When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,14
trying to kill me?
No way in hell could I eat that in public without crying in my Fritos. I tucked the lunch back into my sleek leather backpack and leaned against a cement pole to survey my fellow students.
Besides, vampires don’t eat. We drink.
I took a sip from my flask and slipped it back into my pocket just as two girls approached. One was all Latina hotness with lustrous black hair flowing out of a high, tight ponytail. Her dark eyes drank me brazenly. The other girl was a raven-haired beauty with dark blue eyes and porcelain skin. She lacked the innate boldness of the first girl, but her eye-contact was on point.
I reached for my packet of cloves as the first girl’s gaze raked me up and down with a predatory gleam. Her heteronormative assumptions that I was A) straight and B) automatically attracted to her, were amusing.
“I’m Evelyn,” she said. “This is Violet. We thought we’d come over and say hi, since you’re new and all.”
“Am I? It’s only noon, and it feels like I’ve been here for ages,” I said and lit a cigarette with my gold Zippo.
“This is California, not Paris,” Evelyn said, impressed with my blatant disregard for universally acknowledged health statutes. “There’s no smoking allowed at school.”
“I’m sure there isn’t,” I said and took another drag.
She pressed on with a flirty smile. “There’s a spot under the bleachers on the north end of the football field. Good place to smoke or do other things you don’t want anyone to see. Care for a tour?”
Not on your life, honey.
“As enticing as that sounds, I’ll pass. Raincheck, Princess?”
I gave her a grin and a wink to take the sting out. To her credit, she didn’t throw in the towel.
“Definitely,” she said. “There’s a party Saturday night at Chance Blaylock’s house. A back-to-school thing. Should be pretty epic.”
I glanced at the shrinking violet who hadn’t said a word. “What do you think, Violet?”
She crossed her arms. “I think smoking is bad for your health and those around you.”
“So it is,” I said. Her honesty was surprising. As was the fact she clearly wasn’t interested in me.
Evelyn elbowed her friend in the ribs. “Don’t mind her. Violet is going to be a doctor, so she’s anal about stuff like that.”
I shot Violet a wink. “So am I.”
My terrible joke sailed over their heads. Evelyn smiled harder.
“Anyway, if you want to come to the party, give me your number and I’ll text you the address.”
“Oh, I think I can find my way.”
“Cool. But if you change your mind about a tour, I’m around.”
“Yes, you get around,” said a lanky red-haired guy in over-sized boardshorts carrying a skateboard.
He sauntered up behind the girls with two other guys, jocks by the size of them. One was bulky, ruddy-cheeked, his hair like dry straw. But my gaze snagged on the second guy and became stuck there. On him.
He wasn’t stylish in the slightest or even interesting-looking. Merely classically, epically handsome. All-American. Superman in a T-shirt and jeans. His face was a straightforward arrangement of perfect features—thick, dark brows over blue eyes fringed with long lashes. A strong nose over a luscious mouth and a cleft in his chin even more impressive than mine.
He spared a smile for Violet, then turned his gaze my direction. A lock of his dark hair fell over his brow, daring someone—me—to reach over and brush it away.
“I was just inviting our new friend to your party, Chance,” Evelyn said to the blond. “Guys, this is Holden.”
The pale slab of beef was Chance, but no one had told me Superman’s name, probably because he usually needed no introduction. It was obvious this guy was a football god, Prom King—the Jake Ryan of Santa Cruz.
“Good to meet you, man.” He offered his hand.
“Likewise,” I said, keeping mine to myself.
Mr. Perfect might’ve had the rest of the school swooning, but I wasn’t going down without a fight. But once our gazes found each other, I fell into the surprising depth of him. There was weight behind his eyes, and his casual smile looked like his own brand of armor.
The guy quickly withdrew his hand and laughed it off. “Okay, whatever.”
“Holden is from Seattle. Isn’t that right…?”
I didn’t stick around to hear Evelyn recite the rest of my bio. I rolled my shoulders around the pole and walked away from the small group. First rule of showbiz: always leave them wanting more. Better to leave the hot—and painfully straight—jock with the