I glance toward the flames one last time, knowing what they’ve just burned out of my life. However, the aching grip of sentiment fades quickly. All because my attention is drawn above the blaze, lured higher by an invisible force to meet three matching stares already fixed on me. Beneath half-mast lids, their brooding eyes—close-set like a pack of marauding predators—have me feeling soul-obsessed and I can’t turn away. Their physical features are too similar, which is why I draw the conclusion that they must be brothers.
These raven-haired deities have definitely noticed me, and now I even think they might be talking about me. Two lean in to speak closely to the one in the middle. Like some beautiful huddle of hotness.
Seriously? A ‘huddle of hotness’? That’s the best you can come up with, Blue?
Clearly, my brain is fried. Only becoming more frazzled by the second.
There they sit, perched on chairs identical to the others scattered across the yard. Only, beneath them, I’m convinced they’re thrones. It’s their presence that makes the difference, sets them apart from all the other guys I noticed tonight.
They’re large, broad in all the right places—across the shoulders and their chests. The effects of this are emphasized by the tapering of tight, athletically lean torsos. I’ve met people who command a room, but never anyone so formidable in the wide-open space, as these three are.
Where have they been hiding all night?
Even when the two at either side become distracted by the pair of wet, bikini-clad robots who bounce over to vie for their attention, the one in the middle stays focused. Firelight burns in his eyes like hellfire, this creature I swear emits sex like trees give oxygen. Completely gone on him, I swear his soul moves right across this yard, steps through the flames, and breathes the heat of a million suns over my skin. He’s all I see, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Simply because I’m not sure he’s deserving of that.
Don’t overthink it, stupid.
Black images slink upward, wrapping around the length of his arm. From the diamond-studded watch that gleams in the light, until they disappear beneath the sleeve of the white-tee squeezing his dense biceps. He sits there, like a god watching over his people, frozen in time while the world moves around him. Actually, it isn’t hard to imagine he plays that role well.
The steady surge of bass pulsating from tall speakers ends and a new song starts—something deep and evocative, fitting the ambiance perfectly. Suddenly, I have Jules back, marginally more sober than when she’d run off to dance. I’m aware of her huffing breathlessly at my side, and I totally mean to pay her the attention she deserves, but I can’t. Because the Greek statue cloaked in flesh has risen from his throne and, if I’m not completely insane … I think he’s coming my way.
Ho-ly crap.
His height is as staggering as I imagined, and I’m transfixed as the crowd parts in anticipation of his every step. The sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones would make any model lose all hope of ever reaching this new bar he’s set for perfection. Not a single feature is average. Not a single one possibly measured on anyone’s scale of beauty.
Broad shoulders roll and dip beneath his t-shirt with the slow, intentional gait that practically has me melting in my heels. I more than appreciate how the fabric hugs his frame to his waist, where only the front of the shirt disappears behind the designer belt looped through his dark jeans.
His stare is set on me and I swallow hard, only remembering I’m not alone when Jules speaks.
“Oh, my gosh, girl… Do you have any clue who that is?”
I don’t turn, but know Jules must have followed my gaze. The only response I give is an embarrassingly distracted shake of my head.
“King Midas himself.”
She says that as if I know what it means. However, I’m not coherent enough to seek clarity.
“This must be their place,” she adds. “Well, one of their places, anyway. Their family’s main spot is downtown, the penthouse in one of their dad’s hotels or some shit. I think the boys actually have their own floor, but that could be a rumor. All jokes aside, though, I’d trample my own grandmother to tap that. Hell, I’d do it just for a lick,” she adds cheekily. “Not even kidding.”
There was a moment of silence where I didn’t speak, and neither did she.
Then, suddenly, “Is he coming over here?” she screeches.
Right away, she moves to fix her hair in my peripheral. I’m not offended by her assumption that she’s the one he noticed. It has nothing to do with her vanity, or her seeing me as some kind of ugly duckling. This is just kind of the order of things in our friendship. I’m the tomboy who cursed the day she got boobs. Meanwhile, Jules had been stuffing since fifth grade, because she lacked the patience to wait for Mother Nature to give her a rack of her own.
Flirting and dating, her thing. Work and ball, mine. It’s only due to a grueling weekend of practice freshman year that I know how to walk in these shoes. Jules wouldn’t stand by while I rolled into the ninth-grade Homecoming dance wearing high-tops.
I, on the other hand, saw no problem with that at all.
“Please let me get lucky tonight,” I think she means to whisper to herself, but instead repeats it three times like a chant.
He’s closer now, just on the other side of the bonfire. But before he can even round the flames…
Intercepted.
Hardcore.
By a busty cheerleader-type, no less, with brown hair stretching to her waist. I stare as she bounces into the picture, blocking my view. At first, she’s not much of a threat, because there are only whispers exchanged between them, but my heart sinks when she slides her tiny, manicured fingers down his stomach. They don’t stop until they reach the front of his jeans. And I’m not just talking some casual caress, either. I mean, this chick grabs a whole handful of him. Like there’s no one else around.
It’s then that his gaze leaves me, slowly tearing his eyes from mine down to hers. She whispers something else and it brings a telling smile to his fleshy lips. At this point, I realize there’s no chance of stealing his attention back from her. No guy would ever pass up a sure thing for a maybe.
He doesn’t resist when Do-Me-Barbie takes his hand to lead him off toward the main house, and likely toward a bedroom.
I realize my stare still lingers in the direction where they’ve just disappeared, and I probably look like a helpless puppy. But that’s what I feel like. A puppy who’s just been shoved backwards off the porch, into the freezing snow.
“Oof,” Jules sighs. “Well, that sucks a little. Talk about anticlimactic.”
Despite disappointment twisting in my chest like a knife, I laugh. “Story of my life.”
She turns abruptly when my comment seems to register.
“Wait a freakin’ minute!” she says, drawing the syllables out for dramatic effect. “You … the ice queen herself … were interested in him?”
A sigh rushes from my lips. “Don’t get too excited. The moment didn’t exactly end with a bang.”
“Maybe not, but this breakthrough still deserves a moment of recognition. Has there even been anyone since—”
“Don’t … say his name,” I warn sharply, which has her hands shooting toward the sky in surrender.