“You know what you are, Brinley? A cocktease. You make promises with those pretty eyes and short skirts, and then shut down when it’s time to follow through.”
Promises with my eyes? What does that even mean? My cheeks burn, and I tug on my dress and glare. “I didn’t promise you anything, Liam.”
“Pretty soon that shit’s going to catch up with you,” he says. “Then you’ll be sorry you didn’t just give yourself to a nice guy like me.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond before turning around, pushing out the door, and heading toward the parking lot.
I nearly forget Liam when my gaze snags on the tall, dark-haired boy sitting on the hood of a beat-up Honda Civic and smoking a cigarette. He smirks when he catches me staring, and I blink at him as the door floats closed again.
I stand there and argue with myself. I could dance with my friends and tell them what an ass Liam was, but I’m afraid they’ll say he’s right and I should loosen up. Or maybe I should go home. I’d need to find a ride, since Liam’s the one who brought me here, but if I did, I could keep Brittany company. The doctor wouldn’t release her to come to the dance, so she and Mom are doing a movie night.
Neither option appeals to me. And maybe this makes me a bad friend or a bad sister, but what appeals to me is the guy sitting in the parking lot just beyond that door. Marston Rowe.
He’s a senior at OV High, so I don’t have any classes with him. But I’ve seen him in the halls since he started here last month, and he’s barely acknowledged my existence. I’d say he’s avoiding me, but that’s ridiculous. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not one of those popular girls who maintains her status by stomping on other people. I’m nice to everyone. But maybe . . . maybe he thinks I’m uptight too. Or maybe he hated kissing me?
I should stay away. If he wants to avoid me, that’s his business, not mine. It was just a kiss. It probably didn’t mean anything to him, and it shouldn’t mean anything to me. But . . .
When I take a deep breath and push outside, I’m relieved to see he hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s not in dress clothes like the other boys. Marston’s wearing torn-up jeans and a button-up shirt. He’s undone the top buttons and rolled the sleeves to the elbows, exposing thick forearms and a tattoo around his right wrist.
I stride to him, pretending we’re friends and he doesn’t intimidate the hell out of me. “I’m surprised you came.” I look over my shoulder toward the gymnasium doors. I didn’t see him in there earlier, and I’d bet money he didn’t set foot inside tonight. Since my attention goes to him anytime he’s anywhere close, I don’t think I would’ve missed him. “If you want some company, I could go inside with you and introduce you to some people.”
“Nah.” He takes a drag off his cigarette and turns his head to exhale a long stream of smoke. “I’m good.”
I bite my bottom lip, then take a chance and hoist myself onto the hood beside him. “Hasn’t anyone told you that’s a deadly habit?”
When Marston turns back to me, he arches a brow. “Do you need something?”
The day was sweltering, but the heat faded with the setting sun. The October breeze is a welcome, cool caress on my hot cheeks. I shrug. “I was bored in there, so I might as well keep you company out here.”
He stubs out his cigarette on the hood and tucks the butt into his pocket. “Are you always like this?”
My stomach pitches, and I tense in anticipation of some sort of criticism. My father is Abraham Knox. I was raised on criticism. “Like what?”
“The welcoming committee? The one who makes sure everyone has a friend?”
“Who said I do that?”
He props his hands behind him and leans back. “We go to the same school. I see you in action. Little Miss Perfect is nice to everyone.”
I slide off the hood and step away. “If you want me to go away, just say so.”
He shakes his head, and a shadow of a smile crosses his face. “It wasn’t an insult.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.” His gaze sweeps over me again, stuttering for a beat where the hem of my polka dot dress meets my thighs. When he tears his gaze off me this time, it feels like maybe he doesn’t want to.
Is Liam right? Does my dress make me a tease? “Is it too short?” I ask quietly.
Marston’s eyes snap back to mine. “What?”
I swallow. “My dress?” I tug on it again. “I felt pretty in the store, but maybe it should be longer. Someone said it was too short, and . . . Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
He shakes his head. “It’s a dress, just like half the other girls are wearing. You shouldn’t have to dress differently just because you’re prettier than the rest of them.”
I bite my lip, but my smile breaks through anyway. “You gave me a compliment.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know you’re pretty.”
“But you called me the prettiest.”
He turns his head, looking around the parking lot, at his shoes and the sky and anywhere but me. “It’s true.”
The red flush creeps up his neck, making me smile bigger. “I’m surprised to see you here. I didn’t peg you as the type who’d come to homecoming dances.”
“Aunt Lori wanted me to come. She feels like it’s an important part of high school, and I didn’t feel like arguing.”
“And does Aunt Lori know you’re spending the whole night sitting on your car and smoking?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” He’s silent for a beat, and when he finally looks at me again, his jaw is tight, his eyes narrow. “Your date probably won’t like you sitting out here with me.”
“My date left when I refused to let him feel me up in the back of his car.”
He grunts. “Christ.”
“What?”
“You sure know how to pick ’em.”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s me.” He’s quiet, watching me as if he’s waiting for me to explain what I mean by this. “I’m sixteen, and the only boy I’m interested in kissing avoids me.”
“Happens to the best of us,” he mutters.
I lean over, knocking his shoulder with mine, and whisper, “It’s you, dummy.”
His head snaps around and his eyes are wide.
“Don’t look so shocked.” I smile. I don’t know why I feel more comfortable with this surly stranger than I do with any of the boys I’ve been going to school with for years, but . . . well, maybe that’s just it. I like that he doesn’t know me or my family. I feel like everyone else comes to me with a box they assume I should fit into, but Marston doesn’t have any expectations. It’s freeing and makes me feel bold in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“If you’re here with me because you want to horrify your parents, I’ll take you home and grope you in front of the security cameras. Save us both some time.”
“Wow. What an offer,” I deadpan.
“It would, you know.”
“Would what?”