2. Hellena

2

HELLENA

O ld Rule Number 1. I don't get wasted at any party I host. This is still valid and true. However…

New Rule Number 1. Never meet shady drug dealers in a dark alley alone.

What the hell was I thinking?

The thump, thump, thumping from the dancefloor helps drown out my anxiety. It's not gone, yet. It won't be completely gone until tonight's over and the sleazebag dealer gets here and gets gone.

I never should have let Todd talk me into it.

A lap around the party loosens me up, and I try to let my body move a little, losing myself in the music while I work the drinks table, make a few cocktails for people, and make sure the kegs stay cold and pumped. Make the crowd happy, get a few tips to sweeten the pot, and I even get to leave the mess in the morning for Todd and his freshmen to clean up this time.

Technically, I don't really have to be here the whole time, but the kind of money Todd is spending makes me want to make sure he's at least heading straight toward passing out with a grin before I go.

This party is my grand prize, securing my next year of school.

So it has to be epic and smooth.

Not that I'm here to police his party, just make sure the "fun" gets here and is put to good use.

And I gotta admit, I came through for Todd. This party is OUT OF CONTROL. Everywhere I look, people are dancing, laughing, playing drinking games, and generally getting crazy. Some guy just barreled down the stairs on a sled. Two girls are completely naked in a kiddy pool in the middle of the living room, covered in baby oil.

There are at least six couples at any given moment full-on screwing out in the open. Pure mayhem.

No joke, it's a college comedy movie.

Jake, my favorite DJ, really pulled out all the stops tonight. Honestly, I have no clue why he's still in SH. He could be, should be, spinning at EDM festivals. Every song he picks, mixes, or creates is just what the crowd needs to keep them moving, blood pumping, jumping.

And it gets my blood pumping a bit, too. More than a little.

The thrill of making all these people happy, of knowing I put this all together… No, I don't really like the people who are here. No, I don't love the behavior of drunk people when they get out of hand. And no, I don't let myself get out of hand, either. But there's something about being the go-to gal, making shit happen…

It's a little like a drug to me. The high of pulling off a massive undertaking, details, SO many moving parts.

Todd and so many others, we'll call them ‘friends', for lack of a better word, would tell me I'm uptight. I have too many rules. Myra always laughs at my little notebook.

So what?

Rules and organization keep my cluttered brain from overloading, going full depression zone-out like I did the first year I got to Sanctum Harbor and flunked out of my senior year of high school. Restarting my life was too much. But I finally got my shit together, got my GED, and got my ass to college. Even if it has taken seven years to get here.

And now I am about to graduate with my bachelor's degree in business in a few weeks, and it will all be worth it. Proof of concept, unlocked.

I squeeze past a couple grinding in the middle of the living room on my way to grab more vodka. The look on her face is honestly kinda hot as he bites her earlobe, thrusting up under her skirt, gripping her ass. For a split second, I wonder what it would be like to indulge at one of these parties.

Find a pretty boy with washboard abs and go to town on him.

However…

Rule Number 2. No hooking up at parties I host. Not a hard sell, as long as I stick to not drinking. Being sober, you really see how much of a sloppy mess it is. That, and I could never cut loose like that in front of other people, especially these people, drunk or not.

Don't get me wrong, I like sex. But just like dancing, I am way too in my head in a crowd to ever enjoy performing for an audience. And speaking of an audience…

I see a pair of beady eyes watching from the back hallway.

"Finally!" As much as I don't want to talk to this guy again, Todd's been bugging me every few minutes about when the "goods" are going to arrive. Nodding to him as I pass, I usher the dealer into the laundry room that I've turned into a makeshift storeroom for my backup booze. Once we're inside, I push the door over, making sure I can get out easily. I hate the idea of being alone with this creep, but it's the only place quiet enough to talk.

"Thanks for coming."

"No sweat. The kind of cash you promised makes it hard to pass up. This party's no joke." His voice is off-putting, way too deep and smooth. It clashes with his sunken cheeks and eyes, his yellowed teeth. At least he dressed discreetly, a hoodie and a cap. Not that his age and face wouldn't be a dead giveaway that he's not one of the party's attendees.

"Yeah, well, I took a risk giving you that deposit. You have the… um…"

He laughs at my discomfort. "Heh, yeah, I got everything you could want. Gotta say, that took some balls coming down to Wharfside. Especially with how much fun you asked me to bring."

