When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,18
her backyard and had to be hospitalized for diabetes. I’d hardly spoken two words to him in those four years, but as we took up our seats on the floor to play the game, he glared at me as if I’d run over his dog.
Chance and I, Donte, Isaiah, and Holden sat on one side of a semi-circle on the floor. Five girls—Violet and Evelyn among them—sat on the other. I was as far from Holden as possible, though it seemed like my every damn sense was attuned to him. He’d sprawled his lean frame on the carpet, elbow propping his head, cuddled up around the Patrón bottle. Every time I looked over at him, he was looking over at me, intently and obviously.
Part of me wanted to grab him by the collar and demand to know what the hell his problem was. Another part of me wanted to grab him…
And what?
Nothing. I was drunk.
Holden’s brows rose in amused curiosity, and I realized I’d been staring. Quickly, I turned my attention to Evelyn who was explaining her version of Seven Minutes in Heaven while tearing strips of paper to write down the players’ names.
“If your name is picked, you go in. Then we pick someone who joins you in the dark. I’ll leave it up to you to decide how to figure out who,” she added with a sly smile. “When time’s up, you leave, but that person stays in the closet, and another name is picked. You get it? Like a chain. If you’re not picked to go in, you drink!”
Since I was unable to keep my damn eyes off of Holden, I noticed him take a sip from the tequila bottle and swallow it as if it were water. Again, he caught me staring. A drop of tequila lingered on his lower lip. With merciless eye contact, he rolled his tongue over his lip to catch it.
I dove into my beer cup; my skin heating. Why was he here? To mess with me? Torment me?
It’s only torment if you care about what he thinks. Or about him…
“This is a woke version of Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Evelyn was saying, writing our names on the strips of paper. “That means I don’t give a fuck if you’re a guy and get paired with another guy, or girl with a girl. You go in and get to know each other. How well you get to know each other is up to you.”
I was instantly more sober at the thought of winding up in a closet with Holden.
Goddammit, Evelyn…
“Someone have a timer?”
“Yes, my queen,” I heard Holden say but this time kept my damn eyes to myself.
Evelyn chose a name from the pile of paper strips. “Up first…Violet McNamara.”
Violet hesitated and then picked her way between us seated players, toward the closet. Evelyn shot me a knowing look and I understood what would happen next. She pulled a strip with a new name, showing no one.
“River Whitmore!”
The guys thumped me on the back.
“Remember,” Chance said too loudly. “Be gentle.”
From the corner of the living room came a discordant note from Miller’s guitar. Now he glared at me as if I’d run over his dog, backed up, and did it again.
I hauled myself to my feet, pinned between Stratton’s evil eye and Holden’s relentless gaze. I stumbled inside the closet, brushing heavy coats aside to feel my way along a wall in the near-total blackness.
“Violet?”
“I’m over here,” she called from the back.
“It’s dark as shit…”
I felt my way to the wall opposite her, not wanting to crowd her in or make her uncomfortable. I fought for something smooth to say to pave the way for asking her to the dance. I had nothing.
“This is a crazy party, huh?” Violet said finally. “That Holden is a strange guy.”
“Yeah,” I blurted. “He’s fucking weird. Reminds me of that vampire, Lestat.”
“Oh my God, I said almost the exact same thing! I didn’t know you read Anne Rice.”
“I don’t. Saw the movie. I mean…my mom watched it once. I remember some of it, I guess.”
“Okay.”
Another silence fell. I leaned my head against the wall and stared at the black of the ceiling. I was in a dark, enclosed space with a beautiful girl who was clearly into me. And I felt nothing. Had nothing to say. Not even my prescribed lines.
Violet jumped in. “How are football practices going?”