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“Sothat makes you a stranger. I don’t even remember your last name.”
“It’s Reid.”
“Elliot Reidtotallysounds like a charming sociopath.” She doesn’t fully get the sentence out with a straight face.
“Uh-huh. Auden…”
She sticks a hand out like we’re about to close a business deal. “Auden Lane Harmon.”
I shake it. “You have two first names?”
“No. Lane is my middle name. My parents cursed me with a first name that has no nickname options, so some of my friends—because I do have some, thanks, just not here—call me Laney.”
God, I’m setting a record for number of laughs around this girl. “You have nickname options.”
Her eyebrows rise. “Nameone.”
“Audie?” I suggest.
Her nose scrunches. “Like the car?”
“Denny?”
“Nice to know I remind you of a fast-food chain, Tim Horton.”
I laugh. “It suits you.”
Her eyes narrow.
My phone begins buzzing in my pocket. I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, talking to her, but I’m guessing it’s one of the guys wondering where the hell I am.
I shove myself upward and offer her a hand. “Come on.”
She takes it and I pull her to standing as well, but when I start trying to walk, she doesn’t move. “Here’s the thing: I may be from a big city, but I do terribly in strange social situations. I’ve known my best friend, and everyone else I go to school with, since we were all in preschool.”
“Trust me.”
“I don’t know you.”
“Yeah, but you will, and you can trust me, Auden Lane Harmon.”
She studies me, and I watch the indecision play across her face. This moment feels more important than getting a hot girl to hang out with me.
For some strange reason, what this girl thinks and does matters to me. She has one of those faces where you discover something new every time you look at it, one that draws you in more and more the longer you stare.
“Okay.” She starts walking, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “I’m trusting you, so don’t fuck it up. ’Kay?”
Girls don’t usually swear around me, though Josh has a dirty mouth and plenty of F-bombs get tossed around on the ice. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but it sounds different coming from a girl—from Auden.
“I thought Californians were supposed to be laidback, hippie types,” I tease.
“Not me.”
“Yeah, I’m getting that.”
We pick our way along the shore. The lights of Josh’s family’s house shine ahead, slightly illuminating our way. The campfire by the water has burned down, the embers barely visible from here.
I’m still holding her hand, and I squeeze it as we approach the group of people standing around the yard. She has nothing to be worried about. I may hardly know her, but I won’t let anyone be rude to her.
