Carter gives Frat Boy a chin lift in greeting. “Hey, what’s up?”
I’m acutely aware of how close Carter’s thumb is to the curve of my breast. The heat of his fingers sears my flesh through the shirt I’m wearing.
“Um, I was just having a conversation with…” Kevin trails off as his eyes slide to mine looking for assistance.
Yeah, I don’t think so.
If he can’t remember my name, I’m not going to jump in and save him from looking like an even bigger asshat than I originally assumed.
Not one to let a pesky detail stand in his way, Kevin clears his throat and barrels onward. “Well, anyway, if you don’t mind, we were just getting to know one another.”
Except he can’t remember my name.
Carter reaches up and tugs my hair from Kevin’s fingers. “You’re going to need to wrap that up and move it along.”
You can almost see the moment it dawns on Kevin that whateverhe thought was going to happen tonight willnotbe happening. The expression on his face is almost comical.
He narrows his eyes and takes a closer look at Carter. “Do I know you?”
Carter shrugs and his hold on me tightens. “Don’t know.”
The blond, Logan look-alike nods and points a finger at him. “Yeah, I know you.” He smirks. “You tried pledging last year, and we turned you down.”
Laughter bubbles from my lips as I shake my head. “I don’t think so. This is Carter Prescott.”
There’s no recognition in Kevin’s eyes.
“You know, tight-end-for-BU Carter Prescott?” I wave a hand around us when his expression remains blank. “The reason-that-we’re-celebrating-tonight Carter Prescott?”
At last, Kevin realizes who he’s talking to. “Are you sure you didn’t pledge last year?”
“Pretty sure,” Carter says dryly.
“Huh.” Kevin scratches his chin. “Are you interested in pledging this year? We throw the best parties.” He pumps his fist in the air and makes woofing noises.
Carter’s expression remains bland. “I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.”
Kevin claps him on the shoulder. “You do that, man.”
The guy doesn’t acknowledge my presence as he disappears into the crowd.
Carter shakes his head. “You have terrible taste in men.”
A chuckle slips free. He’s right. I school my features as though I’m annoyed. The way Carter braces himself tells me he expects my anger. And under normal circumstances, that’s exactly what he would get.
Instead, I say, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For intervening before I died of boredom.”
“Let me get this straight.” His brows rise. “You’re actuallythankingme for running interference?”
“Yup.” A smile creeps across my face.
“Huh. And here I thought you’d be pissed that I ran off another clown.”
“Not this time.” I make a mental note to steer clear of frat boys for the foreseeable future.
