I frowned, and maneuvered to where he pointed. He wheeled in closer to the wall and glanced over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I asked, wrangling my notebook into my pocket.
“Hiding from my sister.”
His blue eyes met mine for the briefest moment, and something clicked. “Wait a second. Look at me again.”
His grin lifted and that blue was looking at me again. “Why sure,” he drawled. “Don’t mind if I do.”
I sucked in a sharp lungful of air.
“Take your breath away, do I?”
I shook my head and pushed my glasses up. “Nope, but I believe I’ve met your sister. Your eyes seem to exhibit the same mischievous twinkle. It’s Shannon, isn’t it?”
“We’ve got mischievous down to an art form. Now inch a little to the left and don’t look down at me. I don’t want her or Sullivan to spot me.”
“Sullivan?”
“Sullivan. Quinn. You know him too?”
“Wellknowis going a bit far,” I said. “But we’ve met. Why’re you hiding from them?”
“They weren’t supposed to be at this party. Damn. I knew I should have gone to Penn State. This is worse than living at home.” He shook his head and laughed. “Hey, keep your head up.”
I jerked my chin up and stared at a couple pressed up against the wall in front of us.
“They’re going for it,” he said. “Get a room!”
The couple acknowledged him with their middle fingers. A deep, hearty laugh left him, rumbling through his chair and through the material of my pants.
“You sound so much like Shannon, it’s uncanny,” I said, glancing at the crowd around us. So far as I could see, Shannon and Quinn were long gone. “What’s your name, anyway?”
He rolled forward and pivoted the chair until he faced me. “Hunter’s the name. Travis Hunter. But I prefer to go by the last name now.” For a lingering moment he gazed toward his lap. Then he reached out a hand. His shake was firm—a little too firm, as if he were well-practiced at proving his strength to strangers.
“Quite the grip, Hunter. I’m Liam.”
“I know.”
He did? “How?”
He pointed his index finger toward my pocket; poking out of it was my notebook, my name inscribed into the cover. I pushed the notebook further in. “I write for theScribe.”
“So that’s where I’ve seen Liam Davis before. You wrote the politics column last year.”
I straightened, my lips stretching into a wide smile. I pushed up my glasses and nodded. “That was me.”
“Serious shit. I loved your Christmas piece.”
My smile faltered. “Thanks. What do you study?”
“Economics, but I don’t want to bore you with any details. I’m also an amateur photographer.” He reached around and unhooked a camera bag from his chair. He took out the camera, opened the lens cap and looked through the lens. “Say cheesy balls.”
Ugh.
Hunter lowered the camera and checked the picture. His lips quirked. “That usually works for a grin. Try again. How about cheesecake this time?”
Snap! Snap!
