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“Well, I don’t think we have any scotch on hand, so beer will have to do.”
He wanders over to the large cooler on the table across the room, where he fishes out two longnecks. He passes one to me. We clink bottles.
“Cheers,” he says.
A few others drift toward us. Two sophomores named Patrick and Nazem. A guy named Nick who has one of those serious stay-the-fuck-away-from-me faces. But his girlfriend, Darby, makes up for it with a contagious smile and by talking a mile a minute. She seems cool.
Patrick grabs a fresh beer and twists off the cap. “Okay,” he says, focusing on me. His eyes are bright, either from excitement or alcohol. He’s cute, though. “Are you ready, Graham?”
“For what?”
“A thought experiment that will blow your mind.”
“Oh God,” sighs Darby.
I take a sip of my beer. “All right, I’ll bite. Hit me.”
Patrick hops up to sit on the counter, long legs dangling. “It’s a regular day. A normal sunny afternoon. You’re outdoors, running errands or whatever. How many owls would you need to see before you got worried?”
“Oh, that is an excellent question.”
Beckett chuckles, but Darby turns to me with pleading eyes. “Please don’t feed their insanity.”
“What? It’s an objectively great question.”
“I’m just saying. You do not want to encourage it, girl.”
Nick nods gravely at me. “You really don’t.”
“Leave her alone,” Patrick grumbles at them. To me, he prompts, “So? How many?”
“Am I in the city or a rural area out in the middle of nowhere?”
“You’re here. In Hastings.”
I raise my bottle to my lips, giving the matter some serious consideration.
“Three,” I finally answer.
Nazem, who said to call him Naz or Nazzy, jabs a finger in the air. “Explain yourself.”
I take another sip first. “Okay, well, I see one owl, and I’m like, Hey cool, an owl during the day. Two owls, and I’m thinking, This is kinda weird; I never see owls around here, and now I’m seeing two? Odd. Then I see the third owl, and all my hackles are raised. At this point it’s an omen and I don’t fucking like it.”
Mya nods in agreement. “I would’ve said four, but similar reasoning.”
“What would you say?” I ask Patrick.
“Seven.”
“Seven!” I exclaim. “If I saw seven owls in one day, I’d be packing up the car and driving to Mexico.”
We talk about stupid stuff some more, until someone gets a beer pong game going in the backyard and everyone but Beckett heads outside. I might be cavorting with the enemy, but I realize I’m actually having a good time. I’m glad Mya dragged me out tonight.
In the back of my mind, I wonder what Ryder is up to. It’s been a while since his “neighbor” showed up. Maybe they went upstairs. That doesn’t bother me at all. Why would it.
Through the wide doorway that spills into the living room, I spot Mya and Kate on the makeshift dance floor created when somebody pushed the coffee table and armchairs aside. The hip-hop that was playing before has been replaced by sultry R&B. Mya’s jam. She moves her body seductively to the beat, using Kate’s lithe frame as her own personal stripper pole. Those two are unquestionably ending up in bed again tonight.
Beckett follows my gaze. “Wanna dance?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Thank God. I hate dancing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Then why’d you ask?”
“Seemed like the less sleazy way of saying I want your body pressed up against mine.”
He winks, and my heart skips a beat.
I’m not afraid of the way he makes my heart react. It’s a normal flip, not the entire group of gymnasts unleashed by Luke Ryder at the booster gala last week. Your heart isn’t supposed to do that much gymnastics for a man. Too much anxiety isn’t healthy.
Passion, whispers a little voice in my brain. Not anxiety.
Anxiety, I firmly tell myself.
And Beckett Dunne doesn’t make me anxious.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he teases.
“It’s a bad habit.” I meet his eyes. They’re a shade of gray much lighter than my own. “Maybe you should help me stop thinking.”
His lips curve. “Mmm. How am I supposed to do that?”
“You seem like a creative guy. Come up with a creative solution.”
Those silvery eyes gleam half a second before he cups my cheek with one hand. I’m not drunk enough to be doing this. In fact, I’m sober enough to know it’s probably a terrible idea.
“Beck, toss us some more cups,” Shane calls from outside. “Dumbass over here just stepped on like four of them.”
“It was an accident,” I hear Patrick protest.
The interruption allows me to collect my hormones and my common sense.
Beckett drops his hand, a rueful smile on his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
“Actually, perfect timing,” I say as I watch him pull some red cups off the stack at the table. “I need to pee, anyway.”
“Use the bathroom upstairs,” he offers.
