I thought about responding that I’d be happy to do something different to his face, like punch it, but Sam spoke first.

“So, can you three amigos take us to Martin?” Sam seemed to dislike this last question about my face just as much as I did, because her tone held moderate aggravation. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

This was a true statement. It was already 10:10 p.m. and I knew, based on my eavesdropping, that the “drugging” would occur sometime around 10:30 p.m.

Blue-eyes nodded, still holding my hand. “Sure, sure. Follow me.” He tugged me forward.

Brown-eyes, the one who felt comfortable putting his hands on my body, winked at me as I passed. “Find me later, we’ll have some fun.”

His companion hit him on the back of the head and I heard him say as we left, “Not likely, dumbass.”

“I’m Eric,” Blue-eyes tossed at us over his shoulder. “Stroke is this way.”

“Stroke?”

“Martin is Stroke.” Eric turned briefly to explain. We made a chain, the three of us, as we wove through bodies of scantily dressed females and grabby frat boys. “He’s eight seat in the boat. It’s called the stroke seat because it sets the stroke rhythm for the rest of the boat. So we call him Stroke.”

I gritted my teeth through the jostling, ignored the body parts that pressed against me—or outright palmed my anatomy.

Martin was called Stroke. Somehow that nickname fit.

Eric led us to a staircase where another bouncer dude stood. He nodded once to Eric and smirked at Sam and me. I deduced he thought we were on our way to engage in a throupling (a threesome coupling). This, of course, caused my blush to intensify.

Jerk conscience.

I struggled to climb the stairs in the heels, almost asked Eric to stop so I could remove them. I was so busy debating whether or not to take off my shoes that I almost collided with Eric’s back when he stopped in front of a pair of overly large double doors.

“He’s in here.” Eric turned, tilted his head, then let go of my hand to push open the door.

“Thanks.” I nodded once and gripped Sam’s hand tighter as I moved to enter.

“No. No. She stays out here.” Eric shook his head and motioned to Sam.

“What? Why?”

“Only one girl at a time, unless both are invited.”

I glanced at Sam and imagined I wore a similarly stunned expression.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked. “What is he? A sultan? Does he have a harem?”

Eric smirked, his eyes moved over Sam with simmering appraisal. “I’ll keep you company, cupcake.”

“No thanks, dildo,” she responded.

This only made his grin widen, though he said, “You’re safe with me. I promise the only thing I’ll do to you is stare at you.”

She glowered. He narrowed his eyes mockingly, though his amusement and enjoyment at the exchange was obvious.

“I’m not worried about me,” Sam explained. “I don’t trust your boy around my girl, not in this house.”

Eric’s gaze moved over my dress; his grin waned, softened, like he knew a secret about me.

“Kaitlyn will be safe. But if she’s not out in fifteen minutes we’ll go rescue her together.”

I didn’t like what his words inferred or what they implied. I wasn’t a damsel. I wasn’t going to need rescuing. If anyone was a damsel in this situation it was Martin Sandeke. I was rescuing him, he just didn’t know that yet…

I addressed Sam, my voice lowered. “I’ll be fine. Martin’s not going to do anything. I’ll just tell him about the, um, the assignment and then I’ll leave.”

Sam was teetering, still undecided. After a prolonged moment she blurted, “Oh, all right.” Then she shifted her gaze to Eric. “But I’m timing this. I have a watch.” She held up her wrist so he could see the evidence of her time piece.

“Noted,” he said with a large smile, then held his hands up as though he surrendered.

Before I lost my nerve, I turned the handle to the door and opened it—only glancing back once at Sam before I stepped in and shut it behind me.

CHAPTER 3

The Periodic Table

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t a pool table.

I hovered at the entrance to the room, just inside the small alcove, and watched as Martin and three other guys good-naturedly knocked the cue ball around with their pool sticks.

No one noticed me at first and this allowed me time to chant my synonyms silently.

