“No way!”
“And is that—?”
Heads turned, phones came out. A ripple of excitement and disbelief ran through the room as several pairs of eyes snagged on us in the doorway.
“Nicole… Cross?” I recognized Dax, the old captain from the soccer team, instantly. He’d never said two words to me in four years at Travis Ridge. Now he was downright beaming.
Heat rose up the back of my neck. “No, it’s still Gordon.”
Landon didn’t miss a beat. His arm slid possessively around my waist and he pulled me in against his side. “For now, anyway.”
The reaction was immediate in the small crowd that had gathered in front of us. Gasps and delighted laughter. Someone actually squealed.
“I didn’t think we’d have a celebrity at the party tonight,” Dax said, shaking Landon’s hand. “Great to have you. I’ve been a Surge fan forever.”
That was a lie, and when I looked up at Landon, I could tell he knew it too. He was gracious about it though, and simply said, “Hardly a celebrity, but thanks.”
We were swarmed within seconds. Old classmates, former acquaintances, people who’d barely known my name back then now eager to say hi and catch up and tell me things. Compliments stacked up, and questions were fired at Landon and me in rapid succession. How long had we been dating? How did we meet? Were there wedding bells in the near future? What did Coach McAvoy have to say about it?
“What the hell does your coach have to do with who you’re— Oh, never mind.” We’d managed to peel ourselves away as we crossed the floor to the drinks table.
“I guess you should’ve focused more on concrete questions they might ask instead of spending all your time thinking about me kissing you.”
I glared at him, my mouth opening and closing for lack of a better response.
“What? I know I’m right,” he said, and gave a light chuckle. “Me kissing you, my hands all over you…”
I landed a playful jab to his arm. “Shut up. That’s not true.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
Once again, I found myself totally mute in the face of his antics, and promptly changed the topic.
“Oh, good, punch.”
Landon laughed, but dutifully held the cups while I scooped the fizzy, yellow—hopefully spiked—liquid into them.
Over the crowd, I spotted them: my main rivals who’d made my formative years a living hell.
They stood near the bleachers, clustered together, older but unmistakable. Same vapid expressions, same way of looking me over like I was a thing instead of a person. Their eyes moved between Landon and me, their garishly stained lips pulling tight.
Satisfaction bloomed inside me. A spark that flared bright even though it burned out just as fast.
Yes, this was way better than bringing James. At least with Landon, I didn’t need to explain anything. Everyone knew who he was just by looking.
Eventually, everyone remembered the party, pulled toward the bar, the DJ, the novelty photo booth someone had inexplicably rented.
“Don’t let them do that,” he said quietly, taking a sip of his drink. His eyes stayed on my face the whole time, though.
“Let who do what?”
He jerked his head in the direction of the cluster at the bleachers. “Don’t let them decide how you feel tonight. Or ever again. They’re nobodies. Don’t hand them that much power.”
The punch was sweet and too cold, and I nodded through the uncomfortable brain freeze. Who would’ve thought I’d be getting sage advice from the likes of Landon Cross?
But he wasn’t wrong, and once I acknowledged it, the night loosened its grip on me.
Landon drifted with an easy confidence that pulled people in without effort, and I let myself fall half a step behind him, close enough to stay included but far enough to watch. We moved past the bleachers where someone had taped old team banners to the rails, past a photo table littered with disposable cameras and a cardboard cutout of the school mascot that had seen better decades.
