glance. I, however, can’t help but sneak a peek at him over my shoulder. You’re so busy staring at Dean’s face that you forget the rest of him is just as incredible.
Still, I’d pick Johnny’s rugged and slightly battered good looks over Dean’s cold soap opera star beauty any day.
Sigh. Where are you, Johnny?
******
Chapter 4
I still haven’t heard from my boyfriend, and I’m both pissed and worried. Is he passed out somewhere? Is he still mad at me for not coming to his big game? Unease tightens the space between my shoulder blades. I can’t get rid of this inexplicable feeling of impending doom.
Okay, now I’m now I know where I am. Johnny’s room is right across from the laundry room, and there it is, so…hmm…
I’m not suddenly struck by a feeling of intuition. I push the door open simply because I hear noises I can’t identify coming from inside. Curiously, I take a step in.
At first, I’m horrified . I’ve walked in on a couple making out on a washing machine. The girl, my mind catalogues quickly, is pretty and half-naked, propped up on the washing machine, her legs wrapped about the shirtless guy’s hips.
The guy…
The air disappears from my lungs, and the room tips sideways. I stare mutely at the guy’s familiar shaggy blonde hair, and the taut and tanned muscles of his back and broad shoulders.
“No,” I gas p in disbelief. The room spins, and time stops.
They don’t notice me. The girl is moaning and writhing as he kisses her neck and puts his hands all over her. My mind takes in these details, but refuses to accept them. But this can’t be right. Not Johnny. He would never betray me like that. It must be some kind of mistake.
“Johnny!” t he girl squeals when he grinds himself against her .
Reality explodes, and time kicks back into action. I stagger back a step, ice cold with shock. My brain suddenly wakes up and starts shouting at me. This is really happening! Do something!
I don’t know—I guess I make a sound. The girl notices me, eyes widening at the intrusion.
“What the hell?!” she screeches. “Get out of here!”
I don’t even acknowledge her. Chest hurting, I wait for Johnny to turn around.
He does so casually, almost like he can’t be bothered. His glazed eyes meet mine, and something flares in those beautiful blue eyes. Something dark and dangerous.
I wait for the shock of recognition. The remorse and devastation.
“Get out,” he says. His voice is cold and devoid of emotion.
I can’t process his words. My mouth hangs open as I gasp for breath . What?
“Get out, Juliet,” he repeats. T his time his use of my name frees me from my paralysis.
“You bastard,” I whisper.
I turn and flee. Instinct takes over. My body only knows that I need to get away , and I’m carried away on rubbery legs. I don’t see or hear anything as I run, and the next thing I know, I’m outside.
Heart thumping, blood pumping, I look around. I’m still in shock, I think, but anger starts taking bites out of the devastation. It washes over me in strange waves of exhilaration. Feeling wildly out of control, I don’t know what I’m about to do—I only know that I want to hurt Johnny.
I want to kill him!
“How does it feel?”
At the sound of his voice, I whirl around.
He’s followed me out. He’s still shirtless, jea ns riding low on his slim hips. Crazily enough, my hormones still want to talk about how sexy he looks.
He’s looking at me with such bitterness on his face. His eyes are tight, and his mouth is a hard line.
“ What?!” I choke out.
“Is that his shirt?” he sneers, hatred coloring his every word. He invades my space with menacing intent, looming over me. Who is this guy?
Distantly, I am aware that all eyes and attention are on us. I hardly care. “You’re drunk,” I hiss at him.
He suddenly grabs my ponytail,