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Seth.
***
He’s seated in an ugly orange armchair, the walking stick propped by the side. He’s staring at the crowd, his gaze distant, his cheeks lightly flushed. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with the logo of Damage Control, a coiling snake on the front. The soft material stretches over an impressive chest and broad shoulders, the short sleeves snug around thick biceps.
Damn, I hadn’t realize he was so strong.
It’s warm in here, I decide, sweeping my hair over one shoulder and slowing to a halt. And I shouldn’t be staring at Seth—at those ridiculously long lashes, that full mouth, the studs glinting in his ears, the shiny dark hair that grazes his brow.
Why can’t I look away?
He shifts in his chair as the song ends and relative quiet spreads. Bending slightly over, he reaches down to massage the muscle above his knee. His movements are slow. He seems…
“He’s exhausted,” someone says somewhere to my right, and turning I see Evangeline, Micah’s girlfriend, and a wild-haired girl I don’t know. “Just look at him, Kayla. Concussion, can you believe it? After all he’s been through this year. It’s awful.”
No doubt who they’re talking about. They glance in Seth’s way, then look quickly away once more.
“The guy needs a break,” Evangeline goes on, sipping at her beer. “He lost his job when he broke his leg, and Micah’s scared he’s spiraling.”
“The boys wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” Kayla says. “They look after their own. See how they came through with Jesse. And Micah.”
“Yeah. I’m just worried.”
Now so am I. But another song begins, the music engulfing their voices, and when I turn back toward Seth, he’s gone.
I stare for a long moment, uncomprehending, until I see him at the makeshift bar, a long table loaded with bottles, leaning against his walking aid. He’s really t
all, and boy, that muscular back is so sexy.
Okay, what? I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp, realize nobody would hear it anyway, and will the music to drown out my strange thoughts.
I’m not attracted to Seth. I don’t want him that way. I want Fred.
As if summoned, Fred comes at me through the crowded shop, smiling. Whatever had him stressed earlier seems to have been resolved.
Yet whatever happened between us outside, that almost kiss that wasn’t really one, is still hanging between us. At least I feel it. I feel embarrassed, inadequate. Lacking.
Must be only me, though, because Fred, if anything, is even more touchy-feely than usual. I squawk in surprise when he grabs my hand and pulls me to him, then wraps an arm around me.
“Hey, Madeline. Shall we go?”
“Go? So soon?”
“The guys I rehearse with? They’re going to another place, quieter and with good wine. You’ll like it. Much better than this loud party.”
“I like it here.”
He stares at me in silence, the music dying around us as another song comes to an end. “You sure?”
I nod and look away from his wounded expression—only to find Seth’s eyes locked on me. He’s watching us, his bottle of beer forgotten in front of him. His eyes are pitch dark, and his hand is fisted on the bar, the knuckles white.
A twist of my shoulders and I pull away from Fred’s hold. “Yeah, I’m sure. I didn’t know the party would be here. I want to talk to Rafe Vestri, the drummer, about physical education. I think Asher and Dylan have sports scholarships, too, and they may give me some pointers.”
And Seth is still watching us, watching me, his gaze sending heat up my neck.
“As you prefer,” Fred says, pushing his arty black glasses back on his nose. “I’ll take a cab, no problem. Give me a call if you change your mind.”
I nod again. What am I doing? This is the guy I’m crushing on, and a week ago I’d have given my right arm to go out with him—with friends or alone. Anything to hear him say he likes me, like he did tonight, to have his arm around my shoulders.
