I glance down at my ratty shoes and say, “Thanks. I try to dress comfy as often as possible.” I look at them and appeal to the one thing I know we have in common: being girls. “High heels might look cute but they’re a real bitch, am I right?” I smirk.
They hesitate. Clearly they weren’t expecting me to respond with such civility. The Lizzy girl breaks out a real smile.
“Totally.” She glances down at the expensive pumps she has on. “Pain. In. The. Ass.”
“Tell me about it,” Tanya adds, tapping her own fancy shoe.
For a brief moment, we aren’t enemies.
Then Tanya turns her attention back to Daren. “So, handsome…” He grins. “We looked for you last night, but couldn’t find you.”
His smile teeters. “Yeah, well. It was a long day.”
Lizzy pouts her lower lip. “We wanted to cheer you up. It must have been such a sad day for you.”
His eyes flick to me and, for a split second, I see real loss in them. He clears his throat. “It was a little rough but I’m doing okay.”
Tanya places her hand on his knee and a silky smile slides over her face. “You think you might need some cheering up tonight?”
Lizzy slips on her own sexy smile and leans forward.
What are they, a package deal?
To his credit, Daren has the decency to look mildly uncomfortable. “Actually, ladies, I’m all set for tonight. But I appreciate your concern.”
They each shoot me a look of contempt, clearly assuming that I’ll be cheering him up in their place tonight, and just like that, they’re back to hating me.
I can’t win.
After saying their farewells, the girls saunter away and Daren turns to me with a pointed look.
“Did you notice how I introduced you just now? As my friend. And it didn’t even hurt.” A smile plays at his lips.
I take a sip of my beer and watch Barbie and Victoria slither through the crowd. “If those are the kind of ‘friends’ you keep then I’m not so sure I want to be part of the group.”
He gives me an apologetic look. “Yeah. Sorry they weren’t cool. They’re not as bad as they seem. I swear. They just have self-esteem issues and jealousy problems. And you’re…” He looks me over. “Well, you’re probably everything they want to be.”
Ha.
“I seriously doubt that,” I say.
“You’re beautiful, is what I mean,” he says casually.
Most guys can’t compliment a girl without looking slightly uncomfortable. Not Daren, though. Nope. He’s cool as a cucumber.
He adds, “Some girls aren’t nice to beautiful girls.”
I mimic Tanya. “Tell me about it.”
As he takes a sip of his drink, I play with my napkin again, suddenly aware that he’s sitting right next to me. He sets his glass down and my eyes follow the movement. His purple sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing his tan forearms and hands. His has nice skin—flawless skin, actually—stretched over lean muscles and long fingers. My gaze travels up to his face and finds him watching as I shred my napkin to pieces. Our eyes meet and I swiftly look elsewhere.
The first time I saw Daren, I was thirteen and drinking a glass of iced tea in my father’s kitchen. I remember because upon seeing him I choked a little on my tea and it dribbled down my chin. He was the same age as me but with his broad shoulders and strong jawline he looked older. When I asked my father who the boy in the backyard was, he replied, “A good kid who needs something to be proud of,” whatever that meant. Then he told me his name was Daren Ackwood and I immediately registered the identity.
Ackwood.
Wealthy family. Adulterous scandal.
I’d heard the gossip around town and immediately felt sorry for the boy pushing the lawn mower. If I knew the dirt on his family, surely everyone else in town knew it too. And that couldn’t be easy for him.
After that, I didn’t give much thought to Daren Ackwood. Until the following summer. We were both fifteen and Daren was in the yard, mowing the grass, but this time without a shirt on.
If I had been drinking iced tea at that time, I certainly would have choked on it all over again. He was more attractive than the year before and had layers of muscle lining his tan chest now. Those muscles rippled with his movements and glistened with his sweat, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to touch a boy—really touch a boy. Which was strange for me because I was as prudish as they came.
I slant my eyes to Daren in the barstool next to me and bite my lip. If fifteen-year-old Daren looked appetizing without a shirt on, I bet twenty-one-year-old Daren looks downright delicious.
Ugh. No.
No, Kayla.
Boys are bad.
I’m not a prude like I was all those years ago but I’m not free and easy with my sexuality either. I’ve learned through a series of disappointing boyfriends that boys only care about my body and their own pleasure.
I rarely pay guys any attention anymore, yet here I am, fantasizing about Daren Ackwood just like I did when I was a teenager. Ugh.
“So how much are you thinking?” he says.
I blink and pull my eyes off his chest. “What?”
He shrugs. “How much do you think your dad left us?”
At his question, my new incredible reality comes screaming back at me with bells and whistles.
My head jumps with ideas but doesn’t quite land anywhere. My father and I hadn’t spoken since before my sixteenth birthday so I didn’t know him well enough to guess. I know his family came from old money—enough money that my mom would bitch and moan about what a jackass he was when he stopped sending her child support and alimony—but actual numbers are just speculation.
Unless this is all just a cruel prank and my crazy dad is messing with my hopes, dangling the prospect of inheritance money in front of me like an unreachable carrot.
I shake my head. “I have no idea. A few thousand dollars, maybe?”
He lets out a low whistle. “That would be nice.”
I frown at him and his designer shirt. A few thousand dollars is pocket change to a guy like Daren. To me, it’s the difference between sleeping on a park bench and having a bed to crawl into.
“Or knowing my father,” I say dryly, “it might only be twenty bucks.”
“Maybe.” He nods with a grin. “But then we’d each be ten dollars richer.”
He has a point.
“So it’s decided then?” I toss the napkin aside and face him. “We’re going to handcuff ourselves together for what may or may not end up being a twenty-dollar bill?”
Amusement flashes in his eyes. “I’m game if you are.”
“Oh, I’m game,” I say with a slow smile. “I’m very game.”
He lifts his glass with a crooked grin. “Then here’s to handcuffs.”
I lift my drink to his. “Here’s to handcuffs.”