Fix You: Bash and Olivia by Christine Bell Page A

was now a very short island iced tea, but all things considered, I'd fared pretty well. Nothing was broken, sprained, or twisted and I was still on my feet, albeit with help. Not too shabby. I looked up at the guy blessed with the fast reflexes, and the “thank you” on the tip of my tongue froze in place.
    He was…what? Gorgeous wasn't right. His nose wasn't quite straight, like it had been broken some time in the past. Nothing like the patrician perfection of Andy's nose. His eyes glittered, so bright that calling them blue seemed wrong somehow. His hair was more of a suggestion than a reality…little more than a brush of black stubble. His jaw was like stone, tense, square, and severe like the rest of him.
    But his lips? Those lips changed everything. Full and firm at the same time, sensual and delicious-looking.
    I was already closing one eye and leaning in to get a closer look when my woozy brain shot up a warning flare. Jesus, what was wrong with me? I'd had three drinks, and I was a notorious lightweight, but surely a lifetime of manners training should have dominated the primal and very rude urge to get all up in a guy’s grill to gape at a his mouth like that. Not to mention, I had a boyfriend. Until I worked up the guts to rectify that situation, at least.
    Buzzcut’s eyes went dark as he asked again in a voice that seemed even more gritty this time around. "Are you all right?"
    The world that had seemed to go quiet and fall away from the moment I'd stumbled came rushing back in. Shouts and drunken laughter crashed over me and I realized that I was still in the circle of this stranger’s arms.
    Panic swallowed me whole and I struggled to pull away. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks." I searched the room frantically, hands shaking as I straightened my shirt, which had ridden up to expose a strip of bare abdomen. My gaze finally landed on Andy, who stood in the back room a dozen yards away looking in my direction, and my gut lurched.
    "I can get you some paper towels for that if you come with me," Buzzcut was saying as he slowly released me and gestured toward the bar. I shook my head, taking another step back before bumping into the wall of people behind me. Another hot flash washed over me, and beads of sweat broke out over my lip.
    "No thanks, I'm good. I-I've got to go."
    He tipped his head to the side and eyed me curiously, but then nodded. "No problem."
    I didn't realize until then that he was wearing a Shorty's T-shirt with his name emblazoned on it in white letters.
    Sebastian .
    I let the syllables roll around in my brain, making sure not to whisper them out loud no matter how badly I wanted to. Because I had a serious problem on my hands.
    "Can I talk to you?" Andy's low, clipped tone bit into my ear and I flinched.
    Sebastian eyed Andy and then me assessingly before turning to make his way back toward the bar without another word. That was good. The last thing I needed was for my boyfriend to beat the crap out of some poor guy just for being nice. But my relief faded as quickly as it came when Andy wrapped his hand around my forearm tight enough to make me wince.
    Annnd that was going to be bruise, no question.
    “The curse of pale English skin,” Echo had said last time I’d sported fingerprints on my wrist.
    Shame overrode my alcohol-induced haze and threatened to choke me. "Where are we going?"
    Andy glared at me, gray eyes like two chunks of coal, so dark they were almost black. He didn't bother to answer as he yanked me toward the restrooms.
    Echo—who was either completely oblivious to the situation or pretending to be because it was easier for her that way—called after us, "I'll sign us up at the beer pong table."
    I didn’t have the chance to answer as Andy pushed forward, elbowing his way past two girls in line at the door marked "Shawties." One of the them complained and he snarled, "Shut it, cow,” before rapping on the door incessantly while the other girl behind us tried to comfort her