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“Oookay, creeper,” I say.
I stare a moment longer before giving him a wide berth. I can still feel his eyes on me, and I glance back with a frown. But he’s gone. Feeling creeped out, I pick up my pace, my Converse squishing through the damp grass.
“You’rehere!” Fiona squeals, running—more like stumbling—up to me. Her devil horns and matching red eye shadow glitter under the lights.
I smile. “You look hot—no pun intended.”
“Damn, girl. You do, too.” Her eyes rake up and down my body. “You’ve got some killer curves in that thing.” She gives me an impish grin.
I flush at the compliment. “I need a drink.”
I head to the bar. where I pour myself a whisky and Diet Pepsi, careful not to add too much alcohol after I spilled so much personal information to Fiona at the bonfire.
Drunk Charlie cannot be trusted, I think, taking a small sip.
Fiona leans in close and throws an arm around me. She smells like cherries and vodka.
“You’re drunk,” I say, giving her a playful push.
“No,” she says, winking. “But I’m close. I’m keeping an eye on your boys.” She points over my shoulder, and I turn around. Lincoln, Trey, and Brantley are leaning against some rocks, drinking and talking.
Serenity is sitting off to one side in what looks like a baby-pink prom dress, and there’s a dark red slit across her throat.
“What’s Serenity supposed to be?” I ask, smirking. “The horror movie blonde who dies first?”
Fiona snickers. “She’s been hanging out with the guys ever since I got here, but she doesn’t seem like her bitchy self.”
“I’m sure that’ll change when she sees I’m here,” I say with a sigh.
She’s been giving me dirty looks and whispering to her friends whenever we cross paths, but I’m trying to ignore her, hoping she’ll lose interest.
I look at her again. She does seem to lack her usual spunk. While her friends are giggling and drinking, she’s staring off into space.
Except not into space.
She’s staring at Lincoln.
I realize then that she’s probably in love with him, and he treats her with indifference at best.
“I bet that hurts,” I murmur, my empathy bleeding through despite how awful the girl has been to me.
“What?” Fi leans closer.
I’m about to tell her my theory when I look closer at the guys. Brantley’s hockey gear is obvious, but Lincoln and Trey are just wearing normal clothes.
Lincoln is dressed in a blue button-up shirt and a leather jacket with dark jeans and brown boots. His hair, which usually falls over his forehead, is spiked up in a fauxhawk.
Trey’s wearing a flannel shirt with a brown jacket, bootcut jeans, and also brown boots. His blond hair, which is longer than Lincoln’s, is parted down the middle.
I smile when he tries to tuck the shorter strands behind his ears with little success.
As if sensing my gaze, Trey looks over, and he smiles back, raising his drink in my direction.
Feeling brave, I walk over.
Lincoln looks up as I approach, his eyes ironically gravestone gray in the dim light. He nods, his face its usual apathetic mask. I keep hoping flirty Lincoln from the coffee shop will resurface, but he’s been his normal standoffish self ever since.
Brantley whistles. “Looking hot, ladies!”
