Instead of hauling Beck to the station every time he’s picked up, they drop him at his front door and don’t bother talking to Archibald about it. Beck is on a first name basis with a number of guys on the force. A few showed up to his graduation party in June.
It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Beck always figures out a way to circumvent the obstacles standing in his path. His parents. School. The law. It’s as irritating as it is impressive. Maybe one of these days, he’ll use his powers for good instead of evil.
“Come on, Mia!” Alyssa whines, all the while flashing sad puppy dog eyes at me.
Double whammy.
My bestie knows I have a difficult time resisting puppy dog eyes.
I wiggle my toes from the bed and grumble, “I can’t go anywhere until my nails dry.” I’m doing my best to prolong subjecting myself to the aggravation of being anywhere near Beckett Hollingsworth. The guy drives me bat shit crazy.
And that’s putting it mildly.
“Great! So…five minutes?” She swings away before pressing her face against the screen as her voice turns dreamy. “I bet Colton is already there.”
Ugh.
Colton Montgomery is Beck’s righthand man, so it’s not a wager I’m likely to win.
Against my better advice, Alyssa has been crushing hard on Colton for more than a year. Not only is he popular, but he’s a football player. Heavy emphasis on the player part. If Alyssa were smart, she’d find a nice guy to fall in lust with, but she has tunnel vision when it comes to the blond-haired, blue-eyed heartbreaker.
Colton has it all going on. Brains, brawn, and more than likely, a one-way ticket to the NFL after college.
The only problem is that he’s aware of his own appeal.
His ego is as massive as other parts of him.
Or so I hear.
And not from Alyssa since he refuses to sleep with her. I can’t decide if the situation is amusing or sad. The more Colton keeps Alyssa at a firm distance, the more determined she is to have him.
Last football season, Alyssa dragged me to every game. Even the away ones. My greatest fear was that Beck would assume my ass was in the stands in support of him. His fan club is already legendary without adding me to the ranks.
When it comes to the ladies, Beckett makes Colton look like an innocent babe. He goes through girls like most people go through underwear. Speaking of panties, the girls at our high school are always happy—hell, I’d go so far as to say thrilled—to drop theirs for him.
It’s ridiculous.
He’s a chronic user and abuser.
There should be a warning label slapped across his forehead.
Beware. Toxic to the female species.
But you know what?
That wouldn’t stop these bubble-headed chicks from spreading their legs wide for him. I’ve stopped trying to figure out the appeal. All right, I’m well aware of what the attraction is. As much as I’ve tried to pretend I’m immune to his charms, I’m not. I just do a damn good job of burying them deep down where they never see the light of day. If I didn’t, Beck would annihilate me in a heartbeat, and I have zero desire to end up a casualty on his hit list.
Given the choice, I’d rather flip through Netflix and find a movie to watch rather than be dragged over to Beck’s bash.
Doesn’t sitting around in pajamas and stuffing our faces with pizza sound way better than watching a bunch of our classmates get sloppy drunk, engage in way too much PDA, puke all over the place before alcohol poisoning sets in?
I won’t bother posing the question to Alyssa. There is no way she’ll willingly opt for sitting home instead of stalking her crush.
Would you like to guess what Colton will be doing while I wipe drool from Alyssa’s chin?
You guessed it. He’ll be flirting with every vagina he thinks he has a chance of penetrating.
Honestly, it’s one of the most masochistic things Alyssa could do. I have no idea why she insists on putting herself through this kind of agony. Apparently, my job as her best friend is to support her decision to inflict untold amounts of mental anguish onto herself. I’d slap her upside the head if I thought it would knock sense into her.
My prediction for the evening goes a little something like this—Alyssa will have a few drinks, moon over Colton, before dissolving into a puddle of tears while that manwhore makes out with other girls in front of her face. Then I’ll drag her home and she’ll end up knuckle-deep in a gallon of triple chocolate ice cream.
But that’s what friends are for, right?
Don’t worry, I’ve already made my peace with it.