I nod with more confidence than I feel.

"Now you know what kind of gigs I do. Plenty of… customers."

"Damn straight. Maybe even a few new individual clients I can add to my roster, if they like what I got, ha!" Those shark eyes twinkle, but his smile falls away as he shifts gears. "Just need…" His voice drops, still too cool, throwing me off. His eyes tell me he's calculating, not a guy who gets into his own stash. Uncle Tommy always told me to watch the eyes, ignore the appearance.

Which is why I felt like I could trust that he'd show up instead of taking my five hundred bucks and bailing.

A shiver slips down my spine as he stares at me, waiting with his hand out. "You get the 4500 now, puts us at half, and the other 5k by the end of the week. That's what I do with all my people."

There's an awkward pause, and I pray that I didn't just overstep my bounds, but I have to be firm. I won't get the rest of the money for the party from Todd until sometime this next week. Everyone else knows I always pay up.

This guy will have to learn to trust me.

"Hmm. Yeah, I'll take that. Only 'cause you clearly seem to know what you're doing, and I can tell we'll do a lot of business with you in the future." That yellowed grin makes me want to gag, and I let him take the cash, careful to avoid his fingers touching my hand.

"So, the product?" God, I sound like a stupid kid trying to buy drugs.

"Don't worry about it. I got my girls out there mingling. They'll get everybody who wants it hooked up. Have to keep things lowkey, you keen?"

"Right. Sorry."

"Hey, it's all good. Lesson one, you don't just go dumping a bunch of drugs out on the coffee table like a pi?ata at a kids' party. That's how you get people killed. How you get caught."

"Um. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"Sure thing, Miss Michaels, the advice is free. Just make sure you thank me by paying up on time, or you won't feel so grateful. The interest on late payments is a bitch." He accents the words with a crack of his knuckles. And then he calmly slips around me, through the door and out the back.

He knows my fucking name.

A shuddering sigh, a gasp of air I desperately needed, and I'm sinking down against the closed door, trying to catch my breath. That was terrible. But it's done. Or as done as it can be until I get him paid and never, ever contact him again.

I'm just pulling myself together when I hear a crash out in the dining room. Probably a fight, or an idiot knocking over the…

Yep. The drinks table.

A vodka-soda-soaked bro hops to his feet, wearing nothing but a backward baseball cap and his underwear, holding up a football. "FUCK YEAH!"

And he's off into the fray again, launching the ball to someone else.

"Damnit. Another mess to clean up." I bend down, grabbing a few cups, and reach for the table when a hand brushes over mine, reaching for the same thing.

"Oh, sorry. Here, I got it."

Holy. Shit.

Emerald green eyes knock me back a step, and I pause to take in the man helping me set the table back up. He might be the most beautiful man I've ever seen. Like straight out of an underwear ad.

And holy crap, would I love to see him in his underwear.

There's no way he's under six-five, lean, but his chest and shoulders fill his T-shirt like I wish he'd fill me?—

Whoa! Settle down, girl.

The stress from my illicit encounter with Yellow-teeth must have me on edge.

A flip of that honey brown hair distracts me further, teasing just above that mischievous glance. The color is accented by flawless skin, touched with a hint of a golden tan that draws my eye down the curve of his triceps, his cabled forearm, and…

And our hands are still touching.

Time speeds back up, and I jerk my hand back, bending down to continue cleaning. "Th–thanks. This happens WAY too often."

"And you have to clean it up because…?"

"Because I'm the maid, apparently." The laugh that slips out with my sarcastic remark sounds like someone else. So embarrassing. But the look he gives me as he stacks red cups is intrigued, eager.

"I'm sort of the party planner, hostess. Whatever you want to call it."

"Oh, so you're the boss around here? I was looking for someone to complain to. The doorman seems to be letting way too many drunk college kids into this awesome club…"

"I'll have to have a word with him about that. I usually only let stunning celebrity types in like y?—"

"Like you?" And that smile again. It has me biting my lip like a lust-struck teenager. And that corny line? Please.

Well, dammit, it's working. Not to mention that he's standing so close, in my space, and I can feel the warmth of his body through my shirt.

