Free Elite (Eagle Elite) by Rachel Van Dyken Page A

grabbed the girl and somehow the rest of the crowd.
    “Are you hurt?” Nixon leaned down and touched my face. I slapped his hand away and then started bawling like a little kid.
    He cursed and tried to pick me up.
    I shied away.
    “Shit.” He pulled out a hanky from his back pocket. Did guys still carry hankies? “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t…” He bit his lip until it turned white, then he held out his hand.
    My brain was on overdrive. I didn’t want the devil’s protection, but then again, maybe I did. Because there was no way I could last another day of this. I couldn’t take it. What normal girl could? I thought he was kidding. I thought wrong.
    Reluctantly, I put my hand in his, but the minute I did, he used all his strength and pulled me into his arms and he carried me down the hall.
    Wasn’t this touching? Why was it different when it was him doing the touching and not me? I didn’t have time to think of such things as people slowly trickled out of the classrooms. I saw two professors then. They nodded at Nixon and took a sip of coffee as if this was a normal thing to face every day.
    I closed my eyes and leaned my wet head against his chest.
    He smelled so good.
    I smiled and raised my free hand and rested it against his muscled chest. He tensed, sucking air into his mouth as if I had just caused him great pain. And then he relaxed as we walked into another building.
    It was smaller than the three large classroom buildings and was nestled in between the science hall and the gym.
    He tapped his card against the first steel door we came to. The door slid — yes, slid open Star Trek style.
    Nixon walked in but didn’t put me down. I struggled in his arms, but damn, that boy was strong. My eyes caught a glimpse of the room. A pool table stood in the corner. A flat screen TV took up the entire wall, several leather couches, and a bar. Wow, it was like the President’s suite or something.
    I glanced back at his face. It was impossible to read. He bit his lip, causing the lip ring on the side to disappear and then I saw it. I almost blurted it out loud. He could seriously be Channing Tatum’s twin. That is, if Channing Tatum had dark curly hair and a lip ring, but still. It was almost uncanny. I told myself to stop staring, but I couldn’t help it.
    His gaze fell to mine, then lowered to my lips. He spoke in low tones. “You need to clean up.”
    “Because I’m a whore?” I choked back the tears.
    He laughed, the bastard. “No, I think we both know you’re not a whore. You need to clean up because you smell like egg and sugar water.”
    Was that why I felt itchy? Ugh, I hated college kids.
    “Get in.” He plopped me in the middle of the floor and began pulling my clothes off so fast I couldn’t stop him.
    “What the hell, Nixon! You can’t just strip me—”
    “—I can, and I will, now step out of your skirt like a good girl.”
    Too tired to argue, I stepped out. The sound of water running filled my ears. When had he done that? My arms lifted as my tank top from underneath my button up shirt came off, leaving me in my bra, underwear, and knee highs.
    Nixon’s face froze.
    Embarrassed I tried to cover myself up. It was all too much. Being called a whore, having eggs thrown at me. No meat!
    I crumpled into his chest and sobbed. “I miss cows!”
    Nixon burst out laughing. Good Lord, but that boy’s laugh was musical. I wanted to bottle it up and keep it all for myself. “Sweetheart, I’m sure they miss you too. Now do you think you can manage the rest?”
    “The rest?” I repeated, pulling slightly away from his chest, the same muscled chest I had just snotted all over.
    He raised his hands and cupped my face. His touch felt so good. I closed my eyes. “Open your eyes, Trace.”
    I opened them. And they were staring directly at his perfect lips.
    “Do you need me to help you take off the rest of your clothes, or can you make it from here to the tub without killing