Free Swell by Julie Rieman Duck

schedules. But I resisted, instead taking off my shoes to get in the tub and kick back, allowing the cool porcelain to chill my bare legs.
    “What are you doing in my parents’ tub?”
    I sat up, startled back into reality, but still sitting deep in the tub.
    Hillman was leaning against the bathroom door, both hands in his pockets and a look on his face like I’d broken a rule.
    “I was just taking a tour of your house,” I said, getting out of the small pool of a bathtub. Hillman remained still, watching me take one leg out, then the other. I moved toward the bathroom counter and leaned against it.
    “If you wanted to take a bath, you should have told me. We have plenty of towels.”
    I didn’t respond. My stomach felt a searing sense of “go” that I didn’t know how to heed. There was only one way into and out of the bathroom and he was blocking it.
    “You can, you know…”
    “Can what?” I asked, my hands gripping the edge of the counter.
    “Take a bath. I’ll do your back.” He smiled, sauntered over to me, and leaned against the counter. His fluid movement was slow and purposeful, and his eyes did not leave me once during the conversation.
    “I’m not taking a bath, but thanks. I need to get back to Christian,” I said, making a break for it. Hillman grabbed my arm and pulled me back, lifting my body up and placing me on the counter. Within seconds he had pulled me against him.
    “What are you doing, Hillman? Let me go.”
    “I want to talk to you, Beck.” His voice was as smooth as a mocha and just as hot.
    “Not like this.” I protested, getting nowhere. The house was so vast that nobody would hear me if I yelled.
    “Christian’s gone home cause he didn’t feel good.”
    My neck felt singed with flames. Christian wouldn’t have left without telling me.
    “You’re lying.”
    Hillman wrapped his hands around my arms and brought our chests close.
    “No, not lying. Don’t think it’s right of him to leave without telling you though. But, hell, that’s his business, not mine.” He eased up on the body hug, but held his face so close to mine that I could smell barley and hops as well as a smoky, resinous scent on his breath.
    “Let. Me. Go. Now!” I started to squirm. If I was going down, it wasn’t without a fight. Hillman let go of my arms, but held his hips firmly in front of mine.
    “I’ll take you home, Beck. Unless… you want to stay here.” I couldn’t believe his audacity.
    “Just let me go,” I said, the water pooling in my eyes, my body trembling with fear.
    “I wasn’t trying to scare you, Beck. I just wanted to feel you close to me.” He thrust his hips into mine until I felt his hardness, and then released me.
    I hopped off the counter and got the hell out of that bathroom, running down the stairs to look for Christian. I went to the kitchen, the living room, and outside where I’d last seen him. Then out to the driveway. His car was gone.
    “The fucker wasn’t lying,” I mumbled, sitting down on the driveway to catch my breath. I’d just as soon walk home, but being that I lived downhill… way downhill… it would have been an all-night hike. Meeting Jenna at the gate would be more realistic, and I pulled my cell from my pocket.
    Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail. I tried again, with the same results. I was afraid of going back in the house and getting cornered by Hillman again, but I had to find a way home without calling my parents. With great regret, I went back in and found Allison, half-way through a giant schooner of beer and straddling the couch armrest.
    “What’s up, Beck?”
    “Can you give me a ride home?”
    “Where’s Christian?” she asked, suddenly serious.
    “He went home — wasn’t feeling good.” She shook her head, took a huge drink and pointed a finger at me.
    “I told you about him.”
    “Yeah, I know you did.” I wasn’t in the mood to be chastised or made to feel like a shit for dating Christian. “Now, can I have a ride