The gym was decorated with the balloon arch from the football field and crepe paper streamers in the school colors, blue and gold. Lights swirled over the ceiling. Dancers milled on the floor. Music pulsed and bounced as we wended our way through the press of bodies around the door, under the noses of Jenny and her court, past Davis and his horrible friends.
“Pss pss pss.”
“Hey, hey, it’s Easy A.”
“Show us your tits.”
Followed by snickers.
Trey stopped.
I put a hand on his arm, embarrassed. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” His black gaze scanned the boys by the door. “You guys always this stupid or is today a special occasion?”
Stephen Campbell smiled weakly. “Hey, Trey.”
“We didn’t mean anything.”
“Then shut the fuck up,” Trey said.
“What’s your problem?” Davis said, aggrieved. “It’s not like she’s got anything to see there anyway.”
Trey’s arm turned to iron under my hand. He was only two years older than the seniors, almost thirty pounds lighter than Davis. But their faces were softer, their features unformed. Trey looked harder. More finished. Almost... dangerous. My avenging knight. I felt a little flutter of fear or attraction.
He took a step forward, into Davis’s space. “Davis, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“I know your dad. He works at the dealership. Good guy,” Trey continued almost conversationally. “What happened to you?”
Davis went white.
Trey smiled. Not a nice smile. “Family’s really important. It’s all who you know, right? And this girl, Amy, she’s like family to me. Like a sister. How would you like somebody to talk like that about your sister?”
Davis’s gaze darted around. “I guess... I wouldn’t.”
“Right.” Trey grabbed a fistful of Davis’s shirt and pulled him close, his voice low and intense. “Like a sister, asshole. I’m looking out for her. If I hear you’ve done anything—if you’ve said anything—to upset Amy March, or any of the March girls, I will find you and hurt you. Got it?”
I wasnotTrey’s sister. But still, it was oddly thrilling to have him come to my defense.
I’d never forgotten.
Trey’s concerned face pulled me back to myself.
I clutched my aunt’s beastly little dog to my chest. Briefly, I calculated the advantages of sinking into a graceful swoon. I was pretty sure Trey would catch me. He had played the knight for most of my childhood. But we weren’t kids anymore.
Anyway, the women in our family did not faint. Granny Curtis—the one I was named after, the one who didn’t have any money—used to wring a chicken’s neck for Sunday dinner and butcher hogs in the fall. Mom could birth a goat and kill a copperhead. I couldn’t do those things. I didn’twantto do those things. But I had enough of their toughness in me not to lose consciousness over a stupid dog bite.
Or over the shock of seeing Trey again. Bad enough to realize I still... Well. Had feelings for him. Much, much worse if he knew.
I sloshed forward. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—a crisp, white square, as perfectly ironed as his shirt—and held it out.
I raised an eyebrow. “Who does your laundry?”
A flush climbed his cheekbones. “Give me the dog.”
I surrendered Polly and took the handkerchief. I really needed something more substantial to clean up with. Like a towel. Where to start?
