“Go for it,” Zander says, his playful blue eyes urging me on. “It’s not that bad.”
I take a tentative sip. Then another. Zander’s right, it’s tolerable. I guzzle down a hearty swig and hand it back to him. Not long after, I’m dancing with everyone else, not caring about the bruise the guy next to me will leave on my shoulder. And I’m barely aware of the blood stain under the stage.
Liv finds me and gives me a sweaty hug. “See?!” she shouts over the music. “I told you you’d be fine.”
Zander asks me, “Why wouldn’t you be fine?”
Liv answers, “You know—because of the other night—the dude—” She makes a dead-person face, eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out.
“Ohthat,” Zanders snorts. He turns to me. “What’s that got to do with you?”
“Nothing.” I hand Liv the nearly empty Dasani bottle. “Try this. It’s pretty good.”
She finishes it off and declares it’s time to go to the ladies’ room. There’s no such thing in a frat house, of course, it’s just the name we give the one bathroom, on the top floor, that’s less disgusting than all the others. We sneak upstairs where we trade off using the toilet and checking ourselves in the smudgy mirror. Thanks to the heat and alcohol, my freckles are practically glowing.
I follow Liv back downstairs, the music growing louder and the air getting hotter as we approach the first floor. At the bottom of the steps we part ways, Liv for the backyard and me for the basement. But before I turn the corner, I see him. Mr. Brown Eyes. He’s in the kitchen again, arms folded and back against the counter, intently watching the crowd. Like he’s looking for someone.
And I have a weird feeling the someone he’s looking for is me.
Buzzed enough to act on this suspicion, I take a few steps toward him, gauging his reaction. And sure enough, when his eyes meet mine, they widen. As I approach him around the breakfast bar, he straightens to his full height. Good god, he’s handsome. Why isn’t he surrounded by a harem of girls?
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.”
“Do I know you?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Does anybody know you?”
I know what I mean by this question, but apparently he doesn’t. He smiles with one side of his mouth and lets out an awkward little laugh. “Sure, there are people who know me.”
“I meanhere. Are there peopleherewho know you?”
He trains those beautiful eyes on me. “Youknow me.”
“Irecognizeyou, but that’s not the same thing. I can’t say I know you if I don’t even know your name.”
“Leo. Leo Hawthorn.” He holds out a hand and I take it. It’s warm and grounding, just like his eyes, and I don’t want to let it go.
“Leo as in Leonard or Leon?”
“No. Just Leo.” His voice is deep and soft, like distant thunder. “And you are…?”
“Betts. I mean Elizabeth.” I tuck my hands into the back pockets of my jeans, not sure what to do with them. “My name’s Elizabeth but everyone calls me Betts.”
“Okay, Betts.”
“And you’re a student?”
He nods. “A senior.”
“I’m a sophomore.” God, I sound like one of those little kids who comes up to you and starts telling you a bunch of random stuff about herself.I’m Elizabeth and I like butterflies. My cat’s name is Snowball, and my big brother can play Mary Had a Little Lamb on the recorder.
Leo props his elbow on the counter behind him. “What’s your major?”
“English. How about you?”
