“I’d like that, Chad. Studying,” I said to clarify. “School’s important to me.”
“Great, Lace,” he said, briefly touching my arm.
My skin prickled, and not from Chad. My arm didn’t tingle, but just about everywhere else did. Turning toward the source, I saw him, Bryan Jackson, and it was me that about fell on my ass.
The cute boy I’d once known and crushed on as a little girl wasn’t a boy anymore. He was all man, and he was better than cute. He was absolute perfection.
The ground seemed to tremble beneath my feet as his eyes met mine, their gray-green color as dreamy as I remembered. Liquid silver pools with a shimmer of emerald, they were as mesmerizing as a magic mirror, holding all the answers to every question. Or they had at one time. I’d certainly asked Bryan loads of them that he’d patiently answered.
Currently, only one question repeated over and over inside my head.
What do you think of me now?
He recognized me . . . I could tell by the way his lips slowly curved up at the corners.
My heart skipped a beat, then started thumping wildly. Blinking through my daze, I returned his smile.
“Who’s that?” Chad asked, following the direction of my gaze.
“An old friend. I need to say hello. Excuse me,” I said, then glided over, my hips swaying.
The air separating Bryan and me seemed charged with expectation. Everything receded—the noise of the party, and everyone else. The closer I got to him, the more my skin burned and the faster my heart raced. I was only a few feet away when someone stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
I lifted my chin, and a handsome angular face filled my vision. My pulse kicked up as warm eyes the color of strong tea locked on mine.
Warren Jinkins.
This was the handsome guy I’d seen getting a blow job. He was a tall, dark, foreboding presence. His gray unzipped hoodie revealed a white T-shirt that was stretched taut over his wide shoulders and muscular chest. His faded jeans—no longer around his knees—clung to his narrow hips and long legs as if stitched by some miraculous hand to accentuate them.
Only fifteen, I was too young and inexperienced for a guy who got regular blow jobs in the restroom and was accustomed to two women fawning over him at a time. But that didn’t stop me from looking and appreciating that he was a hottie, even more so up close.
I swayed as if struck by lightning a second time.
“You okay?” he asked low, grabbing my arms.
“Wh—what?” I stammered. His voice rolled over me and my reservations. It was smooth as silk and warm like a blanket that had been left beside a crackling fire. A little unbalanced, I didn’t protest when his eyes crinkled and he pulled me into his arms.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, rocking his hips against mine, his voice dropping to a shiver-inducing lower octave. “Name’s Warren. Friends call me War, but you can call me whatever the fuck you want.”
He eased back but stayed close enough that I felt his hardness as he looked me over.
Shaking his head, he said, “Damn, you’re hot, baby.”
My cheeks flamed as he intertwined our fingers. There was a connection, an electrical spark that frayed nerve endings I’d thought were numb. With his gaze on mine, I saw within his eyes a familiarity that went beyond our unforgettable encounter earlier in the day.
“We were just talking about our band with your brother.” War pointed at Dizzy with his chin. “I’m the lead singer.”
Having heard War’s voice, I could certainly understand why. Plus, there was that indefinable something about him that commanded your attention. I recalled my earlier conversation with Dizzy. If War was at center mic, he wouldn’t need to do anything but stand there to captivate an audience.
“Lace,” another voice said, deeper than I remembered.
I turned my head, falling into familiar gray-green eyes once more.
Seeming speechless for a second, Bryan finally said, “It’s good to see you.”
Every bit as good-looking, Bryan was no second place to War. The garage and porch lights made his thick brown hair shine like polished mahogany. His hair was shorter than it had been when we were kids, except on top where the layers were longer and skimmed his thoughtful brow. The pads of my fingers tingled with the urge to sift through it, and the rest of me tingled with the desire to be closer. Much closer.