"Hell–Hellena Michaels. Frat party planner and all-around doormat." I offer my hand officially, feeling my hip tip out to the side, wanting to lean in toward him.

"Hell never looked so appealing," he mutters just loud enough to be heard over the music, and I honestly can't tell if he meant to say it. But it has heat flooding my face, even as a part of me wants to laugh in his face at the bad pickup lines. He catches himself and turns to face me. "I highly doubt you'd let anyone walk all over you , from what I've heard about SHSU's "Fixer". And it's not being a doormat if you get paid for it, right?"

"‘Fixer'? Please tell me I don't have a terrible heist movie nickname on the streets. I'd die of embarrassment. I just… like to help people."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever need a helping hand." The insinuation in his voice makes my toes curl. Why is this guy even talking to me?

What is he even doing here?

He doesn't fit in at the party, per se. He's probably a few years older than me. Maybe somebody's older brother babysitting or playing chauffeur.

A couple of partiers stumble up, looking for drinks. "Hey, where's all the booze, woman?" one of them slurs out.

"Keg's that way." My underwear model points toward the kitchen and leans down just enough to get in the kid's face. His piercing expression shifts, just slightly, and I see the tension pop as the two bros take a step back before wandering off toward the kegs.

"Thanks."

"I hope I didn't overstep. I'm sure you know how to handle them, but I don't know how you put up with trash like that all night."

"Mostly, I just focus on how much money they throw at me." I laugh. Not knowing what else to do, I set more cups out, waving for my gorgeous companion to fill them with ice from the cooler. He smiles and loads up a few, watching closely as I pour several different mixers and liquors. The attention is unnerving.

Which is why I apparently can't help babbling on.

"It's just the way they were raised, you know? These kids grew up with silver spoons in their mouths. Nannies. Maids. They're used to talking down to people and having someone to do things for them."

"That hardly seems like a good excuse to be an asshole to people." A little crease forms between his eyebrows as he gazes down at me, like I'm the only person here.

"It actually helps sometimes that they think of me as help. Keeps most of them from getting handsy with me." The shrug I offer is supposed to defuse the tension, but he looks at me even more intently.

Did it just get hotter in here?

He pushes a little lock of hair that drapes over his eye out of the way as he leans down to say something. It is the single most tummy fluttering thing I've seen. Especially compared to the sights around me. Not that I've looked at anything else since he showed up.

"There's not a single guy here who's worthy of touching you." The way he says ‘touching' feels like he just did, and I feel an ache forming between my legs.

Wow.

"You look like you could use a break. Shall we?" And before I can protest, he slips his hand into mine and pulls me along, snatching up two of the drinks I just made. The night air cools my flushed skin as we step out back, slipping along the side of the house to avoid the press of drunken bodies.

The lead singer of the band I lined up tells the crowd in the yard that they'll be right back after a break, and the majority head back inside to find more drinks, more company, more music, leaving us basically alone standing in the dark, leaning against the vibrating building.

His shoulder brushes against mine, and I break my first rule as I take a sip of my cocktail, needing to take the edge off my nerves, my racing heartbeat. He smells incredible. Like summer rain. Crisp, but warm.

A loud voice sounds from the corner of the house, a wayward partygoer, and he turns, blocking me with his body, leaning over me. The noise moves on, hollering about our spot being "taken".

"Sorry," he mutters, one arm bracing against the wall holding his body inches from me. "I didn't want any more company."

I realize he's apologizing for his proximity. Asking permission at the same time.

Our breath mingles, and I can't think of anything I want more than to give him permission. To do anything he wants. My head is still nodding as I break Rule Number two, and the perfect curl of his bottom lip brushes against mine.

It's exploratory, gentle. Too gentle.

My hands reach out, running up the curve of his muscular chest, fingers scraping up and around the back of his neck. Right into his waves of silky, honey hair. I savor the sensation for just a second before I tug ever so slightly, but insistently.

A soft little chuckle tickles across my lips as he resists. Just for a second. The second it takes for his body to press against mine. Then our lips collide, sweet pressure, parting, his tongue dancing to tease, drawing me in. Need erupts along my skin, shocking tingles down to my toes, to the tips of my fingertips dragging down his back. He fits against me like we were made for each other, his firm, taut muscles and my curves.

