Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(7)
And that’s just what it will be; a business deal. I’ve grown up aware of these customs, so it wasn’t so much as shocking as it was finally comprehending the absolute finality. I’m sure if I tried to explain this to Vee she would be outraged. But it’s just the way things are. I’ve accepted it, and the thought of trying to fight the inevitable is just exhausting.
I would be cut off from my family. I don’t care about the wealth; it’s the thought of severing a link to my blood, to the people who have known me forever, that terrifies me. I have no one else.
As Vee steers me toward the crowd circling the blazing fire, amber light blooms around us, illuminating the scene. Girls wearing skimpy outfits with some kind of Bobcat attribute. Guys in football jerseys, their faces painted blue and white—totally reminding me of Braveheart. A line wrapped around a keg stand near the flames, which I think might be dangerous…but I silence my inner nerd.
Just go with it.
I can feel the fire’s warmth before we’re even close; it’s huge. Embers pop and sizzle into the glow of what looks like low-hung clouds. The humidity casting everything in a hazy blaze; peaceful, if not for the rowdy mob—shouting, laughing, music thumping. A post stands erect in the center of the roaring flames. I stare harder into the orange inferno, and realize the wooden beam is dressed in a football jersey and sporting a helmet.
“Engleton,” Vee says, nodding toward the fire. “We’re roasting our rivals.”
“Wow. That’s…fierce,” I say, and she laughs.
The bonfire gives off plenty of heat, but I’m still relieved I changed into a hoodie and jeans at the last minute. The cool wind off the ocean is biting. And I just wasn’t comfortable in that mini skirt. I can almost envision my father’s disapproving glare.
“I don’t know about you,” Vee says, nudging my shoulder with her elbow, doing her best to keep balance in the loose sand with her wedge sandals. “But I really need a drink.” I follow her gaze toward the keg, to where the guy she was mooning over during lunch today stands filling a red plastic cup.
My insides revoke this idea; nausea roiling against my stomach lining. But I follow her anyway, if only to be of moral support in her endeavor to gain Gavin’s attention. My own self preservation is making me glance around suspiciously, seeking the whereabouts of Ryder—the guy Vee informed me I was talking to during my awkward moment at lunch.
I’d rather not be subjected to anymore of his egotistical tactics. Despite how funny—although, yes, obscene—they were. I mean, did he really think licking his finger and checking me out was hot? That’s a total girl move. Vee enlightened me that I should feel honored, as Ryder hasn’t had to attempt picking up a girl all on his own, like…ever. Regardless, I wasn’t too impressed.
His ice-blue eyes and ripped abs be damned.
I’m not here to be a one-night lay for the star quarterback of Braxton. A notch on his bunk bed. I’m not exactly sure why I am here…but it’s certainly not to become the butt of some locker room joke. That wouldn’t be a great start to my new college career.
And as if just thinking his name can summon the football god himself, Ryder appears next to me, plastic cup poised and ready to be filled. And damn. He’s shirtless. My eyes go right to his ripped abs, my gaze being drawn lower—to the muscles defining the V just above his jeans. A hint of a tattoo peeks above his boxers…and, oh, my God.
Jerking my gaze upward, I focus on his chest. And ugh. That doesn’t help. I’m useless. I just allow my eyes to roam unabashedly, because really, the guy is all man, and I can’t help it. He has another tattoo on his upper arm, and I might as well leave now.
I’m through.
“How you doing, carrot cake?”
Against my will, my lips twist as I try to keep from smiling. His face is painted white and blue, and he’s still ridiculously cute. I shrug. “All right. And the cake was all right, too.”
He grabs his chest in mock horror. “Just all right? I’ll have you know”—he takes the tap from Gavin and commences to fill a cup, then hands it off to Vee—“I never share my cake with anyone. Especially not my very favorite carrot cake.” He fills another cup and hands it to me.
I accept, tracking his movements as he digs out a bottle of water from a cooler. “Should I feel flattered?” I say. These bold words are not mine. I have no idea where they’re coming from. To keep from looking and getting lost in his adorably squinted gaze, I avert my attention to Vee, who’s sipping her beer. I refuse to look into her eyes, either.
I feel kind of shitty, actually. She’s all but in love with this guy Gavin, since like freshman year, she says. And Ryder is giving me all this unwanted attention, whereas she’s dying to have any at all. Truth be told, though, Ryder’s probably only interested because I’m likely the only girl on campus he hasn’t nailed yet.
I plan to keep it that way.
Ryder hasn’t responded to my jibe, and I take the silent moment to look at him, cup to my lips, partially concealing my face. He boldly lowers my cup, revealing my face to him. Then he runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek, brushing my stray curls aside.
My breath stutters on my lips. The feel of his rough hand, warm and purposeful in its pursuit, makes my chest tighten. Just one action—one touch—and my traitor heart is begging me to move closer to him. To discover just what those hands are capable of.