Authors: Jules Barnard
He nods. “We’re all part Washoe, the local tribe, including Lewis, who’s running late. Mira’s the only true blood. Both her parents came from the Dresslerville reservation. Though I’m sure somewhere along the line one of Mira’s relatives hooked up with someone on the outside. She just won’t admit it.”
“Whatever,” Mira mumbles. “With your white-ass skin, you wish you were full-blooded.”
Zach, who’s actually rather tanned, shakes his head my way as if to say,
You see what I’m dealing with?
He frowns at the full margarita on ice that Mira sips. “Mira, if Gen lands the next three shots, you drain your girly drink.”
“Make it five,” she says with a sneer.
Five? Child’s play. If more alcohol is what it takes to get this girl to lighten up, I’m all for helping the team.
Mira has even copper skin and wavy dark-chocolate hair that hits mid-back and tapers around a face that’s not quite heart-shaped, not quite oval. It’s symmetrical and interesting, and I’m seriously jealous of her defined cheekbones. Mine don’t show up unless Cali applies something akin to stage makeup for the effect. Mira’s eyes are medium brown with beige toward the center of her irises, like melted caramel. She’s stunningly beautiful.
Guys wouldn’t notice other girls with Mira in the room. She’d be the perfect buffer at parties. But crap, she needs to work on her attitude.
Mira huffs out a sigh. “Lewis is such a workaholic.”
The first of my five quarters sinks in the glass.
“I can’t believe he’s not here yet,” she continues.
Ping.
Another down, three to go.
“He’ll come,” Zach glances at the time on his phone. “He doesn’t even leave the office until now.”
Three … I’m on a roll. My highest sequential quarter dunking was seventeen—and I was half drunk that night.
“That’s not funny. He said he’d be here.”
Is she pouting?
Lewis must be Mira’s boyfriend—and number four goes in the pot.
“His dad’s gotta be happy he returned.” Zach looks at me and I pause before tossing in the ringer. “Lewis works for his dad’s construction business. Practically runs it for him these days.”
The front door creaks open and both Zach and Mira glance up. Mira’s lips curl in a satisfied smile as a guy nearly as tall as the lintel steps through the doorway.
For a split second my mind scatters.
With a swift mental shake, I let the last quarter fly. It rims the edge of the juice glass and falls on the table.
Shit.
I stare at the quarter as if it betrayed me.
“Speak of the devil,” Zach says. “This is Lewis, Gen.”
Lewis closes the front door and nods a greeting to Nessa in the kitchen. He is in a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled and shoved above his elbows. The shirt hem gapes on one side, as if he tucked in the front in haste, a flat stomach, wide shoulders beneath. Dark jeans hug narrow hips and long legs before bunching atop scruffy work boots. High cheekbones, a square jaw, dark brown hair combed for a tidy appearance—this Lewis guy is mountain rugged meets city sleek, and it somehow goes really well together.
My gaze catches on thick, smooth forearms and ridges of muscles below the sleeves of his shirt.
I blink, embarrassed. I’m checking out his arms?
When I glance up, Lewis is watching me, his brows furrowed infinitesimally. He scans down and my breath catches. I’m sitting and he can’t see much, considering I’m wearing a white button-down, open at the throat, but my heartbeat increases.
Which is weird. My normal instinct is to curl my shoulders and hide when I’m being checked out.
Lewis’s eyes are dark—black—deep like the lake this area is known for. My face heats and suddenly my rapid heartbeat flutters and bobs in my chest. My Quarters ass-kicking, smooth-as-ice fingers shake.
What the hell? I’ve avoided guys for weeks. This one is good looking, but so are a lot of men.
“Hey, Lewis,” Zach calls. “Quarters on deck. Gen, here, is kicking our asses. Almost made your girl pound her drink.”
Lewis’s eyes flicker to Mira, then me.
Mira’s face is bright and cheery for the first time since I arrived, and Zach referred to her as Lewis’s girl.
Obviously, they’re together.
No way am I going near Lewis, even if I were considering it, which I am not.
I roll a fresh quarter between my fingers, thumb a divot on the table, glance at Nessa in the kitchen—distract myself with anything but Lewis’s approach. My heart’s an irritating pulse in my ears, blocking out sound, cheeks warming to flammable conditions. I cough into my elbow to hide my face, and leap up, sidling toward Nessa.
