parties. I didn’t mention it to her, but Beck shot me a text earlier this afternoon with all the details. If she even suspected an invitation had been issued, she would have dragged my ass across the lawn that separates our properties as soon as the first guest pulled into the drive.
No, thank you.
It’s obvious from all the commotion coming from next door that the entire senior class has shown up to celebrate our newly graduated status. If we didn’t live on a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away in a gated subdivision, I’d expect the police to make an unannounced visit and shut down the festivities.
Then again, no one wants to mess with Beck’s father, Archibald Hollingsworth. He’s a high-priced attorney with a fleet of underlings working for him. He’s one of those overly tan guys with blindingly white veneers you see on television yapping about if you’ve been injured, you need to call them—they fight for the little guy! The dude is everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. Newspaper and magazine advertisements.
The local police have tangled with Archibald several times over the years because his son is a magnet for trouble. Let’s see, there was the time (or five) when he was picked up for underage drinking. When Beck was fifteen years old, he borrowed his parent’s brand spanking new Range Rover and did a little off-roading. And the police were involved when he super glued the locks on the high school building doors for senior prank day.
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