Girls are already circling around him, vying for his attention. The guy is like a rock star picking out groupies to sleep with at the end of the night.
“He’s okay,” I mutter, wanting to downplay his attractiveness.
“You’re so full of shit, your eyes are turning brown. He’s way better than okay and you know it.”
“Ewww.” I scrunch my nose. “That’s gross.”
“Focus!” She snaps her fingers in front of my face.
I make one last-ditch effort to sway her. “You can do better than Colton. He knows exactly how hot he is and takes full advantage of it every chance he gets. Find someone like,” I stand on my tiptoes and pick through the mass of bodies before zeroing in on the perfect guy for Alyssa, “Landon Mathews. Not only is he good looking, he’s a sweetheart.”
Alyssa’s expression turns thoughtful as she assesses the tall guy with inky-black hair and unusual blue-green eyes. He’s standing around with a bunch of football players, laughing at something one of them said.
“He’s definitely yummy,” she admits.
For one glorious moment, my spirits soar. Maybe she’ll drop this whole Colton Montgomery nonsense and go after someone more attainable. Landon is a great guy. He’s as hot as his friends, but he’s not a total asshat. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get nearly the same amount of hype that Colton or Beck do since he’s been labeled a good guy.
I mean, who wants to date a nice guy when you can have one who treats you like total crap?
Said no one ever.
Except…there seems to be way more truth to that statement than most females are comfortable acknowledging. Whether they realize it or not, these girls have been conditioned to crave unattainable jerks.
It’s disturbing on so many levels.
“Added bonus,” I continue, “he knows you’re alive!”
“Um, excuse me, Colton knows I’m alive,” she grumbles.
“Are you certain about that?”
She bites her lip as we glance at the guy in question who is—surprise-surprise—surrounded by a bevy of scantily clad girls competing for his interest.
Uh-oh.
Alyssa’s got that look in her eye. The one that tells me not to bother trying to talk her out of her plans.
She confirms it by saying, “Wish me luck, I’m going in.”
It was worth a try.
“Good luck.”
One of Alyssa’s best qualities is that she’s not a quitter. That girl can be as tenacious and persistent as a terrier. And sometimes, just as yappy.
In this instance, it’s a negative.
When she’s a few steps away, I cup my fingers around my mouth and yell, “Maybe you should take off the panties so you can flash him your puss. That way he’ll know you’re a sure thing.”
She whips around with a grin. “Excellent idea!”
My jaw drops when she shimmies out of her panties and tosses them in my direction.
“Christ, girl! I was joking! That was sarcasm!” I glance at the wadded-up material I now clench in my hand. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
She shrugs. “Keep them as a souvenir?”
Gross.
“I don’t think so.” I stalk to a garbage can and pitch them. When I turn around, Alyssa is pushing her way through the crowd, moving steadily closer to Colton and his harem.
If nothing else, this should be entertaining. It takes a moment to realize I’m alone at a party I didn’t want to attend in the first place. I slip my phone from my back pocket and glance at it.
Fifty minutes and counting.
This is shaping up to be the longest hour of my life. Maybe I should head inside and grab a drink. By the number of drunken idiots I’m surrounded by, my guess is that the booze is flowing freely. I maneuver my way through the crowd and into the kitchen before taking in the scene.
If Beck’s mom saw all these people sitting their asses on her polished-to-a-high-shine marble countertop, she would probably have a conniption. She’s kind of a germ-o-phobe. There’s a half-naked girl stretched out on the island with a lime clenched in her teeth as one of the football players slurps tequila from her belly button.
I’m no aficionado on hygiene, but that definitely doesn’t seem sanitary.
A few people greet me as I make my way to the keg and take my place in line. I’m in the middle of chatting with a girl from my French class when she turns an unflattering shade of green and bolts to the nearest bathroom with her hands slapped over her mouth. All thoughts of a refill are abandoned as she pushes her way to the back hall. I really hope she makes it in time. Caroline will be furious if she finds out someone has thrown up on her marble floors.
