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Only the spotlights under the high shelves are on. Thick white candles burn on the countertops. The corners of the room are dark, but you can’t miss the couple entangled in each other in front of the open fridge. The light spilling from the refrigerator is like a spotlight on Colin and May. They’re so busy snogging that they don’t notice me. Or anything else for that matter.
Grinning, I leave them to it and go to the pool deck where the music isn’t so loud. I find an unoccupied deck chair and stretch out on it. I’m supposed to have fun, but to be honest, I’m bored.
A guy steps out from the lounge. My attention is drawn to him because he’s so much taller than the other kids who are emptying the punch bowl. He’s wearing jeans, a striped shirt, and a denim jacket. When he turns his head and fixes his gaze on me, I recognize him from outside. He’s the driver of the Alpha Spider.
His lips tilt as he scrunches up the cup in his hand and aims for the trashcan against the wall, throwing a perfect hit without taking his eyes off me.
I only return his stare because he looks so much like Angelo. No. No one can look like Angelo. He just reminds me a lot of Angelo. It’s the hard cut of his jaw and the way his dark curls fall messily over his forehead, but that’s where the resemblance ends.
He aims straight for my chair and stops in front of me. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
He smiles. “Having fun?”
I pull up my knees. I’m not worried he’ll catch an eyeful of my underwear because I always wear shorts under my miniskirts.
“Are you?” I deadpan.
“Not yet.” He spreads his legs and straddles the edge of my chair. “I have a feeling I’m about to.”
Reflexively, I scoot back. “If you don’t mind, you can get your own chair.”
His grin is boyish. “What if I mind?”
“This is a terrible pick-up act.” I make a face. “The worst I’ve seen.”
“That’s because you’ve never been picked up properly.”
“Yeah?” His choice of words makes me laugh. “Exactly how is a person picked up properly?”
He edges closer. “For starters, you don’t ask for her name.”
I raise a brow. “No?”
“That’s too boring, don’t you think?”
“What do you ask for then?”
His attention fixes on my mouth. “A kiss.”
I laugh again. “Just like that. And why would any girl give you a kiss if you’re not interested in who she is?”
“I never said I’m not interested.” His eyelashes dip, and when they lift again, he’s looking into my eyes. “A name doesn’t define a person. A kiss, however, says everything there’s to know.”
He’s such a bullshitter, but at least he’s entertaining. “Are you asking me for a kiss?”
“What if I am?”
I’m not remotely interested in him. He’s attractive, but he seems shallow. Immature. Not sure of himself and a little dangerous like—
Shit.
Am I comparing him to Angelo now?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I glance toward the kitchen where Colin and May are probably still licking each other’s tonsils. I’ve only had one kiss, and it was nothing but a peck on the lips. It was a kiss I saved for someone special, and I gave it to the wrong man. I’m seventeen. Most of my friends have already done a lot more than kissing. I’m lacking experience. I’m lacking fun. Hell, I’m lacking a life.
Facing him squarely, I say, “What if I say yes?”
His eyes narrow with satisfaction and a little surprise, maybe. Leaning forward, he grips the armrests and puts himself in my space. “You know what’ll be even better?” He shifts his hands to my knees, tightening his fingers on my flesh as he drags me toward him. “Sitting on my lap while I kiss you.”
Ew. My ass is not a wank cushion. I want to tell him to get off on the pillar if he’s so desperate, but before I can utter a word, the guy is yanked off the chair and flung through the air. My jaw drops as he hits the pool on his back, causing a tsunami that washes out the candles.
The deck has gone quiet. It takes me a moment to process what’s happening. I look up into Roch’s face where he stands next to my chair, his fingers flexing at his sides.
The guy in the pool splutters and rows with his arms to keep himself afloat.
“What is wrong with you?” I ask Roch, shock and anger running through me. Shock, mostly. Because fuck. He’s here.
Instead of replying, he grips my arm and drags me to my feet. People gape at us as he pulls me over the deck and through the garden to the front of the house.
“Let go,” I say, straining in his hold.
His tone is hard. “Quiet.”