Unsteady, uncertain, nervous, anxious, worried, panic…

Then the thought popped in my mind, Even though you don’t feel calm doesn’t mean you can’t be calm. This was something my mother had said often when I struggled with childhood angst, frustration, and disappointment. These words were an excellent mantra now.

I wasn’t concerned for my safety, but I was concerned. I’d gone through life hiding in cabinets, was perfectly happy to continue this practice once this task was over. I just had to get it over with first.

Propelled by this determination—to cross this task off my conscience’s list and go find a nice, safe cabinet to hide in—I gained a step forward and cleared my throat.

One of the guys was mid-laugh and I wondered at first if they’d heard me. But, eventually, four sets of eyes swung to my position, though I tried to focus only on Martin.

“Uh, hi. Hello.” I gave the room a little wave.

Martin, like the rest, looked at me like I was a stranger. However, I felt all pairs of eyes sweep up and down in a way that made me feel like I was a car, or a horse—one they were thinking about riding.

Heated anxiety seized my chest, tightness spread into my stomach. I balled my hands into fists and took another step into the room, further into the light.

“I’m looking for Martin.” I kept my eyes on him; at six feet away, he was the closest to my position.

Recognition had not yet registered when he replied sounding both bored and irritated, “What do you want?”

“It’s me. Um, it’s Parker. Kaitlyn Parker. I was hoping I could speak with you for…a…minute…about chemistry?” I bit my lip, waited for his reaction.

Martin visibly stiffened, blinked, and flinched when I said my name. His eyes—now focused and narrowed—moved over me once more, this time with obvious and renewed interest.

“Parker?” He took a step forward and laid his cue stick on the table; he sounded and looked baffled.

nodded, hazarded a glance at the others. They were alternately watching me then turning their heads to watch Martin’s reaction.

“Yep. I promise I’ll just be a minute, it won’t take—”

“Everyone out,” Martin interrupted, his voice a bit too loud for the space. It was a command.

To my surprise, his three companions set down their pool cues on the table and shuffled out as instructed, and without delay.

One or two of them caught my eye as they left, their expressions plainly curious but none of them spoke. Martin’s gaze never left my face; he seemed to recover quickly from the surprise of my arrival. The line of his jaw grew hard, and the muscle at his temple ticked.

I didn’t know what to make of the gathering storm in his eyes so I ignored it and attempted to think of a word to use in my synonym game. I also tried not to look at his lips.

I tried and I failed.

I couldn’t help it; the memory of his kiss—our kiss—arrived like a tsunami, flooding my body with something heated and tight. I felt overwhelmed by it, surrounded on all sides. I knew what he tasted like, how he sounded when he growled, what his hands felt like on my bare skin.

I tried not to shiver and failed at that too.

The door clicked behind me, but, to me, it sounded like a gunshot—because it signaled that we were alone. I gathered a breath and tucked my hair behind my ears. I needed to focus on reciting the speech I’d practiced in my head for the last five hours.

Then I could leave, my conscience could piss off, and this would all be over.

Ignoring the goosebumps he’d ignited with his scorching glare, I did my best impression of calm and said, “So, the reason I’m here—”

“Let me guess.” He crossed his broad arms over his broad chest, his broad shoulders stiff and straight, and leaned his hips, which were narrow and not broad, against the pool table. “Your level of interested has…changed.”

I squinted at him. “What?”

“You’ve changed your mind about me.” The way he said the words, deadpan and caustic, led me to the conclusion that he thought I was there to beg for more kisses, entrap him with my feminine wiles.

Little did he know, I possessed no feminine wiles. Only the willies and the hibby jibbies.

I squinted more. I was feeling flustered. He wasn’t supposed to talk. He was supposed to listen.

“No. It’s not that at all. It’s about the cabinet.”

He scoffed, like he didn’t believe me. “Nice dress.”

I glanced down at myself, my hand automatically lifting to my abdomen. “Uh, thanks. It’s borrowed.”

“Really?” He said really like he didn’t really believe me.

“Yes. It’s also little too short, I think.” I tugged at the hem, wishing it longer. “I was told I wouldn’t be allowed in without a skirt.”