Hot, edgy, I don’t like this sensation, like my skin’s about to jump away—or toward something. I should leave. I’m not feeling well. But I can’t bail this early, we haven’t eaten.
Mira springs from her seat and catches Lewis around the waist before he reaches the table. She hugs him and he returns it with one arm while gazing at me in the kitchen.
What is he doing? That’s his girlfriend in his arms. Why is he looking at me?
“Zach, I don’t know what to do with this chicken.” Nessa shifts a pot on the stove.
“To be continued later.” Zach smiles and sweeps the quarters into his hand. He walks into the kitchen and takes over for Nessa.
Zach’s grin is friendly. Not hot, or lecherous, just uncomplicated. Kind. Not that Lewis’s gaze was lecherous. It was … curious. I don’t like curious. Curious leads to interest, which leads to things I’m staying away from. Since the A-hole betrayed me, I’ve stopped noticing men. It’s disturbing that my radar pings around this guy. He has a
girlfriend,
and unfortunately, that seems to be the only kind of men I attract.
Being in a relationship back home—which he failed to mention—never stopped my ex from pursuing me, or Cali’s boyfriend from making a pass, or any of the men my mom brought home from flirting and letting their hands wander when they hugged me.
“Clear the table, peeps,” Nessa calls. “Dinner is on.” She delivers homemade tortillas to the dining table, along with a bowl of spiced, shredded chicken.
Zach reaches for a beer from the fridge and Lewis walks up behind him. He slaps Zach on the back and looks at me expectantly.
Zach glances between Lewis and me, then reaches for a bottle opener. “Gen is Nessa’s friend from work,” I hear him say while popping the top off his Corona.
Lewis studies my face as if he’s searching for something. He seems distracted—and interested.
What is his
problem
? His girlfriend is in the room.
So I stared at the guy’s arms. They were out there! And kind of hot.
Sue me.
I don’t recall checking out a guy’s body like that before—apparently, lusty thoughts can come on later in life. Women check out men all the time. Considering Lewis’s looks, he should be used to it.
“Sit next to me, Gen.” Nessa sets a bowl of Spanish rice on the table and pulls out a chair at her side.
I follow her lead and carry over the salad. My eyes want to stray to Lewis—
is he still watching?
—but I force my gaze down and sit beside Nessa.
“Food looks great,” Lewis says.
His voice, like a silky blade, cuts through my better sense, snaring my attention. He’s shoveling half a taco in his mouth in praise of the food, or because he eats like a horse. I follow the flex of his square jaw, the thick muscles along his throat, which suddenly still.
I look up. He’s watching me stare at him—and he looks intense. More than curious.
What am I doing? I’m making it worse.
Mira glances at Lewis, then glares at me. I take a small bite of rice, willing saliva into my dry mouth. I’ve never wanted to escape a situation more than I want to escape this dinner party
.
My heart’s jumpy and my face won’t drop below a thousand degrees. My fingers, which have never failed me in skill or coordination, can’t keep the stupid rice on the fork.
“So you’re here for the summer?” Zach says, his muscular leg brushing my calf as he aggressively loads food onto his plate. His narrow grandma table—which matches his thrift-store velvet couch and eighties parquet coffee table—makes dinner unintentionally intimate.
I take a sip of water and clear my throat. “I’m returning to Dawson in the fall for a graduate program in psychology.”
Mira’s upper lip curls at Zach, as if she’s annoyed that he dares draw attention to me. Considering I’d like to hide, I agree. She leans against Lewis as he digs into his second taco, her own food untouched.
I take a huge bite of my taco just to be contrary. Eating like a rabbit to stay ridiculously skinny is lame—and I eat more than the average girl anyway, so she’s just making me look bad.
“How’s your mom these days?” Mira asks Zach.
Zach’s hand pauses above the salad, his chest deflating. “Fine.” His tone is flat, devoid of emotion.
I inch forward in my seat. Mira hit some kind of nerve. Zach seems like such a nice guy. What is she doing?
Mira nibbles a piece of lettuce, her caramel eyes cold. “What’s she up to?”
Zach’s gaze turns cagey. “Not much. She’s still in rehab and you know it.” He glances at the untouched food on his plate and nudges a taco with his knuckle.