“Fine,” I grumble with a scowl, hoping she understands the depth of my reluctance. “But let it be known that I won’t be staying for more than an hour. So you better make good use of your time, girl.”
She swings around to face me, bouncing on the tips of her toes as she claps her hands together with excitement. “Yay!” As soon as she gets the affirmative, she beelines for my closet, which is half the size of my room.
I have the kind of closet most girls my age can only dream about. Shoes, purses, clothes, jewelry. It’s all there and organized.
“Cue the montage music while I find something schmexy to wear!” she squeals.
“What you have on is fine.” I roll my eyes and yell, “It was good enough for me, wasn’t it?”
From within the depths of my closet comes a snort.
For the next ten minutes, I’m treated to an impromptu fashion show. At the rate Alyssa is going, we won’t make it to the party any time soon.
Take your time, girlfriend. I’m totally good with that.
A dozen outfit changes later, Alyssa settles on a black knit tank and white skirt that showcases her sun-kissed legs to their best advantage. Alyssa has been taking dance classes since she was three years old. She’s toned with long, lean muscles.
“Damn girl, you look hot.” Not that her crush will appreciate the effort. Alyssa needs to move on. I’m thinking a twelve-step program would help kick the Chase Montgomery habit.
“I would gladly live in your closet if you’d let me.” She grins before doing a little twirl. “It’s my happy place.”
A reluctant smile quirks my lips.
My mother is a card-carrying shopaholic and has the Amex Black Card bills to prove it. She buys clothes like our house burned to the ground and nothing could be salvaged. Even with racks and racks of space, my wardrobe is bursting at the seams. Three quarters of the stuff has never seen the light of day. Alyssa is lucky we’re roughly the same size so she can borrow whatever she wants.
Now that she’s dressed and ready to mingle, her eyes narrow as she takes a hard look at me. Wordlessly, she spins around and races back inside the closet only to resurface a handful of minutes later.
“Here you go,” she says, tossing two garments at the foot of my bed.
I glance at the shimmery gold tank and dark wash jean skirt that resembles a folded-up napkin. The skirt is cute as hell, but I would strongly advise against going commando while wearing it unless you’re looking to flash everyone your goodies.
Since that’s not my usual style, the price tag is still dangling from the pocket. I have no idea what my mother was thinking when she picked it up.
Unsure why she’s throwing clothes at me, I point to the small pile. “What’s that about?”
“You need to change.” She gives me a look that says—duh before clapping her hands together. “Chop-chop.”
Changing my clothes was not part of the plan. I’m fine with going in my pajamas. It’s not like I’m looking for a hookup. Or anything else, for that matter.
I shake my head and fold my arms across my chest. “No, thank you.”
Her gaze rakes over me as she points at my T-shirt. “Is that a coffee stain on your boob?”
With a frown, I glance at my chest and inspect the dark spot marring the fabric of my right breast. My guess is that she’s right. Caramel Macchiato, to be specific. “Possibly
.”
Her lips flatten. “I refuse to go anywhere with you looking like that.”
“Great!” I stretch out before stacking my hands behind my head. “What kind of movie night does it feel like to you? Romcom? Horror? Psychological thriller? Angsty tearjerker?” A benevolent smile curves my lips. “You can choose.”
Alyssa stomps her foot on the carpeted floor. “Mia!” she wails at a decibel that could shatter eardrums. A few neighborhood dogs howl in response. “You promised!”
Promised?
No, I don’t think so.
I scrunch my nose and tap a finger against my lips. “I don’t believe I ever promised to do anything. Reluctantly agreed? Yes. Was browbeaten into capitulating? Definitely. But promised? Not in this lifetime.”
When she straightens to her full height, I groan, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. “Mia Evelyn Stanbury! Do I need to remind you who was there when—”
Argh.