Once I have a frothy cup of beer in hand, I head to the patio to check on Alyssa’s progress.
Am I a terrible friend for hoping she’s already been shot down and has thrown in the towel for the night?
Probably, but I can deal with that.
Instead of finding a dejected Alyssa crying in the corner, I’m amazed to discover that she’s clawed her way to the front of the pack. Who knows, she may actually have a shot of getting picked from the crowd.
This could be a real game changer for her.
Guess that means I’m stuck here. I look around the patio, searching for a place to park my ass. The Hollingsworth property is about an acre in size, which is the same as ours. The space around the pool is gated with a black iron fence and tall arborvitae that spear into the dark night sky. Toward the back of the gate is an unoccupied lounge chair with my name on it. I’ll hang out there for forty minutes before dragging Alyssa’s panty-less ass back to my house.
Before I can take three steps, a deep voice cuts through the raucous noise of the party.
“Well, well, well. Look who decided to make a cameo appearance tonight.”
I swing around, knowing exactly who I’ll find.
Beck.
As difficult as it is, I try not to notice how delicious he looks in plaid board shorts that hang low on his hips, showing off the cut lines of his abdomen before disappearing beneath the waistband. The chiseled strength of his arms and chest are enough to bring most girls to their proverbial knees.
The operative word in that sentence being most.
I, however, am not one of those idiotic girls.
“Coming here tonight wasn’t my idea. I was dragged under duress.”
“Yeah, I figured you would have better things to do than hang around with a bunch of wasted assholes.”
He’s got me there.
“You know me too well.” When my throat grows dry, I lift the red Solo cup to my lips. Before I can take a sip, he snatches the drink from my fingers and brings it to his mouth. I watch his throat constrict as he drains the contents.
“Rude much?” My fists go to my hips. “What did you do that for?”
He shrugs. Even though it’s a slight movement, his muscles ripple and attraction bursts to life in my core. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”
“Excuse me?” My eyes pop wide as laughter tumbles from my mouth. “Are you being serious right now?” I wave a hand toward the drunken mass that surrounds us. It’s not even eleven, and already people are passed out on loungers. “Look around, dude, everyone is shitfaced.” Hopefully, there are a few designated drivers among this group or Uber will make a hell of a lot of money tonight.
As soon as Beck smirks, I know his answer is specifically designed to piss me off.
“That might be so, but everyone knows you’re a good girl. And good girls don’t drink. I wouldn’t want the society to revoke your membership. You’ve worked so damn hard for it.”
My eyes narrow to slits. The attraction that had flared to life so quickly is extinguished by his teasing.
I hate when he calls me that. And he knows it, which is precisely why he continues to do it. Beck loves nothing better than to crawl under my skin. He’s like a rash I can never quite get rid of, no matter how many steroids I use.
It�
�s irritating.
“I’m not a good girl,” I growl before stabbing a finger at his ridiculously hard chest. “And you are not my keeper. I can drink if I want to.” In a haughty voice, I remind, “I’m the one who was requested to babysit your ass. Not the other way around.”
He crowds into my personal space. Instead of retreating, I stand my ground. I refuse to let him intimidate me.
“Babysitter, you say? Hmmm…I could definitely use one of those tonight.” His fingers trace a path down the center of my chest, lingering in the valley between my breasts. “Should we take this elsewhere and you can demonstrate everything your service entails?”
His nearness does funny things to me and clouds my better judgment. Instead of pushing him away, I’m tempted to pull him closer.
My body wavers before sanity crashes down on me and I bat his hand away. “Go to hell.”
“See?” He laughs as if I’ve proven his point for him. “A good girl through and through.”
“I’m not as good as you think.” The words shoot out of my mouth before I can rein them back in. To be clear, they are a total lie. I am as good as he thinks. Probably better. I have to be.