Why would Mira bring that up? Is she trying to hurt him—because he asked about me?
Nessa squeezes her fork and studies Zach, concern in her eyes.
Lewis peers at Mira with a frown. To Zach he says, “Broken in the new paddleboard?”
“A little.” Zach’s face relaxes.
“Work’s slow. Mind if I join you sometime?”
“Sure, anytime.”
Topic changed, tension diffused.
To keep things light throughout the rest of the meal, I take the opportunity to pepper Nessa and Zach with questions about hiking and jogging trails. Mira doesn’t piss off anyone else at the table, mostly because she’s too busy nipping at Lewis in a heated conversation the rest of us pretend to ignore. I’m catching most of it and imagine the others do too. Things like
what are you doing
and
private
and
that girl
—rise above our Tahoe trails discussion.
After the meal, I help Nessa clean up. “I should get going,” I tell her when we finish.
“Really? So soon?”
“I’m still adjusting to late work hours.”
“Yeah, that takes time. What are you doing tomorrow? We’re barbecuing at Zephyr Cove. You and your roommate should totally come.”
“That sounds like fun.” I get the details from her and thank Zach before making my way to the bedroom down the hall for my purse and coat. Mira and Lewis are speaking in hushed whispers in the corner. I feel like I’m sneaking off, but I really don’t want to get in the middle of that.
I collect my things and round the bedroom door, head bent, digging for my keys in the pit that is my purse—and bounce off a wall.
I’m going down and not in a pretty way. My body falls to the side, head at an odd angle, arms tangled in my purse. I’m going to break my neck.
Strong hands haul me up. I scramble to get my legs vertical, gasping to catch my breath.
Heat and the scents of soap and fresh-cut wood hit me. Lightly tanned skin over a thick, muscular neck with a pulse pounding at the base is the first thing in my line of vision, Lewis’s intense, enigmatic gaze the next. My heartbeat shifts from a startled gallop to the throbbing, fluttery mess it was when he first walked into the house.
I try to step away, realizing belatedly he’s still holding me up in a semi-embrace. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.” I shake my head. This is awkward and klutzy, when I’m not normally. The places where his strong arm cradles me burn, heat spiraling down my spine, wrapping around my hips and thighs and sending shivers to all the wrong places.
His breaths grow shallow. What was perplexing in his expression a second ago becomes clear. When he looks at me, it’s not with curiosity—though that could be a part of it—but something else entirely. Something I can’t say I’ve seen to this degree but I recognize—or my body does, because my chest tightens, my heart continues its fluttering dance, and I pretty much want to inhale his scent like oxygen.
His head drops a fraction toward me.
What the …? Is he going to …?
“It was nice to meet you,” I say in a panicked rush and step out of his arms. But for some stupid reason, I can’t get my feet to walk away.
The hand that embraced me slides into his front pocket. Other than that, he doesn’t move. His gaze dips to my mouth.
My breath hitches and I lick my lips, which suddenly seems like an invitation.
What am I doing?
Instead of reacting appropriately and looking away, my eyes dart to
his
mouth as if on autopilot, not listening to my thorough instructions for all body parts to
get the hell out of here
.
A diagonal scar mars the corner of his lower, nicely-shaped lip, a score in an otherwise perfect landscape. For some reason, I can’t look away from that scar, feathering at one end into a slight hook. How did he get it? Did it hurt? Would I feel the scar if I pressed my mouth to his?
His lips part beneath my stare and he shifts his feet, bringing him an inch closer, closing the space I created.
My heart pumps so fast that dots form in my vision.
He has a girlfriend …
I stumble around Lewis, my shoulder slamming the wall, years of athleticism disappearing with the speed of my heartbeat. I glance back once before opening the front door.
Lewis shuts his eyes and turns away.
My hands shake as I make it to the car. Inside, I grip the steering wheel.
What was that? That’s not attraction, that’s just crazy.
Crazy attraction.
“Genevieve, your stepfather and I are planning our visit. You’d think you could spare me a call.”
You’d think my mom would have learned by now that I’m asleep at nine in the morning. Even if I didn’t work late shifts, I’m not exactly alert at this hour under normal conditions.
“Mom,” I croak into the receiver. “Can we talk later? And I don’t have a stepfather.”
My mother calls her latest boyfriend my stepfather, though they’re not married. It’s weird.