Elusion(14)

No such luck, though. Soldier Boy is now standing a few inches from me, rocking back on the heels of his spit-shined shoes and looking like he’s trying to think of something to say.

We’re both silent, and I’m thinking too—about who he is and why he’s here. I feel a stroke of heat spreading up the back of my neck, and then a loud voice slices through the music, catching me off guard.

“Regan!”

I spin around and see Patrick moving through the crowd. Even though he’s slowed down by the throng of admirers who want to shake his hand, he keeps his gaze fixed on me. He looks absolutely fantastic, dressed in a retro Edwardian-style tux, but his blue eyes appear a little bit bloodshot, which happens whenever he spends too much time working.

I hate to say it, but I kind of wish he’d find someone else to talk to right now. I’m on the verge of a conversation with Soldier Boy, after all.

But lo and behold, there is someone tagging along with Patrick, though he’s moving so erratically across the dance floor she can barely keep up—Zoe Morgan, the daughter of one of Orexis’s biggest stockholders and one of the most popular seniors at my high school. Since she’s a grade above me and way above my popularity status, my only personal contact with her has been at corporate, family events. But it’s well acknowledged in school that every boy lusts after her great body, flawless mocha-colored skin, and long, raven-black hair. And tonight, her ivory spaghetti-strap dress and elaborate updo make her look even more perfect than usual.

“You’re here!” Patrick says to me as he finishes saying hello to his mother’s friends and business partners. He wraps me up in one of his signature bear hugs, and the part of me that just wished he’d leave me alone clamps its mouth shut. “You look amazing,” he whispers in my ear.

“Thanks to Alessandra Cole.” I pull away and pick up the skirt of my dress, then playfully dip into a curtsy.

Patrick laughs. “Did you learn that from a princess or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Patrick does the gentlemanly thing and nods at Zoe. “You two know each other, right?”

I extend my hand toward Zoe and she shakes it.

“Yeah, it’s good to see you, Zoe,” I say.

“You too,” she replies with a smile that’s nothing but genuine. “That dress is a knockout, by the way.”

“Oh, this?” I say. “I just . . . threw it on.”

Zoe laughs good-naturedly at my lame joke, but when Patrick puts his arm around me, her smile fades a little bit.

“I’m so glad you could come,” he says to me. “Is your mom—”

“She had to work tonight,” I blurt out.

I’m not proud of myself for lying just now, but the thought of Zoe Morgan knowing my personal business makes me queasy for some reason. Patrick gives me a quick squeeze, signaling that he understands, and graciously changes the subject.

“So did you scare Josh off or something?” he asks me.

“Who?”

“Mr. Buzz Cut,” Zoe adds, grinning. “You were standing next to him a minute ago.”

I peer over my shoulder and my stomach tightens. The boy I was staring at has completely disappeared.

“Oh, I didn’t notice,” I fib.

“How is that possible? That boy is one-hundred percent man candy,” Zoe says.

“Man candy? I wouldn’t go that far,” Patrick says with a slight twinge of annoyance.

“Don’t worry, you’re still the most eligible bachelor in the country,” Zoe teases him.

I can’t help but smirk. I’m so used to girls fawning over Patrick that it’s nice to see him with someone who can hold her own.

“You saw the splash page on Celebrity.com, didn’t you, Regan?” she asks me.

“Of course. Patrick sent me the link the second it went live,” I joke.

“No, I didn’t,” he protests, as if embarrassed.

Zoe smiles, touching his elbow flirtatiously with her well-manicured fingers. “I’m going to freshen up; try not to miss me,” she says.

When Zoe is out of range, I pull away from Patrick and gently nudge him in the ribs.

“She’s really nice, Pat.”

“She is nice. She’s just been following me around all night.”

“Maybe she just wants to get to know you.”

“Yeah, well, there’s only one person who’ll ever really know me, and that’s all I need.”

I know he means me, and it’s a sweet thing to say. But it leaves me feeling like a spotlight has just landed on me and everyone expects me to do something I can’t, like . . . sing the national anthem without sounding like a frog.

“Well, what about this friend of yours? Josh. How well does he know you?”

“Remember that sleepaway tech camp I went to?” he answers.

“That camp in Canada? The one where they made you hike with a sprained ankle?”

“I only sprained my ankle at the end,” he says, embarrassed. “Anyway, that’s where I met him. In fact, we were pretty tight.”

“Then why is this the first time I’m hearing about him?”

“Probably because that was a million years ago, and back in those days I didn’t feel it necessary to share every single detail with you,” he says with a grin. “We lost touch when he was shipped off to the academy. I haven’t heard from him since—until I got his text today. Turns out he’s in town visiting family, so I invited him.” He takes my hand and grins, giving me a little bow. “Enough about Josh. Do you want to join me on the dance floor?”