If only I could be more like Hayes.
My best friend isn’t anything like the typical preppy Ken-doll guys around here, with their sun-streaked hair, Abercrombie jeans, and popped collars. But somehow, it works for him. People here absolutelyworship Hayes. He’s practically royalty. Sometimes I wish?—
“Yo, Alligator!”
I look up, and as if my thoughts alone conjured him, there he is.
Hayden Basileus Vassilios.
LHU’s golden-boy campus legend strolls through the parking lot like he owns the place. Which, I guess he sort of does, as the school’s new star quarterback.
My breath catches for a moment at the spectacular view. Carved cheekbones. Dimpled chin. Proud, aristocratic nose. Blue eyes so dark they read almost violet, like a stormy night sky lit by lightning. He’s like some brooding, devastatingly gorgeous Greek god come to life.
Judging by the gym bag slung over his shoulder and the damp, inky-black hair pushed haphazardly off his forehead, he must’ve just come from morning practice. He’s in a black LHU hoodie and leather jacket, somehow managing to look both effortlessly cool and vaguely dangerous.
“Do you really have to call me that in public?” I scowl at him through my rolled-down window.
Even if he thinks it’s cute, it annoys me to no end that the best-looking guy in town has nicknamed me after a scaly, smelly, prehistoric swamp creature.
“Oh, my bad. You prefer Alysander now?” He grins, mischief dancing in his eyes. Hayes only ever uses my full name when he’s trying to get under my skin—or remind me he knows me better than anyone.
“Good point.”
Amber and herclones linger near the Performing Arts Center entrance, her gaze locked possessively on Hayes, like he’s still hers, even though they’ve been broken up all summer.
They’ve been on-again, off-again for years, and while I’d love to believe it’s over for good this time, I know better. They always seem to find their way back to each other, eventually.
“So what’s the word?” he asks, voice bright with anticipation. “You got the part, right?”
I don’t feel like smiling, but whenever Hayes looks at me like this—dimples and dazzling white teeth on display—I can’t help but grin back.
Unfortunately, he misreads my smile and yanks open the car door, pulling me out of the driver’s seat in one big swoop and wrapping me up in his arms.
“Hell yes! I knew it!” he yells, spinning me around so wildly my feet leave the pavement. “How’s it feel to be Laguna Hills’ newest star?”
I stiffen in his arms, the sting of embarrassment creeping under my skin.
“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t get Megara—Amber did.”
His face falls instantly.
“Shit. Are you serious?”
I shrug, scuffing the toe of my boot against the pavement. “It’s fine.”
“I’m so sorry, Al. I really thought you had it in the bag.” He sets me gently back on the ground, eyes wide with sympathy. “But if those fools can’t see it, screw ’em.” Then he smirks. “Well… except Amber. We’ve got a date tomorrow.”
“Since when?” I lift a brow. “I thought she wanted to be single senior year. Explore her options, whatever that means.”
“It’s not that deep.” He shrugs. “She won’t stop texting me, so I figured—why not? We’re going to Souvlaki’s for dinner and then catching the new Blumhouse flick.”
“Wait—what? You can’t see that without me.” I fold my arms across my chest, fighting the stupid twist in my gut. “And Amber hates scary movies.”
I probably sound like a jealous girlfriend, but horror movies areourthing, and he damn well knows it. It’s tradition: every new release is just the two of us, followed by way too much Souvlaki’s takeout and an hours-long postmortem discussing the movie.
“Relax, dude. Obviously, I’m watching it with you first,” he says with a wink. “Come over tonight, okay? Around six?”
“Yeah, sure. That’s cool.”
