Dirty English (English #1) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,6
His car idled as he looked at me, and even though there were quite a few yards between us, I felt the physical weight of his stare.
I inhaled sharply, goosebumps making the hair on my arms rise up.
Had he seen Shelley going through his things? Shit.
The book! I looked down to see it was still clutched it in my other hand.
Dammit.
Feeling ridiculous, I tore my eyes off him and backed up slowly until he was out of my vision. I propped the book up against his door and bolted for my apartment.
“Who was that?” Shelley asked as I flew in the door.
I shook my head. “It wasn’t Harry Potter, that’s for sure.”
NOTE TO SELF: arriving at the first frat party of the year at the Tau house with a black eye and without your usual girlfriend—now ex—raises a lot of questions and a shit-ton of stares.
The black eye was from a fight the night before. Right when it had looked like I was toast, I’d got in a heavy hook straight to the guy’s jaw and a high kick to the gut. He’d gone down like a sack of bricks. It was my third win since uni had ended in May.
I rubbed my sore fists against my jeans.
The pain was worth every cent I’d taken home.
“Where’s Nadia?” one of the honorary frat little sisters asked with a big smile when I came in the door.
I grunted. “Not with me. I’d check with the men’s tennis team.”
Her eyebrows went up as I marched on by. She obviously hadn’t heard that Whitman’s It couple had broken up over the summer. I’d ended it when I’d walk in on Nadia bouncing on top of some other guy’s cock. I clenched my fists, remembering her deception. She’d known exactly when I’d be walking through that door, and she’d timed it perfectly, all part of her plan to force me to freak out and do what she wanted. Buy her a ring, go to law school, be like my wanker father. Never going to happen.
Her manipulations had failed, and I’d dumped her.
To borrow a saying from my dead mum, she was all fur coat and no knickers.
Most days I felt like my heart had recovered, but my faith in women was shit.
As far as I knew, Nadia was still with her new guy, some fancy tennis player from Brazil. Donatello or Michelangelo or something. Ninja Turtle? Yeah.
I pushed thoughts of her away and entered the large den which on a normal day would have a row of couches, end tables, and beer bottles, but now had a mass of bodies gyrating on a makeshift dance floor. Music blared, a strobe light ricocheted around the room, and red Solo cups littered the floor.
I wasn’t a member of this frat—I didn’t have time to get rat-arsed every night—but my twin brother, Dax, was the Tau President, so it was understood I was always invited.
Questions kept coming from partygoers as I crossed the room.
“Hey, Nadia isn’t with you?” one of the girls asked. That’s right. She’s a bloody slag and I’m done with her.
“Dude, what happened to your eye?” a guy called as I passed. I sent him a dark look. Seriously? You don’t know about the underground fighting? You must be new at Whitman.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the bar and twisted off the top to take a big drink.
“Dirty English is in the house! About fucking time,” Dax called out as he jumped down the staircase and landed on the bottom floor, a distance of about seven feet.
“Bugger me, you’re going to kill yourself doing that.”
He tossed his head back and let out a deep laugh. “Me? Dangerous? Look in the mirror, arsehole.”
I sighed, half annoyed, half glad to see him. Polar opposites, he was the happy-go-lucky one who partied while I was the serious one who dreamed of teaching mixed martial arts at my own gym and maybe getting a run at the UFC.
I peered into a face nearly identical to mine, except for the scruffy beard he had going on. His grin was lopsided.
“You’re snockered, brother,” I said.
He shrugged, ignoring me. “Where have you been? This party is off the chain, and I need my wingman.”
I grinned. “Whoa. You’re my wingman.”
His lips twitched. “Let’s try it out then. Pick a hottie and let’s see who she wants more? I’m up on you by three already.”