Spirals of sensation twine up my spine as he runs a hand up my back, the other down to tuck under the arc of my ass. His hands feel amazing and strong, cupping and pulling me toward him, letting me feel how hard he is against me.

I want him so badly. Him…

"I–I don't even know your name," I gasp, laughing at the absurdity of the realization. He joins in, and it's musical, as charming as everything else about him.

"You never asked…"

"Well, I'm asking now."

"Tyler. But everybody calls me Tell."

"Nobody actually calls you that!" I'm giggling, giddy, as I kiss him through my words. God, I can't stop. Stress must have broken my brain.

"Oh, yeah, they totally do." He's breathless, dragging his lower lip up the side of my neck, along the edge of my ear. My head tips into it, desperate for more of his teasing touch. "For good reason…"

"And what's that?"

"Because everybody always tells me their secrets. They can't help it."

"Is that so? You think I'd tell you any of mine?"

"I think it's only a matter of time."

"I am a lot harder to read than you might think." I bite his lip as I say it, grinning up at him. He's not the only one who can play.

His eyes pop a bit in excited surprise.

"That makes two of us," he rumbles softly as the back of his fingers graze my cheek. The touch is delicate. Almost… affectionate. It matches a softness in his smile as he takes me in. That look makes my heart stop.

No one has ever looked at me like that before.

"W–what are you even doing here?" My mouth is talking before I can stop myself. The ache inside me says I should be devouring him, not asking questions. On the other hand, logically, I should be pushing him away and heading back inside, but he's right about one thing.

I can't help it. He's got me hooked. Not just on the feeling of his arms holding me, his finger tracing my jaw.

I need more. Of him. I need to know more.

"Well?"

"Just stopped by to check on my cousin, make sure he doesn't try to drive drunk." It sounds plausible, if a little rehearsed.

"Your cousin goes here? Which one was he?"

"He was the one with his underwear on his head, hanging from the banister."

"Oh! Well, you might want to check on him…" I regret saying it the second it's out.

"You must not have seen him pass out right after diving into the pool of baby oil. I put him to bed upstairs. He's done for the night."

"But I'm not," I whisper, pulling him back down.

Tell holds back, just slightly.

"I thought you were working?" He lets me get a kiss in between words, igniting my desire again. Rules be damned, I need this. Even if it's just making out, it's been WAY too long.

But of course, with my rotten luck…

"Yo! Michaels, where the fuck did you go?" Todd's voice shatters the mood.

My shoulders sag, a sigh fluttering through my lips, but Tyler—Tell—puts a finger to his lips, dragging us deeper into the shadows.

"I should—" I nod toward the door, keeping my voice at a whisper.

"Don't go back in. Come with me," he breathes into my ear.

Holy hell, I want to.

Todd stomps back into the house, still yelling my name, and I fight with myself. I need his money too much to ditch. But if I just go make sure everything is square with the party and the drugs, maybe I can cut out early…

"It's okay. Go." Tell pulls back, holding my hands.

"No… wait, let me just?—"

Before I can argue, he tugs me in for another deep kiss, melding my mouth against his, making me arch into him, pressing my breasts against his chest. His tongue scorches mine as they dance for a few more seconds in ecstasy….

And then it's over.

"Watch yourself, and get out of here as soon as you can," he whispers.

Then his warmth is gone, too.

He's slipping down the side of the house to the gate.

"Will I see you again?" I hate how desperate I sound.

A grin cuts through the shadows across his chiseled features in the streetlight. I can just make out his words over the music as he vanishes around the corner. "Count on it."

For some reason, I believe him. That grin, and the way he says it, promises so much more than just seeing each other next time.

It takes me a few seconds to cool down, leaning against the side of the house, running a hand over my burning face and resisting the urge to run another hand between my thighs.

Sheesh. At least wait until you get home.

My shower head is calling my name as I head back inside, putting on my business face and hoping I don't look like I was just wrestling in the backyard. Not that anyone here would care. Or notice.

This guy's got me so frazzled. So much so that I can barely hear the music, barely see the drunks lying on the kitchen counter.

Which is why when I hear the commotion in the living room, the shouting, the music stopping, I rush in, thinking about whatever fire I'm going to have to put out instead of listening to what that noise means and…

I barrel right into the prominent gut of one of Sanctum Harbor PD's finest.