When I see someone already there, I almost leave.
Then his head turns.
Even in the half-moon light, I know that silhouette. The curve of his jaw. The bump of his nose.
“Hi, Beck.”
“Hey, Gracie.”
He scoots over without me asking, and I climb up beside him where he’s sitting on top of the table, facing the field with his feet resting on the bench. I hesitate for a second, worrying about ruining my dress, the same turquoise one I wore to homecoming three years ago. Mom lost her job a couple of months ago, so we couldn’t afford a new one. When I realize it’s probably the last time I’ll need a dress like this, I sit down with athudand let out an overly dramatic sigh of relief.
Beck chuckles. “Rough night?”
He lifts a cup to his lips and takes a small sip. Three more empty cups sit beside him.
I eye them warily. “You know the punch is spiked, right?”
Beck smiles into his drink. “Oh, I know.”
“So…” I pick one up, sniff it, wrinkle my nose, then set it back down. “You having a party out here, or just drinking by yourself like a sad man?”
“By myself,” he says, unbothered. “But I’m not sad. Just needed a break from all the noise.”
He turns toward me, and I do a double take. For a second, I can’t figure out why he looks different, then I realize it’s because he isn’t wearinghis glasses. He only wears contacts on special occasions, and I guess this counts.
I tilt my head and look him over, lingering on the details. The single white rose pinned to his lapel. How his tux fits perfectly. How his hair is freshly cut and gelled back except for one piece that falls over his forehead. He looks like he stepped off the cover of one of his mom’s romance novels.
The ones she lets me borrow sometimes.
I almost reach up and brush the strand back into place, but I keep my hands folded in my lap. He’s not my date tonight. Or any night.
Which is fine.
But still…he looks really handsome. Less like a boy. More like a man.
“What about you?” Beck asks. “Why’d you come out here all huffing and puffing?”
“Stupid Jimmy Hamilton’s got grabby hands, and I’m about to chop them off.” I fold my arms over my chest and don’t bother hiding my pout.
Beck straightens, his expression darkening. “What?” He half-stands, voice sharp. “I’ll go talk to him.”
I laugh and grab his arm, tugging him back down. “Wow. Now I see why they call alcohol liquid courage. Jimmy would end you in two minutes. He’s got at least a hundred pounds on you.”
I let the dark hide how my eyes move over Beck’s body, long and lean where Jimmy is thick and blocky. When my gaze stalls at the notch at the bottom of Beck’s throat, then drifts to his chin, no longer smooth but shadowed with coarse stubble, something lights up low in my belly. A warmth. An awareness that wasn’t there a minute ago.
My pulse skips, then speeds. An irregular thump, thump.
Beck is watching me, one brow raised, and suddenly I realize I’ve been staring. Not saying anything. For way too long.
My head snaps down. My cheeks blaze.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, because of course he notices. He always does. He knows me better than anyone besides our moms.
“What? Yeah. I was just preparing my speech for when I dump Jimmy tomorrow morning,” I lie.
Beck lets out a slow breath. “Good choice, Gracie Ann.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks, Oliver. I know you never liked him.” Which is true. Beck never likesanyof my boyfriends.
