Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(8)

We stand in the middle of the floor with bodies dancing around us, neither of us moving as his gaze moves from the top of my hair to the bottom of my black UGG boots, a gift from Mara. There’s a quizzical look on his face as he sizes me up, and a few ticks later, he physically winces as if something about me is…unpleasant.

But I’m not unpleasant.

I’m no beauty queen, but I’ve had the attention of attractive guys. Bennett is gorgeous, the little cheater, and according to Mara I look just like Mama did at my age with her pale creamy skin, heart-shaped face, and long blonde hair. Unfortunately, my eyes are my father’s, wide and thickly lashed, a blue-green color.

“You…” His brow knits as he searches for how to finish his sentence.

Someone dances into me with a hard bump, and I lunge forward again, my cheek pressing against his chest. His hands clasp my upper arms, steadying me as he sets me a few inches away from him.

“Sorry,” I say.

His eyes drift over my face, lingering on my lips, and I swallow. He drops my arms as if they’re hot, and I rub them briskly, acutely aware of his touch.

Strands of “You’re Beautiful” by James Blunt come over the speakers, and color rushes from my neck up to my face as I realize we’re the only ones on the dance floor not dancing.

“This place is crowded. I should go—”

“Would you like to dance?” he asks, interrupting me.

I frown. “You want to dance with me?”

“I do.” Inscrutable eyes rake over me as his expression shutters. His focus is still squarely on me as if I’m a magical creature—or a demon.

Maybe there’s something hanging out of my nose or my Pirate Red lipstick is smeared across my entire cheek and I’m completely unaware.

“Okay.” My hands reach up and curl around his shoulders, my fingers brushing at the hair there. His hands go to my hips, settling on top of my coat around my waist. We move around each other, almost warily, our bodies aligned in a slow rhythm, not entirely pressed together, yet the small space between us feels…electrified. I wonder how my skin would feel pressed against his if we closed that gap.

We’re in a bubble, the two of us, and everyone around us seems irrelevant—or at least that’s my perception. I’m not sure what his is, only that his gaze never leaves my face and the intensity makes me jittery.

“What’s your name?” he says with a scowl.

I huff out a laugh. Where’s the charming playboy everyone said he was?

“Sugar. My mama said it was a name for a girl who would be the life of the party.” I lift my shoulders in a shrug, looking away. “It didn’t work.”

“Ah, I hear a slight Southern accent. How did you end up in Sparrow Lake?”

My accent isn’t thick, not after years of living here, but it does stick out like a sore thumb among all these Midwesterners. “Moved here when my mom passed.”

“Any other family?”

I stare up at him. “You updating my Wikipedia page?”

He breaks our gaze, a flash of vulnerability in his before it’s quickly gone. “You favor someone I knew.”

Oh.

“Well, they’re not related to me. I don’t have any siblings or cousins on my mom’s side, and I look just like her. The family I do have is my dad’s and they’re in Alabama.” I pause. “I don’t speak to them.”

“Why?”

I shake my head. “That’s really none of your business.”

“Why?”

He gives me an insistent look, and out of sheer annoyance, I say, “They’re rich folk who think I’m white trash.”

He thinks about this, studying my face. “Sorry. That sucks. I’m Zack, by the way.”

I know. I nod.

“My friends call me Z.”

“I’m not a friend.”

“Yet.” His eyes go to my mouth and heat flares over my skin at the interest I see there. A blush creeps across my face.

“I’ve never seen you at one of these,” he says.

“Just trying new things.”

“Like stalking hockey players?”

My mouth opens and I almost stumble until he catches me.

“You were at the Tipsy Moose last week,” he says, a satisfied look on his face as he takes in my face. “You sat in the back. I played darts…you watched. I talked to a girl…you stared. You sat by yourself. Isn’t that right?”

My stomach flutters, recalling how packed that place was. The man has magical powers of observation. “Maybe we were just two people who happened to be at the same place at the same time. Maybe my eyes just happened to be on you when you looked at me.”

He continues as if I never said a word. “You’re also in my American poetry class. You wear a knit hat and those big glasses. Maybe that’s why I didn’t…” He stops, his voice trailing off. “You sit in the back.”

“And you sit in the front.”

“You would know.”

Shit! I blink rapidly “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Liar. I notice things—it’s one of my skills—and you were lurking behind that column when I came in…waiting for me.” His tone is silky, yet there’s a hint of accusation there. “My guess is you’re a jersey chaser, a new one since I’ve never noticed you here.”