CHAPTER THREE
This party is an entity of its own. I’ve never seen anything so rowdy and unruly. Back home, our parties were on the beach, too, or in the woods, but nothing like this. Anything like this would have us all in handcuffs two hours ago—which is about the time I stopped feeling my lips and started drinking water.
The girls are either dancing, squealing at something the guys did, or gossiping. I look around for my friends and see them in a combination of dancing and squealing. Audrey grinding hard on Brent and, lookie here. Looks like Carlos, Isla’s love interest, isn’t enjoying her dancing with Ray as much as Ray is. Well, well, well… Could there be some interest there, as well?
There’s only one way to find out—and since I did promise to talk to more people and all… I smirk. Payback, suckas!
I walk up and stand next to him, looking up as I do. Wow. He’s so pretty. I can see why Isla’s mesmerized. Those long eyelashes… He lifts a brow. Shit. I’m staring.
“Carlos, right?” I question, trying to be cool, then take a drink of my water.
He nods. “That’s right. You must be new. I’d remember you, otherwise.”
I smirk. “Who could forget a septum piercing, right?” Yeah, I snuck that back in when the girls weren’t looking. I may dress the part, but I’m not giving up my nose piercing for anyone. It was my one form of teenage rebellion and my dad took it with a grain of salt. My grandmother had just died, and I had her earring fashioned into this septum hoop with tiny blue and pink sapphires.
“Right. So…” he asks.
“Oh, right. I’m Jillian. I’ve only been here for the summer.”
“Ah, I see,” he replies, still looking at Isla.
I sidle a little closer. “You know, I’m best friends with Isla. I could put in a good word if you’re interested.”
“Yeah?” he asks all too quickly, then scratches his bare chest. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem my type.”
“And what type is that? Blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful?”
He smirks. “She is that.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
At least he has the decency to look chagrined when he says, “She plays sports.”
I blink at him. Then blink again.
“Did you hear me?”
I nod. “I’m not seeing the problem. Isla’s not WWE material. She’s defined, but she’s not bulky.” I poke at his biceps. “Thatis bulky.”
He’s looking at her again—still. “That’s true.”
“Is it, like, a rule or something, you don’t date athletic girls?”
He nods. “Self-imposed.”
“Is that so?” Now he looks down at me, noting my amused tone. “I bet you’re a bit of a rule-breaker, aren’t you, Carlos?”
He lifts a brow.
“Who better to break your rule than you, right?”
His gaze flits away, back to where Isla’s laughing. “Maybe.”
I shrug. “Have it your way. Besides, it looks like Ray’s going to have it his way.” A glaring taunt, one no teenage boy on the cusp of manhood can resist.
“You think he can best me?” he questions, his voice a little high with disbelief.
“Not at all. I think maybe Ray does, though.”
