“I took my sandals off for a few minutes and these idiots,” Red says, stabbing a finger at the kid in front of her, “confiscated them and threw one of them up on the roof.”
Not cool, but not as bad as it sounded. Not by half.
I exhale slowly, blowing my breath out through my nose. The idea of these guys—of anyone—hurting her burns like acid in my gut. I need to focus on something else, anything else, to erase those images from my mind. “Why did you take your shoes off? That house is filthy. I don’t even want to think about the shit you could catch going barefoot.”
Red huffs, her breasts rising and falling emphatically as she rolls her eyes. “My feet were killing me. And if you must know, I took them off outside.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “I will never understand why women wear those torture devices you call shoes.”
“They’re cute,” she fires back, turning that sexy sarcasm my way.
“You know guys don’t give a shit what you wear on your feet, right?”
Which is the wrong thing to say—obviously—but my brain’s still trying to process the fact that she’s okay, while my body wants to pound the guys hassling her.
Red looks down her nose at me, gaze as fiery as her hair. Turns out she’s even hotter when she’s mad. “You know women don’t wear cute shoes to impress guys, right?” She sniffs and crosses her arms over her chest, making her full breasts swell. “And you know what? I’m done discussing my life choices. I just want to get my shoe and go home.”
Right. The shoe.
“Where is it?” I demand, turning to Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.
They exchange a look and start giggling like a couple of third graders. “Like she said, it’s on the roof.”
I rake a hand through my hair, swallowing my frustration.
Watching these rich pricks, who’ve never had to work—or want—for anything, strut around like the kings of campus leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“What’s the big deal?” Tweedledumber asks.
“The big deal,” I say through gritted teeth, “is this is no way to treat a guest, especially a lady.”
“Oh, my God,” Red mutters, pressing the tips of her fingers to her temples. “This is what I get for hanging out on Greek Row.”
“What?” I ask, taken aback by her tone. “I’m just trying to help.”
She gives a sexy little snort. “If you want to help, get my freaking shoe down.”
“Yeah,” Tweedledum says, moving to elbow his buddy in the ribs. “Go up there and get the lady’s shoe.”
I glare at the shoe-stealing idiots. They’re either too drunk or too stupid to realize I’m about three seconds from losing my shit, so I turn on my heel and do the only thing I can think of. I jog up the front steps and hop onto the stone railing that encompasses the wide front porch. I do a quick balance check and reach for the roof. It’s just out of my grasp, but I can reach it easily if I jump.
So I do.
My fingers latch onto the roof’s edge and I pull myself up, muscles straining at the weight of my suspended body.
Damn, I hate pull-ups.
Once my chest is over the lip of the roof, I sling a leg over, using the leverage to pull the rest of my body up. I’m just climbing to my feet when my teammates spill out of the house, looking for the pitcher of beer I was supposed to deliver.
There’s a heated discussion, but I block it out, focusing instead on my next move.
The porch roof is large and flat, spanning the entire width of the house. I do a quick inspection—no sandal to be found—and turn my attention to the steel drainpipe bolted to the side of the house. I give it a tug, confirming it’s solidly attached.
I crack my neck and roll my shoulders as I consider the climb.
“Get your ass down here, Spellman,” Reid barks. “As your team captain, I am telling you this is a bad fucking idea!”
“I have to agree with el capitán,” Coop drawls. “Forget the shoe. These assholes will buy the lady a new pair.”
