He’s leaning against the wall, red cup in hand with a cigarette pinched between two fingers. He’s nothing like the other guys in school, and even the other rocker dudes he hangs with have more of a grungy, in-need-of-a-shower, Kurt Cobain thing going on. But not Trip.
Shaggy hair the color of milk chocolate hangs down over his ears and what I know to be icy-blue eyes. I dig his style: black jeans, Doc Martens, and a black concert tee that I can’t quite make out under his leather biker jacket, complete with zippers and buckles.
Has God ever made a more beautiful boy?
The spice of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and the buttery scent of leather gets me every time I pass by him in school. And even now, even though I can’t smell him, my stomach dips at the thought.
He must feel my ogling because, as I’m being dragged across the yard, his eyes meet mine. I suck in a quick breath and stare in fascination as he narrows his glare and takes a long drag off his cigarette. As the cherry on the end glows bright orange, the heat in my body expands.
“What the hell are you doin’, Stewart?” A female voice sounds pissed off and I’m jerked to a halt.
I’m forced to rip my eyes away from Trip and realize I’m a foot away from the fire and engulfed in the popular crowd.
“Chill out, Daphne,” Stewart says, sounding bored, bends over, and reaches into a large ice chest, still keeping hold of my hand.
It’s the girl from out front. I try to wriggle my hand free, but he only holds it tighter. Maybe because this Daphne girl is giving me the evil eye he’s keeping me close?
She rolls her over-made-up eyes as if Stewart brought home a stupid toy to play with. “What’s up with the goth chick?”
I hate dumb girls. “I’m not goth.” Not that it matters. I’m actually kind of hoping they kick me out so I can go talk to Trip who . . . I slide my gaze over to him, and he’s now leaning with his shoulder against the wall, his back toward me. Dammit.
“Goth, Hessian, whatever.” She crosses her arms over her chest and kicks out a hip. “Go hang with your people. You’re not wanted here.”
“Easy, Daph.” Stewart stands in front of me, and I finally pull free my hand. “She’s with me.”
I cringe. “No, I’m no—”
“Stew,” Daphne says in that overly affected whiney way girls do when they’re trying to get what they want.
“Leave it alone.” Stewart’s words carry a threat, but he turns his back on her, and his bright eyes and smile are fixed on me with kindness.
She huffs out a breath but turns without another complaint and stalks away.
“Sorry about that.” His eyes are intense, and his expression is genuinely apologetic. “Here.” He hands me a water bottle filled with red juice. “Peace offering.”
I grab it, give it a quick onceover, but can’t help my eyes from searching out Trip. “What is it?”
“Jungle juice.” He throws an arm over my shoulder and guides me to a seat close to the fire. “Two parts fruit punch, two parts vodka, and a healthy shot of lime juice.”
The urgency to find Trip rides me hard. If I don’t talk to him before he leaves, this entire night is nothing but a fat waste of time. I unscrew the lid, give it a sniff, and recoil slightly.
Stewart laughs. “Oh come on. It doesn’t smell that bad.” He lifts one eyebrow. “Does it?”
A grin pulls at my lips. This guy is kind of funny. “No, it’s fruity, but . . .” I take a sip and shiver as the liquid fire rolls down my throat. “Whoa.”
“It’s strong. Just have a couple shots. You’ll warm up in no time.” He winks and takes a long pull off his beer.
I take another swig of jungle juice, hoping to hide behind the bottle. I dart my gaze over to Trip, who is talking but stops for a split second to study me, his eyes moving between me and Stewart.
Freshman and sophomore year Trip didn’t know I existed, but so far, even only a month into our junior year, I’ve caught him watching me. Never for more than a second, and he’s never attempted to talk to me, but there’s something there.
Right?
Just as quickly as the thought runs through my head, he turns his back on me. I came here on a singular mission. I will brave a conversation with Trip before this night is over.
I smile and take another swig, contemplating my plan of action. I just need to confront him, introduce myself, and see where the conversation leads. I take another long pull from the juice. Huh . . . it actually doesn’t taste too bad.
“You warming up?” Stewart nods to the water bottle I have pressed to my lips.
“Hmm? Mm-hm.” I choke back another shot-worth.
He watches me swallow and lick the sweet sticky stuff off my lips. “That’s good, Laylay.”
I cringe at his ridiculous nickname. He doesn’t even know me!
“Here.” He cracks the pop-top and hands me an ice cold can of beer he must’ve pulled from the ice chest. “Chaser.”
“Thanks.” My tongue is suddenly ten times bigger than it was when I got here. But, damn . . . I feel great: strong, ballsy, and ready to break through any weird tension that lingers between me and Trip.
“Cheers.” Stewart holds up his cup. “To a life-altering night.”