I stay for a reason

Book One: Stay

With a shake of my head, I watch as my roommate, Brooklyn, busts out all her best moves on the makeshift dance floor. She's the tall blonde dancing with her hands twisting in the air, almost as if she's doing a very sad Stevie Nicks impersonation.

I almost wince.

Yeah...it's that bad.

If I had to guess, I'd say that she isn't feeling the slightest bit of pain. I'm sure the liquid refreshment currently on tap is to be thanked for that. I'm hoping tomorrow will be a completely different story. She deserves the hangover-to-end-all-hangovers for dragging me to this god-awful excuse to drink beer, get rowdy, and troll for a hookup or two.

My plan for the remainder of this evening consists of staying inconspicuously tucked away in the back corner and sipping my tepid diet soda, because being a girl and walking around a drunken fraternity party is apparently an unofficial invitation to have your ass groped by a random dude. Or should I say random dudes, because this has now happened twice. And a third time will likely push me over the edge of my douchebag tolerance limit for the evening.

The objective tonight is to keep an eye on Brooklyn, and when the clock strikes twelve, drag her ass out of here. And I'm totally okay if it's kicking and screaming. Impatiently, I glance at my phone for the twentieth time in the last two hours.

It's only eleven.

This has officially become painful.

I'm snapped out of my dark thoughts on how I'll torture Brooklyn when a stray hand slides its way across my jean-covered butt.

Seriously?

Even though I try to control it, my heartbeat hitches before I spin around with tightened fists, ready to knock some unsuspecting jerk senseless.

"Excuse me," I snarl through clenched teeth, "get your damn hand off my ass before I break every single bone in your fingers!" Contrary to what you might think, it's not an idle threat.

I'll do it.

As I turn, my gaze slams into probably the widest, burliest chest I've ever had the misfortune to inspect this up close and personal.

A sigh of disgust leaves my lips before I can rein it back in.

Perfect.

Slowly, I crane my neck upward until I'm finally able to glare into his eyes. The freakishly large oaf now standing in front of me has the audacity to smile lazily, his gaze happily blurred. "Hey sexy, want to dance?"

The guy barely looks able to stand upright let alone move his gargantuan body on the dance floor. If he goes down, it'll be like a massive tree falling. And I don't even want to think about the huge mark he'll leave on his potential dance victim.

My brows draw together in aggravation before I shake my head. "No, I don't want to dance. What I'd like is for you to remove your hand from my ass."

Because-believe it or not-it's still there.

His grin widens before he squeezes my butt cheek in that massive paw of his. My eyes widen with shock as steam pours out of my ears.

Oh, hell no-that did not just happen.

Wiping the disgust from my face, I give him my best come-hither smile. Just because I never use these kinds of tactics doesn't mean I don't know how. His already dilated eyes widen like he just hit the jackpot. Stepping a bit closer to the knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, I crook my finger all sexy-like until he bends down. When our lips are close enough to touch, I drag my mouth to his ear. Before I can utter a word, I clamp my fingers around his balls-which are, in case you're wondering, oversized just like the rest of him-in a death grip. Just for good measure, I give them a little twist.

He hisses out a breath in response.

Now that I have his undivided attention, I growl, "If you don't get your damn hand off my ass immediately, I will continue squeezing until something pops. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," he squeaks, sounding almost faint.

Not a second later, he releases my offended butt cheek.

And I, in return, release his nuts. But not before I tighten my grip one last time to drive home the gravity of the predicament this moron now finds himself in. For about ten seconds we glare at each other before he carefully backs away from me and my nut-clenching fingers. As he does, his face gets all sad and mopey like I've done something wrong, which is seriously laughable.

Frankly, I'm still pissed as hell.

"You're not a very nice girl," he mutters like a cross child before taking a huge gulp, of what I assume to be beer, from a red plastic cup.

Unattractively, I snort in response "Nope. But hopefully you've learned a valuable lesson regarding the pitfalls of grabbing some unsuspecting girl's ass." Although, gauging from his unapologetic stance towards me, my guess is that he has not taken this lesson to heart. On second thought... "Just refrain from grabbing any girl's ass. Contrary to what you apparently think-we don't like it. At all."

"Some girls do," he pipes up, still sporting an intense frowny face, which is probably supposed to make me feel bad.

It doesn't.

Eyes narrowing, I shake my head. "No, we don't. It's degrading and just plain rude."

He smirks before sneering. "No one's ever complained before."

Not only do I find that comment completely dubious, but I can almost feel my blood pressure skyrocketing. Yup, Brooklyn is definitely a dead woman because this party has moved beyond painful to full-out tortuous.

"What's your name?"

"Alex Mc-"