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We enter the house after them, headed for the front, while the boys race up the stairs to grab their things, their heavy footsteps sounding like a herd of elephants barreling through the house.
“Who’s the hottest guy on campus?” I ask Iris as we briskly walk through the massive living room, drawing closer to the front door. I can hear the blare of loud music coming from outside and I wince.
“You’ll see,” Iris says cryptically, stopping in front of the massive door and turning the locks before she swings it open and strides outside. “Rhett! Darling!”
Darling? What?
I follow her out onto the front terrace, shading my eyes from the sun. There’s a car in the drive. A sleek white Porsche 911 with tinted black windows and a loud, rumbling engine. The driver’s side door is cracked open and this Rhett person has one leg out with his foot braced on the ground, as if he’s poised and ready to leap from the car at a moment’s notice.
“Iris.” His deep, commanding voice seems to tug at something low in my belly and I drop my hand, watching breathlessly as he emerges from the car, his hand braced on top of the door. Wow, he’s tall. “Where’s my brother and Row at? We gotta get going.”
“Calm down, they’re coming,” Iris says with an unfamiliar laugh. I send her a strange look, but she’s not paying any attention to me. “Where’s your friend?”
Rhett appears genuinely confused. “Who are you talking about?”
“Brooksie.”
“Wait a second—are you referring to Brooks Crosby?” I ask Iris.
She shushes me and I take a step away from her, annoyed.
“He’s already at school. And he hates riding in my car. You know this. Says he’s too big for it.” Rhett laughs, the sound rich and deep and I shade my eyes again because I can’t make out a single feature, thanks to the blazing sun above our heads.
My heart stops as I drink in his handsome face. No wonder Iris is laughing and flirting with him. I would be doing the same thing if I knew who this boy was. He’s tall, with golden brown hair that gleams in the sun, and while he’s wearing sunglasses that cover up half of his face, that doesn’t diminish his good looks. He’s got great facial structure. Prominent cheekbones and a sharp jawline that is just begging to be kissed.
I shake my head a little at the thought. What in the world?
“Sorry, Rhett!” Callahan emerges from the front door in a full sprint, Row right behind him. They’re both carrying unzipped gym bags that are bulging with clothing and a sock falls out of Row’s bag, landing at my feet.
“Get your skinny asses in the car, pronto,” Rhett demands, turning toward his seat and flipping it forward. “You can take the back, Cal.”
“Aw, man.” Callahan groans as he folds his lanky body into the back seat.
“Row, you forgot this!” I wave the sock above my head, grateful it’s clean and doesn’t smell like sweaty feet.
“I don’t need it,” Rowan yells as he rounds the front of the beautiful—and dangerous looking—Porsche.
I ignore what he says. I also ignore Iris who asks me what I’m doing as I run down the steps without thought. Gravitational pull, I think as I approach Rhett. He’s larger than life, bigger than I realized and my gaze lands on his arms—his biceps in particular. He’s got muscles for days and his chest is wide, that navy Lancaster Prep T-shirt he’s wearing stretched to the absolute limit.
My breaths come faster and I skid to a stop, holding out the sock lamely. “This is my brother’s.”
Rhett slowly lowers his glasses down the bridge of his nose, blatantly checking me out with what looks like hazel-colored eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m Row’s sister.” I wave the sock at Rhett again, feeling like a fool. “Can you give this to him for me, please?”
“Anything you want, pretty girl, I’ll do for you,” he drawls as he slides the glasses back up, covering his eyes.
“Jesus, don’t flirt with my sister, Rhett!” Row screams from the passenger seat.
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Rhett completely ignores him, sliding his hands into his shorts pockets. “You go to Lancaster?”
I nod.
“Huh. With that gorgeous face of yours, I’d definitely remember you.” A pained expression suddenly appears on his face. “Please tell me you’re not a freshman.”
“I’m not,” I say with a breathless laugh, my heart fluttering at him calling my face gorgeous.
“Thank God,” he mutters.
