Sold for $1 To The Hawthorne Brothers

The car feels smaller-suffocatingly small-sitting close to Adrian. There's some space between us; I'm seated at the very edge with my face plastered to the window, but I can still feel him. His scent mingles with the cool air, drifting over to my end no matter how I try to ignore it. My skin tingles with something I've refused to pay attention to, counting the cars we speed past instead. There's not that many of them, because the driver insists on keeping the speed limit. I groan as I catch another whiff-digging my fingernails into the leather seat. It's going to leave marks, but it's all his fault. I could've sat in the passenger's seat, and we'd all be okay. I'd be okay. "Miss Wilson." I shut my eyes tight. If I can just pretend that I've dozed off, then maybe... "You're going to leave a strain on your neck being that close to the window," he says, in an even tone, like he's making an observation. "I don't assume you'd want to wear a neck brace to class for the next two weeks, because you're hellbent on pretending I don't exist?" I turn, before I realize he'd been baiting me. "I'm not pretending you don't exist," I say firmly, defending myself. "I find the view interesting, that's all." His gaze drops. I follow it to find my fist tightly clenched. I swiftly hide it between my thighs. "That doesn't mean anything," I tilt my chin stubbornly. "Besides, even if I wanted to, you're sitting right there. And your cologne..." I stop abruptly, pursing my lips to the side before I say anything else. He tilts his head, barely, turning his upper body just a little bit. "What about it, Miss Wilson? Does it...bother you? Would you like some air?" Yes. I would like to breathe far away from here-where I can't feel the slow warmth spreading through my belly, sneakily working its way through my weakening defenses. "It's the alcohol." "What?" I shake my head. I thought his presence earlier was enough to make me sober, but the rum must've found its way back. "I'm fine," I simply say. "I see. That's fine, then. You may go back to what you were doing." He picks up a device beside him, and the screen lights up, casting a warm glow on a part of his face, like a tasteful silhouette. His lashes flutter as he scrolls with his thumb, his jaw moving once. His cheekbones are impressively high...almost perfectly sitting on his face. His nose sits just right, like a pair of glasses would do so well on them. My eyes wander lower, watching him tap against his thigh absently. Long, strong fingers, with a firm grip...I'm sure. Adrian runs his fingers through his hair as his mouth tightens with a brief frown, his eyes squinting at the screen. A soft, breathy sigh slips past my lips. He touches his nose, rubbing the tiny arch just right at the end. Perfect. For something to balance on. Glasses, maybe. Or something else. Something warm and firm and... I slap both hands to my cheek before I can complete the thoughts, tearing my gaze away. My shoulders slump as I face the window, staring at the buildings and the lights as they merge and blur. I'm never drinking rum again. And I'm never letting Julian trick me into attending any parties. I lean back with an exhausted exhale, and my head tips sideways, my hair falling over my face.   I wake up in the air. Quite literally. The feeling of weightlessness, as if dangling from a high building, jolts me awake. My eyes open to the view of the ground moving underneath me. I panic, squirming and trying to jump down, but a strong arm pins me in place. It clamps down on the small of my back, like a stubborn vice. "Settle down, Miss Wilson," a low, unbothered voice orders. "I don't intend on throwing out my shoulder because you sleep like the dead." Adrian. Wait. I look down again. I'm in the air because he's carrying me over his shoulder. My panic dies down, but embarrassment sets in. "Put me down," I hiss as my face turns bright, flaming hot red. "Put me down, please." "I tried that before," he says as he continues walking, leaving me to dangle like a sack of potatoes. "You were more than willing to spend the night curled up on the ground." Me? "That's a lie," I counter with a huff. I twist my body, pushing his forearm with all my strength, but it doesn't work in the slightest. And unfortunately, my limbs still feel like deadweight from the rum. "I'm not lightweight, and I definitely would know if you'd tried to wake me up." His shoulder lifts with a nonchalant half-shrug, bouncing me in the air for a moment. "Sure. However, playing babysitter or designated sober chauffeur isn't something I enjoy doing, Miss Wilson. Or like, at all." "So-" I feel gravity as it swallows me whole in fast forward-my butt hitting the floor before I can make sense of what's happening. The impact slams through me like a dull hammer, shooting straight through my spine, rattling my tailbone with a deep bruising ache that I feel before the yell rips out. "What the-" "Why would you do that?!" He stares at me. "You asked." I- "I asked to be put down," my voice rises as I struggle to stand up. My legs wobble a bit, and the shock of the cold terrazzo ground against my bare feet steals a surprised gasp from my lips. "Where are my shoes?" I ask. "You left them at the party." "And you didn't bother telling me?" I scoff loudly, planting my hands on my hips. "They were expensive. I was going to return them. I-" I throw my hands in the air, fed up with talking. Of myself, too, because I should've noticed my bare toes hanging out when I left the balcony with him. Except he threatened to make me walk...so it's his fault. Everything is Adrian Hawthorne's fault. "I asked you to let me down," I insist, glaring at him, "not toss me like a wet rag. I would've been fine sleeping on the cold, hard floor, you know. It's far better than having to accept help from you." I drop to the floor to prove my point, folding my arms. "I'm peachy right here, Mr. Hawthorne. You can go into your warm, spacious house." Adrian takes a step closer. He leans over until I can see my reflection in his pupils. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You forget the one rule I have, Alina. Perhaps I should remind you." He crouches and tips my chin with his fingers, his thumb grazing my cheek. My tongue darts out, wetting my bottom lip as my pulse thickens slowly, a reluctant drumbeat, as heat drips through me like molten honey. I arch, without thinking-without meaning to, as my mouth turns dry. "You sleep in my bed. In my house. As long as you belong to me." "I don't belong to-" He cuts me off before I can finish, sweeping me off my feet. I dangle from his shoulder with a yelp. "Let me go!" I scream off the top of my head, driving my fist into his back. He doesn't flinch, striding to the house, where the door's already open. I sway back and forth as he climbs the stairs, mercilessly throwing me around. I hear the sound of a door being kicked open, and then I'm flying again, through the air...my body landing on soft sheets and a soft mattress. He climbs on, caging me on both sides with his arms. My chest rises and falls sharply, my breathing uneven as I gaze up at him. His eyes drag over my face with undisguised interest, lingering on my cleavage...the torn part of my dress...the dip of my waist. Unwanted warmth creeps through my veins and pulses under my skin, making my dress feel like thin paper. Adrian's voice heads straight to my stomach-a jolt that steals my breath as my hips jerk off the bed. "Now," he drawls. "Do I have to tie you up, Miss Wilson, or are you going to keep mouthing off to me?"