This is the portion of the evening where Alyssa trots out every damn thing she’s ever done for me until I relent. And she’ll start with Harper Hastings. The girl who bullied me relentlessly in seventh grade because Xander Rossi asked me to the movies instead of her. After months of Harper’s meanspirited attacks, Alyssa waited for the girl after school. My bestie let it be known that if Harper didn’t cease and desist, she’d spread the good word that the other girl was a known bra stuffer. It must have been true, since Harper immediately backed off and I never heard a peep from her again.
“Yes, yes, Harper Hastings,” I mutter, not appreciating the direction this conversation has swerved in.
Alyssa folds her arms across her chest as a smug smile twists her lips upward. “Harper Hastings is only the beginning, my friend.” She arches a brow. “Need I continue?”
Silently we glare before I fold like a cheap house of cards. “Fine, I’ll change.” I straighten before scooping up the skirt and top and shaking them at her. “It’s only because I love you and you’re my best friend that I’m even willing to step foot next door.”
An angelic smile spreads across her pretty face before she blows me a kiss. “Love you, too. Now kindly move your assets.”
“An hour,” I remind. “That’s all you get.”
Looking unconcerned, she waves a hand. “No worries, that’s more than enough time to work my magic.”
What she means to say is that it’s more than enough time for Colton to ignore her, all the while hooking up with another girl. Part of me almost wishes he would sleep with Alyssa. Maybe then the rose-colored glasses would come off and she would realize what a douche the guy is.
In one fluid motion, the stained T-shirt is stripped from my body and replaced with the shimmery gold tank. Then I slide off the comfy shorts I’ve been lounging in and yank on the tiny rectangle of material that doubles as a skirt.
I step in front of my floor-to-ceiling mirror that’s propped against the wall and stare at my reflection before attempting to tug the skirt further down my thighs, but it’s useless. There’s not a spare inch of material to be found.
What the hell was my mother thinking when she picked this up? Was she mistakenly shopping in the toddler section? That’s the only reasonable explanation.
I turn around and bend over, touching my toes before peering over my shoulder to the mirror. It’s as I suspected. My thong is on full display. Actually, it doesn’t even look like I’m wearing underwear since the material is wedged between the crack of my ass like dental floss.
Lovely.
Not to mention uncomfortable.
“Is there a second option to consider?” My gaze slides to Alyssa’s in the mirror. “One where my ass isn’t hanging out?”
“’Fraid not. I’m seriously loving the whole—is she or isn’t she wearing panties guessing game you’ve got going on.” She winks. “Play your cards right and maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”
I narrow my eyes as my lips thin. “Believe it or not, I’m perfectly content being unlucky.”
“That, my dear, is only because you don’t realize what you’ve been missing.”
“Heartache, STI’s, and the possibility of an unplanned pregnancy?” I flutter my lashes and smile. “You are so right.”
Ignoring my comment, she tosses a pair of gold sandals at me before sliding her feet into black leather ones that strap up her legs, giving her that whole Grecian goddess vibe. She looks amazing. But then again, when doesn’t she? Alyssa has long blond hair and dark blue eyes. Her skin has a natural sun-kissed glow that darkens under the summer sun.
It almost offends me that Colton refuses to fuck my friend.
What the hell is wrong with him?
“Ready to go?” she asks, checking her reflection in the mirror one last time.
I slip the sandals on before rising to my full height. “As I’ll ever be.”
Five minutes later, we’ve traversed the lawn and are walking around the side of the Hollingsworth mansion. All sixteen thousand square feet of it. Needless to say, Archibald has turned ambulance chasing into a lucrative art form.
With every step we take, the sound of drunken laughter and the pulsing beat of music grows louder, assaulting our ears. As soon as the party comes into view, I wonder why I let Alyssa talk me into this.
It’s complete chaos.
As much as Alyssa would like to convince you otherwise, I’m not a complete dud. I like to party as much as the next girl. But Beck enjoys taking his antics to the next level. He’s not content to have a low-key get together where people sit around and chill.
This party is moments away from becoming one of those teen movies where all hell breaks loose and the host wakes up naked the next morning in a dumpster five states away next to a goat.