“Is that so?” He steps closer until the tips of my breasts brush against his bare chest. “Sweetheart, I’d love nothing better than to test that theory but we both know you’ll always be Mia Stanbury, little miss perfect.”
And he’ll always be Beckett Hollingsworth. The guy with little-to-no impulse control who can’t walk down the school hallway without finding trouble. The same one who can’t be left alone in his own house for a night without inviting a hundred of his closest friends over for an impromptu party.
We are opposites in every sense of the word.
“Shut up, Beck.” I’ve never met anyone who has the power to turn me on and piss me off at the same time. If he ever cranked up the charm, I’d be toast. He’s capable of melting the panties right off a girl with one well-aimed look. I’ve seen it happen with my own eyes. I refuse to be one of those ridiculous females. I won’t be used and tossed aside like dirty Kleenex.
I don’t realize that I’ve become trapped in my own thoughts until his fingers settle under my chin, lifting it so I’m forced to meet his bright gaze. “What’s the matter? Truth hurt?”
“There’s nothing you can say that will hurt me.” If only that were true.
His face looms closer until it fills my vision, blotting out the party. My world shrinks around us until it only encompasses Beck. My breath gets clogged in my lungs and burns like a fire before spreading to the rest of my body. Any moment I’m going to self-combust.
What am I doing?
I should pull away, but I’m powerless to do anything other than stare into his eyes and fall under his spell.
“Beck, baby!” a loud female voice booms over the rowdiness of the party, “over here!”
Even when she continues to bleat like a sheep, our gazes remain locked for several long heartbeats and I almost wonder if he’ll ignore her. But she’s persistent and continues to repeat his name until he severs the connection between us and swings around.
As soon as I’m released, the air rushes from my lungs and my body sags with relief. Or maybe it’s disappointment. I tamp down the emotions so I can’t inspect them too closely.
What would have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted?
Nothing good.
This is exactly why I avoid Beck at all costs. Even though we’re constantly sniping at each other, there’s an undercurrent of attraction that hums beneath the surface. No other guy has ever provoked these kinds of emotions in me. I want to slap him almost as much as I want to kiss him.
Sanity returns with a rush as I focus on the statuesque blond twenty feet away. Ava Simmons is wearing a teeny tiny bikini that leaves very little to the imagination. Once she has Beck’s full attention, she reaches around and unties the strings that hold the tiny triangles in place. The material floats to the cement at her feet. She lets him—and everyone else in the vicinity—ogle her perky breasts before running and jumping into the pool.
People cheer, and more girls ditch their tops, following Ava into the water.
A grin slides across Beck’s face as he glances at me. A challenging light enters his eyes as he jerks his dark head toward the pool. Water sloshes over the edge of the azure-colored tile as more bodies dive in.
Oh, hell no.
My heart pounds as I throw my hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Sorry, didn’t bring a suit.”
His grin turns predatory. “Doesn’t look like you need one.”
Yeah…not going to happen.
“As fun as that seems, I’ll pass,” I wave an arm toward the pool, “but don’t let that stop you from mingling with your guests. Ava’s waiting.” Topless. From the corner of my eye, I see her breasts bobbing like inflatable safety devices.
When his focus is drawn to the people splashing around, I follow suit. It’s so much easier to stare elsewhere than hold the intensity of his gaze. Even when that option includes watching a bunch of topless girls I’ve known since elementary school. I don’t check out the guys loitering in the area, but I’m sure most are sporting wood. Honestly, if it weren’t for Alyssa, I would get the hell out of here before it turns into a raging orgy.
Beck steps closer and my gaze snaps to his. “Sure I can’t persuade you to go for a swim?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“That’s too bad. This would have gone a long way to prove you’re not the good girl I always pegged you to be.”
Before I can summon up a pithy retort, he runs and dives headfirst into the water. I catch a glimpse of plaid as he disappears beneath the surface.
A mixture of relief and disappointment bubble up inside me until I’m nearly choking on them. It’s the latter emotion I’m having a hard time accepting.
