just send flowers while your new girlfriend is over, I’ll send an army of strippers who all know you by name.”

Spittle is rattling out the sides of his mouth. “That was you who sent the flowers?”

“Hell yeah, it was me.” I examine him like he’s a bug under a microscope. “I know your face now, too. And I don’t fucking like it. How about you? Do you like it or should I rearrange it a little?”

“I-I like it.”

“Guess that makes one of us.” I release him with a shove in the direction of the staircase. “You’ve got ten seconds to hit the street before I change my mind about letting you off with a warning. One . . . two . . .”

He stands there looking dumbfounded for a few counts before throwing a final longing glance at the apartment door and taking off, calling me some pretty creative names under his breath. I scoop up the keys, tucking them into my pocket, and wait until I hear the downstairs door slam. To be honest, I’m disappointed he didn’t protest a little more, because my blood is buzzing like a pissed-off swarm of bees.

It doesn’t help when I walk back into the apartment, finding the girls crowded by the slightly open door. Nina looks relieved, patting me on the shoulder. But Ever . . .

She backs up a few feet, her face flushed, pupils dilated . . . and I know that look. I counted on that look for months. It says, you’re about to get laid so hard. God, I want it. Want her. Need her. The need doesn’t care that I’m supposed to be resisting her at all costs, though. And I have serious fucking doubts about my willpower to resist.





Chapter 20





Ever


Sweet Mother Mary.

I’m not into stroking men’s egos. I am not a damsel in distress. Seriously, if Nina’s ex had walked through the door and tried to hurt my friend, I would have shanked that fool. No hesitation. I don’t need a man to fight my battles for me. But damn if my ovaries aren’t lit up like the New York skyline on New Year’s Eve. I’m not just burning up with lady fever because Charlie manhandled that jerk in the hallway and sent him running with his tail between his legs. No, it’s a combination of that, his comforting manner with Nina and the way he rushed us out of Webster Hall tonight. Whether I like it or not, Charlie was a certified knight in shining armor, and I want to . . . reward him. I want to reward him good. From here until next Tuesday.

It’s not wise. At all. I’m in love with Charlie Burns and he’s made it clear, in so many ways, that he’s not available. When we were dancing tonight, I felt him holding back. Trying to keep a separation between us. Even now, his gaze rakes over me, burning hot, but hesitant. Wary. I’m so lost here. I need him, I miss him, but I know I’ll be continually devastated every time he leaves. When I told him I wanted something real, I meant it. Something real isn’t possible with Charlie. But is something real possible with anyone else but him?

“I’m going to give you two a minute,” Nina says, backing toward her bedroom. “I’ll hear the locksmith when he knocks.”

“Yeah,” Charlie responds, his voice like gravel as he digs out the keys from his pocket. He tosses them on the counter without looking. “Those are his keys, but let’s get the cylinder changed, anyway, on the off chance he made a copy, all right?”

How dare he be this capable? I think that’s how I’m staring at him. Like I’m pissed at him for being so competent. “You okay, Nina?” I ask, sounding breathless.

“Oh, after that?” Her laugh follows her into the bedroom. “I’m walking on air.”

When the door closes behind my roommate, it’s like a powder keg goes off between Charlie and me, sparks, smoke, internal booms. We edge closer on the balls of our feet, both of us breathing like we just ran up eight flights of stairs. “Ever.” His voice is hoarse. “Stop looking at me like that.”

I just want to hear him describe anything in that tone. “Like what?”

“Don’t do this to me. It isn’t fair to either of us.” Expression agonized, he points to the kitchen counter. “I’m not leaving you like that again.”

“Then stay.” The words are out before I can put the kibosh on them. And I don’t want to take them back, because this is it. I love this man and I have to take a shot. This is the moment I’ve been given, and I can’t let it slip away without trying. “Stay one time. It probably won’t work. Or maybe it won’t be so bad.”