The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(82)

“Jesus, Miller, don’t say that.”

“Sorry, bad joke. I’ve been hanging out with Ronan and Holden for too long.” He got up and drew his jeans on, then leaned over the bed to kiss me again, slow and deep. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Vi.”

And then he left the same way he came in, through the window.

I watched him go, then flopped back against my pillow. A laugh burst out of me that morphed into a full body shiver. Miller’s touch lingered over every part of me, especially the juncture between my legs where I could still feel the low ebb of the wave that had crashed over me.

But it was my heart that was singing the loudest.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.

So said Miller Stratton in the same twenty-four hours that a record exec from a major label wanted to meet with him. Then he’d slipped out of my room like a prince in a fairytale.

I couldn’t stop smiling until reality creeped cold fingers into my sleepy warmth. This princess was going to the ball with someone else, while her prince rode off into a Los Angeles sunset.

And if all went as it should, he wouldn’t come back.





At school that day, I made it to lunch break without seeing Shiloh. I wasn’t feeling hungry, so I wandered the campus alone, my popularity stock clearly having taken a nosedive since #HomecomingFail. Caitlin and Julia only ever waved at me from afar these days, both looking cowardly and sheepish, as if the matter of being my friend or not was out of their hands. No doubt Evelyn’s handiwork.

Miller had texted, saying he was cutting school to stay home with his mom in case Chet came back drunk and belligerent. I was on my own.

I sent Shiloh a text. Where are you?

The reply came a few minutes later as I followed the path down toward the gym.

Home. Bibi isn’t feeling well.

My heart clenched. Shiloh’s grandma was pushing eighty and mostly confined to a wheelchair. Is she ok?

I think so. Going to stay home to make sure. A pause, then another text. I heard Miller’s news!! Followed by the “mind blown” emoji.

I’m so proud of him. I’d wandered down to the bleachers, perhaps drawn by my hormones after this morning. And OMG we need some girl talk, STAT.

I was about to hit send on that text when the phone nearly fell out of my hand. Holden Parish emerged from the make-out spot, and River Whitmore followed after.

They both wore dark, almost angry expressions and looked as if they’d been fighting but had called a reluctant truce. Holden smoothed the lapels of his coat and ran a hand through his mussed silvery hair. River jerked the collar of his letterman jacket into place and tucked in his shirt.

They immediately started for separate directions, but their nervous, darting glances landed on me at the same time.

Holden turned his steps in my direction, tipped an imaginary hat to me. “Lady Violet,” he said as he passed. He wore a tight smile on his lips that were red and chafed. He smelled of River’s cologne.

I stared then swiveled my head to River. He stood stock still staring at me, in a coiled, tensed fight-or-flight stance. Then his shoulders dropped, and he put his hands in his pockets as he strode over to me.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey,” he replied, his glance flying everywhere and then finally meeting mine. “So listen. What you saw—”

“Is none of my business.”

He jerked back in shock. His eyes softened and that same heartbreaking vulnerability I’d seen the other day was back. Then suspicious anger hardened his glance.

“You and I going to Prom together. Aren’t you pissed? Or the least bit curious?” His eyes widened as a horrifying thought occurred to him. “Did you know already? He’s friends with Miller.”

“I had no idea,” I said. “No one does. But if it’s a secret, coming here is a terrible way of keeping it.”

The fight went out of him, and his shoulders slumped. There was a bench nearby, and River dropped onto it. His gaze looked for where Holden had gone. “Tell me about it. But I can’t fucking stop…” He rested his forearms on his thighs and hung his head. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? It’ll fucking wreck me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said, sitting beside him. “But I won’t say a word.”

“Not true?” he scoffed.

“It wouldn’t wreck you here at school. We’re in one of the most progressive corners of one of the most progressive states in the country.”

“Forget here,” River said. “Name one openly gay NFL player.” He seemed to realize what he’d said, and his face paled. “I mean, I’m not…gay. I’m not. I’m…fuck, I don’t know what I am.”

“Is this why you want me to go to the Prom with you? To keep up appearances for your dad’s sake?”

He nodded miserably.

“Do you think he’d be upset if he knew?” After spending months with Nancy Whitmore, I couldn’t imagine she’d be anything but completely supportive of her son—or marry someone who wouldn’t be.

Hell, she probably knew before River did.

“I don’t know,” River said. “But I do know that the answer to my NFL trivia challenge is zero. There are zero pro football players who are out. One guy got drafted and lasted all of one season. And for my dad, anything that might keep me from going all the way to the Super Bowl is a massive negative.”