Over to the left, a few people are holding a guy upside down while he performs a keg stand.
Chants of—chug, chug, chug permeate the air.
It wouldn’t surprise me if one of these drunken idiots is found floating face down in the pool come morning.
It begs the question of why Beck’s parents would leave him alone without supervision. He might be eighteen years old and technically an adult, but he needs an adultier adult to keep him in check. Someone who can put the kibosh on his hijinks.
Good luck with that. His older brother, Ari, is out of the country for the summer.
Archibald and Caroline, his parents, must have realized this was inevitable. Every time they go out of town, Beck throws a huge bash. Depending on the amount of damage, he gets grounded anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. The threat of consequences—hell, actual consequences being enforced—are in no way a deterrent.
Believe it or not, before our parents left town for a long weekend in New York, Archie asked me to keep an eye on their son. His actual words were—make sure no one dies.
As if I exert that much control over Beck?
Yeah, right. Beck doesn’t listen to anyone, let alone me.
Exactly what am I supposed to do?
Tattletale?
Facetime his parents so they can get a first-hand glimpse of the ensuing pandemonium?
As much pleasure as that would give me, it’s not going to happen. I might be a lot of things (a rule follower and a goody-goody, if you listen to Beck) but there are lines that can’t be crossed and snitching is one of them.
This will be one more antic Beck gets away with. I suppose that’s the beauty of being Beckett Hollingsworth. He doesn’t give a shit about anything other than football.
The Neanderthal sport is his life.
By the time Beck was a freshman in high school, he’d already drawn the attention of Big Ten college coaches. They couldn’t wait to get him on their roster. If he could have gone straight to the NFL after graduation, he would have. But that’s not a possibility. Players aren’t eligible to enter the draft until after their sophomore year of college. Beck’s father has taken it one step further by insisting he wait until senior year because—and I quote—no damn son
of mine is going to be a college dropout.
Beck will be proof positive that C’s really do earn degrees.
As my gaze drifts over the thick crowd of glassy-eyed stares, it collides with bright green ones. A little zip of electricity sizzles its way through my veins as our gazes fasten. The muscles in my belly tense with awareness. Once I realize what’s happening, I tamp down the reaction. My life has been filled with a thousand little moments like this one. Moments I like to pretend never transpired.
For all I know, it’s gastritis from the sushi I picked up at the gas station last night.
Anything’s possible, right?
Instead of glancing away, I hold his stare and scowl. What I’ve learned is that it’s better to brazen out these situations than turn tail and run. Beck’s perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth lifts into a knowing grin before he crooks his finger.
A gurgle of laughter bubbles up in my throat.
I don’t think so, buddy.
I’m not like the bubbleheads he usually toys with. I have a working brain and I enjoy using it to make good decisions that won’t come back to bite me in the ass. Unlike Beck, I have a healthy amount of self-preservation.
I press my lips into a tight line before emphatically shaking my head.
A wolfish grin spills across his face, giving him a boyishly handsome appearance. With dark tousled hair, sharp cheekbones that scream his Russian heritage, and thick eyebrows, he’s a danger to females everywhere. I won’t mention the chiseled body that looks like it was carved from stone. Broad shoulders and a tapered waist complete the package.
It’s almost a relief when a bikini-clad girl steps between us, severing the connection. Now that his sharp gaze is no longer pinning me in place, I’m able to exhale all the air from my lungs.
Alyssa grabs my hand. “There he is,” she whisper-yells excitedly over the babble of voices and music. “Oh my God, he’s so freaking dreamy.”
I regard the crowd of newly minted high school graduates before finding Colton.
Sure, I’ll admit it. He’s as hot as Beck. Instead of short dark hair, he’s golden blond. It’s buzzed on the sides and left long on top, so he’s constantly pushing it away from bright blue eyes. He’s tall and brawny. If I hadn’t gone to school with him since elementary, I’d suspect he flunked a few grades. Even his muscles have muscles.
Campus Player Page 31
