Chapter 1
Avery
Thirty minutes into my first college party, and I’m ready to smack someone in the face with a shovel. My
first problem is that I’m wearing the most ridiculous shade of pink. Madison’s doing, of course. Tugging
at the hem of my hideous shirt, I ster a fake smile on my face and try to act as if I own this new look.
Compared to Madison in her tight jeans, low-cut ck top, and sexy three-inch heels, I look cute in my
pink outfit. And I hate that word. Cute is what you use to describe a teddy bear or a three-year-old, and
it only demonstrates that I don’t belong at this frat party filled with gorgeous half-dressed girls grinding
on the dance floor. Fuck my life.
Sighing, I push a chunk of hair behind my shoulder and take another sip of the now warm beer in my
hand. Madison thrusts her arm around my waist, bumping her hip against mine in time with the music. I
smile at her attempt.
“Need more to drink?” she asks above hip-hop music so loud I can feel the beat vibrating in my chest.
I look into my still full red stic cup. “I’m good.” I hate the taste of beer, but manage to take another
sip. Tonight is all about blending in. And something tells me being the stone-sober girl with a perma-
frown etched into her face isn’t the way to do it.
Madison and Noah are convinced this will be my year. They have grand visions of me loose and
carefree, thriving in the college social scene despite the contrary evidence I’d presented them as a
freshmanst year. When they’d dressed me in this pink top earlier – which Noah imed was actually
rosy coral – they’d dered me a ripe peach, ready for the picking. I’d barely kept the scowl off my face
at the euphemism.
“Mancandy, two o’clock,” Madison announces over the music.
I take my time, subtly turning in the direction she indicates. A group of three guys stands talking near
the DJ and, honestly, they’re all cute. Either that or my mind won’t let me distinguish individual features
since my body has no ns of getting involved with anyone. Ever.
“Which one?” I ask, ying along with Madison so I don’t disappoint her yet again. I know I make a
terrible wing-woman. Noah fills the role a heck of a lot better than me. A fact he’s super proud of.
Madison nces at the group of preppy college boys. “The pretty one.”
Pretty?
Noah steals a nce at the group of guys too. “Damn, that boy is fucking delish.” He shakes his head.
“Major yer, though.” Madison rolls her eyes.
“The pretty ones always are,” Noah adds.
I can’t resist looking again for this so-called pretty boy, and when I do, icy blue eyes meet mine and he
zeroes in on me with a smirk. His lingering gaze rakes boldly over my body, and I feel the nervous lurch
of my stomach. The sights and sounds of the room fade away. Yeah, he’s pretty. That’s the only way to
describe him. He’s roughly six-feet tall and lean, but with a hint of muscle. His hair is a warm mix of
brown and blond, and his eyes are such a striking blue, it shouldn’t have been possible without colored
contact lenses. Not to mention the ridiculously long eyshes that I’d happily murder him for in his
sleep.
A warm tingle creeps up my chest. It’s a decidedly unwee feeling and I swallow arge gulp of
beer hoping to extinguish whatever the hell that sensation was. I want to look away, but I can’t. He has
on dark jeans that fit his lean frame perfectly – slouching a bit on his hips but held in ce by a worn
leather belt. His T-shirt is in and navy blue. I like that he isn’t overdressed for this thing, like some of
the other gel-haired, button-up-shirt-wearing guys circling us. His hair is unruly and rumpled like he’dContent from N?velDr(a)ma.Org.
been in a fight with hisb. I have the urge to brush the strands out of his face. Or use it to tug him in
to kiss me. Where did that thoughte from?
Pretty Boy’s eyes stay locked on mine. One corner of his full mouth pulls upward. Crap. He caught me
staring. I can feel my fake smile wavering. As my cheeks heat up, I look down at my feet that are
squeezed into Madison’s heels. He has to know how gorgeous he is. Guys like him always do. And he
is firmly in male-model territory, so he can’t fault me for looking.
“C’mon, Avery, dance with us. You’re being a downer,” Madison whines. When I blow her off a second
time, she gives up and drags Noah to the center of the living room. She sways and grinds to the beat,
obviously hoping Pretty Boy will notice. They gesture for me to join them, but as much as I love them
both, this is so not my scene. Noah and Madison are both theater majors, so to say they are dramatic
is an understatement. Sometimes I wonder if I cling to them because their mboyant personalities
mask my non-existent one. I watch them shimmy and shake for a few minutes before sneaking another
nce at Pretty Boy in the corner.
He’s still watching me, so I give him my best attempt at a smile. I’m pretty good at hiding that I’m
wounded, that my life blew up in a spectacr scandal my senior year, and that I still walk around
fearful what happened that night will be uncovered. I hold the I-could-care-less-smile in ce. I’m just a
regr college sophomore in a hideous pink shirt. Move along folks. Nothing to see here.
My cheeks still burn and my heart pounds in time with the music. It’s too damn hot in here. Too hot to
be wearing jeans and a three-quarter sleeve top. Pushing a damp tendril of hair from my face, I pull a
breath into my lungs. It only confirms what my body already knows. Even with the show going on in
front of him, Pretty Boy is still closely watching me.
The way his eyes lock on mine from across the room holds the promise of something much more
intimate than two random partygoers. His deep blue gaze prates me and eats away at the calm,
cool demeanor I fight to maintain. He looks at me like he knows me all too well, like he sees I’m an
imposter. Maybe it’s because he’s hiding something too. His friendsugh around him while he looks
on, bored and unimpressed. I snap my gaze away.
Guys like him bug me for numerous reasons. I hate his overconfidence and the way he’spletely
ignoring the girl grinding up on him. Like he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to anyone he deems
unworthy of his affections. Cocky bastard. If he doesn’t want her he should send her on her way, put
her out of her misery. Blond bimbo or not, she’s still a person.
Watching the poor girl conjures up memories I can’t deal with. I hate that I was once that girl. Pretty
Boy continues to rake his gaze over every inch of me. Well, if this jerk thinks I’m an easy conquest,
he’s sadly mistaken. Lifting my chin, I avert my gaze and force my smile to remain in ce. I throw a
nce at Madison and Noah who are full-on impersonating Lady Gaga at this point, and deciding my
friends won’t miss me, I make my way through the crowd toward the back door. And freedom.