With a huffed-out breath, I stalk to one of the many loungers that surround the pool and settle on top of a plush cushion. I glance around for Alyssa, hoping she’s given up on Colton so we can head home. It’s not too late for the evening to be salvaged with pizza and a movie. Instead, I find her in the pool.
Topless.
Sucking face with Colton.
Great.
As much as I want to take off, I can’t leave her here alone. God only knows what will happen if I do.
With a groan, I squeeze my eyes tight and prepare myself for a long night.
King of Hawthorne Prep
Chapter One
My gaze wanders over the water as white-capped waves roll rhythmically toward the sandy shore. When the wind picks up, a warm breeze rustles through my hair and I tip my face toward the sun before stretching.
Could life get any better than this?
Doubtful.
A family friend was kind enough to let us borrow their beach house in Door County for the week. Mom and Dad surprised us with the impromptu vacation a few days before we were supposed to leave.
The house we’re staying at isn’t one of the newly renovated million-dollar monstrosities that flank us on both sides with their gargantuan square footage, swanky pools, and perfectly groomed lawns. But it’s steps from the beach and has breathtaking views of Lake Michigan. This house is fifteen hundred square feet with three cramped bedrooms, an outdated kitchen, and a ton of seashell decor. Even so, there’s something charming about it.
Sweat beads my forehead as I haul myself from the chair I’m sprawled on and saunter to the water’s edge. It might look as inviting as the Caribbean cast in varying shades of cerulean and turquoise, but it doesn’t feel like it. Especially when my skin has been crispifying for hours beneath the sweltering sun.
A breath hisses from my lips as the frigid liquid rushes past my ankles. The first couple steps are the worst. As soon as numbness sets in, it gets better. Braving the water, I continue forward as the waves swirl around my calves. I do a little dance, bouncing up and down on my toes, trying to get used to the cold as it sinks into m
y bones.
I force myself to move deeper until the water reaches my hips.
It’s now or never.
With that brief pep talk, I suck in a breath and dive beneath a wave as it peaks and curls. Water rushes around me, instantly chilling my overheated flesh. After a moment, I break through to the surface and expel the lungful of air from my body.
It’s easier to submerge myself the second time as I dive to the bottom before trailing my fingers through the fine-grained sand in search of clamshells. When my lungs burn, I pop up again before floating on the surface so the sun can warm my skin. With my eyes closed, I stretch my hands and legs, allowing the waves to rock my body. My mind drifts as the rhythmic motion lulls me to a contented place. Every once in a while, I lift my head and search for our little blue one-story cottage to make sure I haven’t drifted to far down the shore.
My plan is to make the most of our little beach vaca before returning to Chicago next weekend. There’s so much that needs to be accomplished before senior year begins in the fall.
A couple of months ago, I registered for an introductory astronomy class at a local university about thirty minutes from the house. Next on the agenda are campus visits. I’ve scheduled tours for the University of Chicago, Northwestern, and the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Those three are my dream schools. All have impressive astronomy programs. To round out the summer, I’ve snagged a volunteer position at the Adler Planetarium. I’m scheduled to start next Monday at nine o’clock sharp.
Long after my fingers turn pruney, I drag myself from the water. As I trudge toward shore, a bleached clamshell glints in the sunlight from the bottom and catches my attention. Stilling my movements, I bend over to inspect it. A wave crashes over me, stirring up the sand and covering the shell. Once the debris settles, I turn, brushing my fingers across the bottom until they land on it again.
“Nice view.”
I yelp and swing around, straightening to my full height only to come face-to-face with the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen. My breath gets lodged at the back of my throat as his mahogany-colored eyes pierce mine with unwavering intensity. Rooted in place, it’s all I can do to take in the thick slashes of his eyebrows before my gaze slides to the slant of high cheekbones, and then on to a perfect cupid’s bow of a mouth.
Campus Player Page 32
