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“You too?” My laugh is followed by a cloud of cold air. It’s still an adjustment getting used to how early winter comes here. “Every time I come downstairs, TG and Reid are obsessing oversome crime scene. I keep waiting to find a bulletin board in the kitchen with strings connecting all the suspects.”

My roommate already had a strange interest in true crime, but when Reese started dating Twyler he found a partner in sleuthing.

“Better your house than mine.” She gives me a quick grin, stopping at the split off where the sidewalk leads to the Manor. “I can probably survive getting between here and there without some stranger kidnapping me.”

The last few weeks have been rough on Nadia. Not that she says anything about it. In fact, I get the idea she’d rather not talk about that night we found her at Brent’s place, but I can sense the change in her. She’s not just scared of making an epic fuck-up. She’s just scared.

“Eh,” I say, noticing the way she constantly looks over her shoulder, like she’s either worried about being followed or being seen with me. My ego is secure enough to assume it’s the former. “What if there’s someone waiting in the bushes by your house?”

“Well, then they’re going to be knee deep in some frat-boy’s vomit.”

Oops.

“Came out of the house the other day,” she continues, “and the whole plant was dying from toxic poisoning.”

“Yikes,” I say, not even thinking about confessing. “People are assholes.”

“Tell me about it,” she mutters, turning down the path that leads to the porch of the Teal House. I follow her up to the door and watch as she gets her key out.

“I really do appreciate it,” she says quietly. “I hate feeling like this.”

I frown. “Like what?”

“Like I have no control anymore. Paranoid and suspicious.”

“Because of Brent and CJ,” I venture.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve checked every room in the house for cameras since then.” She wraps her arms around her upper body and I get a flash of her from that night, my jacket hanging over her frame.

“You shouldn’t have to live like this,” I tell her, wishing I could take it all back–to have gotten to the house sooner that night and stopped it from happening at all. I’d been the one to find her back in CJ’s room, stripped down to her panties, completely unaware of the camera recording her. I’d gotten her out of there and wrapped her in my coat, but it’s obvious it still haunts her.

She shrugs, sliding the key into the lock. “They’re not the only ones to blame. I went over there. I partied with them. I’m the jersey chaser, Axel. I’m aware of the expectations that come with the title.”

She’s right. There’s a certain expectation to the girls that hang around athletes. The jersey chasers, or for us, puck bunnies. They’re an easy lay–fun, sexy, ready to party, and best of all, no commitment required.

But there’s a line, and those two crossed it.

“T,” I say, shoving a hand in my hair, “don’t eventhinkabout blaming yourself for those assholes’ behavior. Just because a woman enjoys sex doesn’t mean she’s open to exploitation.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you trying to get in my pants?”

“What? No? Why would you ask that?”

“Why else would you be so nice to me?”

Fuck. Those guys really are assholes.

“Darlin’,” I rest my hand on the door jamb, “I won’t pretend that I don’t understand why CJ thought he could make money off of you. You’re gorgeous. Sexy as fuck. But consent means something, and they took that choice away from you.” She blinks, tears hot in her eyes. I reach out and swipe one away withmy thumb. “But I also understand the desire to be something that you’re not–to want more out of life than what you’ve been given. It can lead to desperate and stupid decisions.”

“Epic fuck-ups.”

“Exactly.”

“I just want to get some control back,” she says, after taking a deep breath. “Get my footing where I don’t feel so unsure and scared all the time.”

“Scared of what?” I ask, needing to hear it.

“Men like Brent and CJ.” Her gaze flits down to my hand clutching the edge of the door, then straight ahead, at my chest. “Men like you.”