Prologue
DECLAN
“More shots!”
“Bro, the bottle is empty. I don’t need anymore.” I clap my friend on the shoulder and drain what’s left in my red cup. “I’ll stick with beer.”
“You’re so lame.”
“I have an early flight home. No way I’m dragging my hungover ass onto a plane.”
Flipping him off, I make my way through the maze of people in the living room toward the kitchen. The line for the keg is long, but I skip to the front.
Perks of the party being at our house.
With it being the last night of school, we decided to go all out. Since our team is the most popular on campus, it brings everyone out in droves.
“Hey, Declan. Want to go upstairs?” a girl asks from where she’s sitting on the kitchen counter.
“Sorry. Just need a refresher.” Grabbing the hose, I top off my drink and head back into the house.
Music shakes the walls. Christmas lights hang from the ceiling. The stench of sweat and alcohol linger. Our house is the place to be tonight.
Squeezing through the masses, I bound up the stairs, needing to hit the bathroom. Turning the corner, a small woman bumps into me. What remains in her cup spills down the front of my shirt.
“Oh God. I’m so sorry.” Her gaze flits up to meet mine and her jaw drops. “Wow. You’re pretty.”
“I could say the same about you.”
Long, blonde hair curls down over her shoulders. Blue eyes are hidden behind thin, round glasses. There is nothing sexy about the overalls she’s wearing, but damn, she somehow makes them look good.
“You should probably change your shirt.” Her warm hand tries to wipe up the alcohol now dampening the front.
“It’s fine.” I grab her hand to stop her, holding it against my abs.
Is it shameless? Yes. But I don’t care.
Because this woman is stunning. Even my liquored-up brain realizes this.
“Wow. You’re really pretty. Like really,really, pretty.”
I smirk down at her. “So you’ve said.”
“You’re a ranunculus.”
“What?” This woman is fucking gorgeous, but I have no idea what she’s saying. Likely a result of all the drinks I’ve had tonight.
“A frog.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly. “A frog?”
“You’re not listening to me.” Her words slur together. I don’t know if it’s her, or the haze of my own buzz. “You’re attractive. Like the ranunculus.”
“What’s this…rancoolous?”
She rolls those pretty blue eyes at me. “It’s a flower.”
“So I’m a frog flower?” I ask her.
