“You’re even more pathetic than I thought,” Jon says through clenched teeth.

“You need to chill. What’s one more week? The bitch is loaded.”

Jon’s punch is lightning fast. It hits the guy in the face and knocks him into the porch column next to me. I try to jump away, but the sea of people is as solid as a brick wall. Blood splatters, making a fan pattern on my cute white jacket. A few people in the crowd scream, including me.

Jon glances up, and for a split second, his gaze locks on mine. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. All the oxygen has evaporated from the surrounding air as well as from inside my lungs. It’s like I’m the one who’s had the wind knocked out of me, not his opponent.

I’ve never seen eyes like his before. So vibrant. So stunning. You’d expect someone with hair as dark as his to have the dark eyes to match, but his are a pale, crystal blue. Like cut glass lit from within. And right now, they’re icy shards, freezing me in place.

It takes me a moment to catch my breath, for the blood to flow into my fingers and toes again. By that time, his attention is back on the guy he just hit.

Chris touches his mouth and nose. His hand comes away covered in blood. “What the fuck, Priestly? You broke my nose.”

“Actions have consequences,” Jon says. “That’s one of them.”

“I can’t believe you actually broke my nose.”

The way he says it makes me wonder if they hang out or might have been friends at one time. Guys are weird. They can be best friends one minute, then beat the crap out of each other the next.

Gingerly touching his nose, Chris mumbles under his breath, “You’re such a fucking loser.”

Jon lunges forward again and grabs him. The crowd parts as he drags him down the steps like a rag doll. Away from me. I can finally breathe again.

Once they’re out on the lawn, he gives the guy a hard shove. “You promised to pay, dickwad. Or didn’t your daddy teach you that? Stella’s not running a charity. Now, get the fuck out of here before I break something else.”

A low murmur runs through the crowd. “Stella?”

“Who’s Stella?”

“Is that his girlfriend?”

“I don’t think he has a girlfriend.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he dumped her.”

Chris lobs a few more parting insults, but when Jon starts after him again, he storms across the lawn with as much swagger as he can muster. He jumps into a shiny black Beemer parked halfway down the driveway and floors it. Gravel sprays in a wide arc, hitting a few nearby cars. I’m glad I parked around the block. Even though I have a POS car, I’d have been pissed if it got pelted with rocks.

Jon rubs his bloody knuckles as he turns back to the house. “Party on,” he says, and everyone laughs.

The music returns, and people are laughing as they line up again to get inside. It’s like the fight we witnessed was just a blip—a rock breaking the surface of the water, making a momentary ripple. I wonder if stuff like this happens all the time at the White House. No wonder the place has a reputation.

Jon stops to talk to a group of girls standing at the foot of the porch steps, their faces turned up to him like he’s some sort of rock star. Yeah, he must be on the football team.

“Are you okay, Ives?” Cassidy repeats her earlier question. “And your jacket. Ugh.”

I plaster on a smile and try to sound lighthearted. “Well, that was interesting. Does that happen often?” I take off my blood-splattered jacket and hold it by the loop in the collar. “I’m fine. But I don’t think this is.”

“Yeah, that sucks,” the girl behind her says. “I hope it comes out.”

Cassidy agrees. “Maybe we can dab it with water once we get inside.”

It’s a two-hundred-dollar North Face jacket that I bought at Nordstrom Rack for seventy-five bucks of my own money. It’s really cute. Slim, like a shell, not bulky but very warm. I’ll be pissed if it’s ruined. “That’s what I get for wearing white, I guess.”

It pains me to say that. Growing up, my mom never let me wear anything white, saying it stained too easily and that I was too messy. Even in high school, she bitched about me buying anything completely white. Seriously, white shorts are the cutest, but no, I didn’t have a pair. So when I first went to college, I went on a white shopping binge. Skirts, shorts, jeans, tops.

I’ll probably need to call her for stain removal advice. I’ll tell her I got a bloody nose or something, which wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. After the accident, I was getting them once a week or so. Then again, I don’t want her worrying about me. That would be worse.

Jon’s coming up the steps now, all five girls in tow, one hanging off each arm. They’re each wearing matching pink T-shirts that say something about…church? Okay, that’s weird. Must be a sorority joke. Moving aside to let his entourage pass, I lean back against the porch pillar as Cassidy talks animatedly to that girl. As soon as she’s done, I’m going to tell her I want to go. I can feel the beginning of a headache starting to form at the base of my skull already.

Cassidy stops in midsentence and stares just over my shoulder. Something strong closes around my upper arm and pulls me around. However, instead of swiveling, the heel of my shoe slips on the wet porch floorboards. As if in slow motion, I’m falling headlong into a hard male body, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I hit that muscular chest with an umph and slide cheek-first down the black T-shirt, stopping literally inches from his belt.

And the bulge below it.

Oh my God. I am so freaking embarrassed right now.

“Whoa there, sweetheart.” Long-fingered hands cup my elbows and set me back on my feet. “You okay?” Jon’s voice is soft and tinged with amusement, but not cruel. Totally different from when he was talking to Chris.

“I’m…uh…fine.”

A clean scent, faintly spicy, fills my nostrils and lungs, invading my body, and courses through my veins like an illegal substance. He doesn’t loosen his grip or step away, and although my teal top has long sleeves, my skin burns where his hands are touching me. He steals away my breath, my energy, my very essence.

Without blinking, he holds me at arm’s length and lets his gaze travel slowly over my body. Every inch of me tingles. And I mean every inch. My toes. The backs of my knees. Between my legs. My belly. My ears. My scalp. All my senses are on complete overload and for a split second I feel myself teetering. If he wasn’t holding onto me, I’d have to place a hand on the pillar to steady myself to keep from falling again.

He’s a good six or seven inches taller than I am, which is impressive, since I’m five foot eight. I’m used to looking guys straight on, or at least almost straight in the eye, so it’s a weird sensation for me to crank my head up like this. He’s got black gauges in his earlobes the size of a medium-tipped Sharpie. A bruise is starting to form under his left eye. Guess he took a few blows after all.

I should say something to fill the awkward silence between us, but nothing that’s not completely stupid comes to mind. Nice right hook or Good fight don’t seem appropriate.

His expression darkens, and I’m filled with a sense of unease again. It takes me a minute to realize he’s looking at the bloody jacket I’m holding and not me.

His female entourage has had enough of this interruption and tries to pull him away, but he shrugs them off. “Go inside,” he tells them without turning around. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One of them protests, “But—”

“Go.”

None of them look too happy, but they do as they’re told. I’m struck by the fact that I was a lot like them just a short time ago—doing what a guy wanted me to do even if it wasn’t what I wanted. This break in focus snaps me out of la-la land and I regain some of my lost composure.