Not on your life, honey.
“As enticing as that sounds, I’ll pass. Rain check, princess?”
I gave her a grin and a wink to take the sting out. To her credit, she didn’t throw in the towel.
“Definitely,” she said. “There’s a party Saturday night at Chance Blaylock’s house. A back-to-school thing. Should be pretty epic.”
I glanced at the shrinking Violet, who hadn’t said a word. “What do you think, Violet?”
She crossed her arms. “I think smoking is bad for your health and those around you.”
“So it is,” I said. Her honesty was surprising. As was the fact that she clearly wasn’t interested in me.
Evelyn elbowed her friend in the ribs. “Don’t mind her. Violet is going to be a doctor, so she’s anal about stuff like that.”
I shot Violet a wink. “So am I.”
My terrible joke sailed over their heads. Evelyn smiled harder.
“Anyway, if you want to come to the party, give me your number, and I’ll text you the address.”
“Oh, I think I can find my way.”
“Cool. But if you change your mind about a tour, I’m around.”
“Yes, you get around,” said a lanky red-haired guy in oversize board shorts carrying a skateboard.
He sauntered up behind the girls with two other guys, jocks by the size of them. One was bulky, ruddy-cheeked, his hair like dry straw. But my gaze snagged on the second guy and became stuck there. On him.
He wasn’t stylish in the slightest or even interesting looking. Merely classically, epically handsome. All-American. Superman in a T-shirt andjeans. His face was a straightforward arrangement of perfect features—thick, dark brows over blue eyes fringed with long lashes. A strong nose over a luscious mouth and a cleft in his chin even more impressive than mine.
He spared a smile for Violet, then turned his gaze my direction. A lock of his dark hair fell over his brow, daring someone—me—to reach over and brush it away.
“I was just inviting our new friend to your party, Chance,” Evelyn said to the blond. “Guys, this is Holden.”
The pale slab of beef was Chance, but no one had told me Superman’s name, probably because he usually needed no introduction. It was obvious this guy was a football god and prom king of Santa Cruz.
“Good to meet you, man.” He offered his hand.
“Likewise,” I said, keeping mine to myself.
Mr. Perfect might’ve had the rest of the school swooning, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. But once our gazes found each other, I fell into the surprising depth of him. There was weight behind his eyes, and his casual smile looked like his own brand of armor.
The guy quickly withdrew his hand and laughed it off. “Okay, whatever.”
“Holden is from Seattle. Isn’t that right?”
I didn’t stick around to hear Evelyn recite the rest of my bio. I rolled my shoulders around the pole and walked away from the small group. First rule of showbiz: always leave them wanting more. Better to leave the hot—and painfully straight—jock with the deep eyes far in my rearview.
Yet it bothered the piss out of me that I didn’t know his name.
Why? So what? Who cares?
All valid questions.
Near the edge of the quad, I pulled aside a pretty girl.
“See that guy in the white T-shirt back there? Dark hair? Looks like he stepped out of a Hollister ad?”
