1
Becklyn
“What’re you doing here, Becklyn?”
Damn.Busted.
The voice is coming from my left side. A low rumble, right in my ear. I know who it is, too. His is a voice I know well. Heck, I dream about it. Sadly, I thought I was doing a good job avoiding him. Him andmy brother.
“Uh…”
The voice—well, the man with the voice—is now in front of me, and the sight takes my breath away for just a second. That is, until he practically growls at me, “Go home.”
My god, the man is surly. And totally hot at the same time. Honestly, I think I like him best when he’s hotandsurly.
“I’m just looking for a-a friend.” No, I’m not.
Hot and surly crosses his arms over his chest, and that’s when I know I’m going to have to do a whole lot better at convincing him. “What friend?” he asks with brow arched disbelievingly.
“Oh, you wouldn’t know her.”
“Try me, Becklyn.”
Fark. When he says my name likethat, chills run down my spine. In a good way.
“Her name is…”Think fast. Think fast. “Cameron Alderon.”
“Alderaan?” He glares down at me. “Like the planet inStar Wars?”
And that—that right there—is why I.Love.This. Man. He’s double-decker hotandhe knowsStar Warstrivia. But I can’t let on that I feel that way about him. No. Way. I need to keep the farce going as long as I can. “No.” I scoff loudly. “Geesh, you’re such a nerd.”
Lucky’s face blushes. I think I may have hurt his feelings or something. He quickly rebounds and snaps, “I’m not a nerd.”
“Nerd is the new jock, Lucky. Haven’t you heard?”
“I ask again.Whatare you doing here?” He looks back toward the kitchen of the house he shares with three other guys. “Joe’s gonna flip his shit if he sees you here.”
Did I mention that one of his roommates is my oldest brother, Joe?
“Why would he care?” I mean, yes, he’s going to care, because Joe is the oldest, I’m the youngest. He’s always beenwaaaaaytoo protective of me, but now that I’m here, at the same college as him, he can’t expect me to just stay home, especially on St. Patrick’s Day. We’re Irish, for gosh sakes. Plus, Joe has been bragging about his stupid St. Paddy’s Day partyfor years. It’s like the only party in the entire college town worth anything (according to my brother). And now that I’m a college student, I’mnotmissing this party. I wasn’t lying when I said I was looking for a friend. In this case, it’s my roommate. She came with me but ditched me at the door, which is fine since… hello… this is my brother’s house.
Joe’s claims of party lore were true. This place is p-a-c-k-e-d. And loud. I’m surprised I can even hear Lucky berating me, but his voice carries. That, and he’s bent down so his face is in front of me, so even if I couldn’t hear him, I could read his lips.
And boy, does Lucky have nice lips.
Gah! Why does he have to be so dang gorgeous?
Here’s a better question… Why do I have to have a thing for him? Why can’t I daydream and fantasize about the dorky guy in my biology lab? Huh? He’s at least attainable. Sort of.
At that moment, a guy sidles up to me, wraps his arm around my shoulders, and drunkenly mumbles, “Hey, there, cutie. Why don’t you be like St. Patrick and drive the snake out of my pants?”
I’m not sure if I should laugh or be affronted. Looking over at him, I can tell you that he’s sort of cute. That is, if you’re into guys who aren’t into personal grooming. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not desperate. I’m just tired of being single. Nineteen years of singledom sort of sucks. Heck, not even a prom date for this girl.
I sound pathetic.
Cue the encouraging monologue:You don’t need a man, Becklyn Morrissey. You’re great just the way you are. If a guy can’t see that, well, screw him.
Wow, that’s better. Inner Becklyn is right. Screw Lucky Ganetti.
