The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(36)

Evelyn took hold of my hand. “Kitchen. We need to get our drank on.”

We squeezed through the crowd and arrived in a spacious, brightly lit kitchen that seemed blinding after the dark of the rest of the house. The kitchen overlooked the expansive backyard where the party had spilled out onto the patio around the pool. More colored lights were strung in garlands, and people huddled in groups on lounge chairs, the glowing ember of joints passing from hand to hand.

A bunch of football players had set up camp around the keg next to a huge island of gray marble that was covered in bottles, empty solos, and a salad bowl filled with cherry red punch. River was among them.

“Hey, boys. This is Violet’s first house party.” Evelyn pressed a solo cup of beer in my hand and looked meaningfully at River. “Be gentle.”

I rolled my eyes as my face flushed red. “Thanks for that.”

“Shh, here he comes.”

Evelyn side-stepped away as River came around the island in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a plaid button down, open and rolled up at the sleeves. The shirt revealed every cut line of his chest, but his forearms were downright mesmerizing.

“Hey,” he said.

My gaze shot up to a chiseled face that looked cut from granite, a light shadow over his square jaw. “Hi.”

River’s faint smile had just the right amount of casual amusement and confidence I expected from the captain of the football team—a guy who was probably going to end up winning the Heisman and being drafted to the NFL in a few short years. But his eyes darted here and there, as if he was aware we had an audience. Or nervous to be talking to me.

Hello, ego. That’s impossible.

“So…this really your first party?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Nah, you’re doing all right.”

“Any pointers?”

He laughed. “Yeah. If Chance offers you a cup of his ‘world famous’ party punch, say no. That shit is like gasoline.”

I laughed too and felt a loosening in my chest. River Whitmore, who I’d built up into this mythical figure—an Olympian god who wouldn’t dare talk to mere mortals like me—was just a guy who needed a conversation icebreaker like anyone else.

River moved a tiny bit closer; I could smell his cologne—woodsy and clean, mixed with a faint scent of motor oil. His voice grew low. Private. “So listen…”

I swallowed. “Yes?

“My mom said it was awesome meeting you.”

“Oh. Right.”

“You made her happy and that’s a big deal to me. So, thanks for that.”

“Of course. She’s wonderful.”

“Yeah, she is.” His eyes shone, and he quickly took a pull from his solo cup. Chance and a couple of guys called to him from the next room, pulling their king to the beer pong table. “So…maybe we can talk more later?” he asked. Almost shyly.

“Sure. Yes. I’d like that.”

He gave me a final smile. “Don’t drink the punch.”

My heart ached for him; he seemed a little bit like an imposter too. The most popular guy having to pretend to have a good time at a party while there was fear and pain waiting for him at home.

The party ebbed and flowed around me. I finished my beer, and someone gave me another. I finished that too, and the ground tipped under my feet a little as Evelyn took me by the hand to make the rounds. She was effortlessly popular, confident, perfectly flirty—everything I was not.

Outside, by the pool, I pulled her aside. “I have to ask. How come you and River…?”

“Never hooked up?” She shrugged. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? But I don’t know. There’s something about him I can’t figure out. We’re not on the same wavelength.”

I wondered if that was code for, I tried but he shot me down. But I’d grown close to Evelyn; she bullshitted so much, she was easier to read when she wasn’t.

“But hey, my loss is your gain,” she said. “You guys looked pretty cozy in the kitchen earlier.”

“He’s sweet.”

“Sweet. Uh huh. Did he ask you to Homecoming yet?”

“No. But he’s going through some heavy stuff.”

“Truth. The poor boy needs a distraction, don’t you think? And a little nudge?”

“What’s that mean?”

“Leave it to me.” Her mischievous smile collapsed as she spied something over my shoulder. “God. Your lost boy is here.”

I swung around to see Miller sitting on a lounger, his guitar case at his feet, talking with a big, dark-haired guy who sat on a deck chair beside him.

“Ooh, it looks like he brought his bodyguard,” Evelyn said. “That’s Ronan, I’ll bet. The guy who broke Frankie’s nose.” She took in the new guy appreciatively. “God, look at those arms. Yummy. Loving the ink, too, but…not my scene. He looks like he just broke out of jail.”

Miller met my eye, and I waved. He didn’t wave back but said something to Ronan, who nodded. Then Miller left his guitar and approached.

“Uh oh,” Evelyn said. “Now is not the time to let River see you with another guy.”

“That’s silly. It’s just Miller.”

The words tasted funny in my mouth. It’s just Miller. Like saying it’s just air; always there but essential to live.