His eyes move to my ear.
“What about yourself, Tennessee Dylan? What sort of girls do it for you?”
“Hmm…” He lifts his hand, then runs the pad of his thumb over my chin, over the scab I camouflaged with foundation.
I think the band has stopped playing, but I could be wrong. The feel of his thumb, the smell of spice and soap lifting from his neck, is confusing the heck out of my senses.
“Spirited ones,” he finally answers, voice so raspy my skin bursts into goose bumps.
“You’ll be happy to know I didn’t bike here,” I blurt out before I can ask if I fall into that category.
“How wise.” He frees my chin, but the heat of his fingers lingers. “Should we get some punch?”
“Punch?”
The dance floor has become a mosh pit of excited shrieking. Not surprising, considering the band’s playing Taylor Swift’s new song.
“Don’t they have punch at American school gatherings?” he asks.
I frown. “Didn’t you attend an American school before?”
“No. Only French lycées formoi.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because my dad thought it would be neat that I spoke French,” he says.
“And here I thought you enjoyed T-shirts with random slogans.” When his eyebrows slant, I say, “On Monday, your shirt said you spoke French.”
“It was the only item of clothing I owned that was red.”
“Your cape-slash-gown was red.”
His lips hike up into another lopsided smile. “That look is harder to pull off than you’d think.”
“If anyone can do it, it’s you. The guy who doesn’t care what people think.”
His smile fades. “Is that the impression I give? That I don’t care?”
“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I wish I didn’t care what people thought of me.” Because I haven’t dug a deep enough trench, I add, “Then again, Ten, I don’t know much about you. Besides the facts that your last name is made up, that this state gives you hives, and that you enjoy running, cooking, and driving.”
“That’s more than most people know about me.”
Suddenly a hand closes over mine, and it isn’t Ten’s. I’m whisked backward and then twirled.
Rae shouts into my ear, “Just checking if you need me to stage an intervention!”
I frown.
She jogs my memory. “Momma Jade’s instructions about the boss’s son?”
Right.I glance over my shoulder at Ten, who’s watching me right back.
“Should I spin you back into his arms?”
Even though I’m nervous, I nod.
An eloquent smile starts on her lips and then takes over her entire face. Rae is positively radiant.
