Settling the Score (The Summer Games #1) - R.S. Grey Page 0,56

head back up, or I could—

The door to his condo opened.

“Don’t worry, mate. She’ll show up,” Thom called over his shoulder right before his body collided with mine. He’d been stepping back, not watching where he was going and I’d just turned around, also not paying attention.

“Blimey! I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to steady me before I tumbled to the floor. “Told ya, mate!”

I glanced down the hallway. Could I still make a run for it? Thom’s hand was on my arm, but I could yank it free with a few well-placed judo chops.

“What’s going—” Freddie’s sentence cut off when he stepped into the doorway and saw me standing there with wide eyes and cold feet. I really wanted to bolt, especially when his brown eyes assessed me from the doorway. He was wearing a cheeky smile across his freshly shaven face, and there were a few strands of brown hair that had fallen down across his forehead. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to step forward and brush them back.

Instead, I clenched my hands by my side and nodded. “Well, this has been fun. I’m going now.”

He laughed then, a beautiful sound that made my toes curl inside my Converse.

“C’mon,” he said, reaching out for my hand. “Thom’s just ordered food for us. He’s headed to go grab it right now.”

Well it’d just be rude to leave without eating, so I let him usher me in and told myself I wouldn’t stay for longer than four or five hours, or eternity. It was whatever.

“So this is our place,” he said, extending his arm to encompass the small living room that looked identical to ours. Really everything was the same except for…

“What’s that smell?” I asked, pinching my nose. “Is that tuna fish?”

His smile fell. “Thom ate a tuna sandwich for lunch and the bloody thing’s soul is now haunting the whole place.” He let go of my hand so he could walk to the coffee table and pick up the candle burning there. “Here, this should help with the exorcism.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Really, it’s not bad. It just smells like my meemaw’s house.”

He smiled quizzically. “What is a meemaw?”

“Nevermind.”

“Right, well. I’ve kept my room closed off, so it’s not nearly as bad in there.”

I quirked a brow. “Subtle.”

His smile widened.

“Oh, just come in here and slip under my covers to escape the smell of tuna! Oh, take off those clothes, the odor clings to the fabric!” I mocked. “Is that how you usually do it?”

“I quite like when you take the piss out of me,” he said, stepping closer.

I held my hand up to stop him.

“Wait. Where’s Thom gone?” He had apparently slipped by me during all the madness. “And wait, where are the other guests? Am I seriously the first person to get here?”

He rubbed his chin. “Right, well, about that. Like I’ve said, Thom’s gone to get the food. And, well, it’s set to be a small party.”

I frowned. “How small?”

“Well…quite.”

He dropped the candle on the kitchen table and whipped around the corner to grab something sitting on the counter. He held it behind his back as he walked back toward me, and then when he was just a few feet away, he lifted it up and slipped it around his head. A bright red paper party hat, sized for a five-year-old, sat sideways on his thick brown hair.

I burst out laughing.

“And look, here, this is for you,” he said, handing me one of those cheap paper party horns you blow at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I promised a party,” he said, stepping forward and holding the party horn out for me to take. “Here’s the party.”

I shook my head, grabbed it, and blew. A sad “wooooo” sounded from the end before it rolled back toward my mouth.

That sad, weak sound made the dam burst; we couldn’t catch our breaths for what felt like an hour. We laughed until tears filled the corner of my eyes and even then, I couldn’t stop.

“Why’d you make up a fake party?” I asked, wiping beneath my eyes.

“To get you here.”

That one sentence sobered me up fast. His brown eyes met mine and I watched his wide smile slowly fade into a flat, nervous line. “I knew you weren’t keen on dinner, but this is different. This is an intimate soirée.”

I dropped the party horn on the couch and took a shaky breath. “It’s cute, but it’s still not