The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

I nodded. “Same.”

“Same,” Ronan said.

“Do you guys hang out here a lot?” Holden asked, and I saw vulnerability in his eyes. The shields came down a little. I’d only seen him on two speeds so far: cool and collected or wildly drunk. For the first time, he seemed more like a seventeen-year-old guy without any costume on.

“Most days,” I took a pull from my juice. I checked in with Ronan, who nodded. “You’re welcome to come here too. Any time. Mi casa es su casa. Except it’s not a house. How do you say, our shitty shack is your shitty shack in Spanish?”

“Nuestra casucha es su casucha,” Holden replied, immediately, in a flawless Spanish accent.

Ronan and I exchanged glances.

“You speak Spanish?”

“And French. Italian. A little Portuguese and some Greek.”

“You some kind of genius?” Ronan asked.

“So they say,” Holden said, his gaze on the ocean. “My IQ is 153.”

I gave a low whistle.

Holden nodded. “Sounds as if it could be helpful, right?”

“Helpful?” I snorted. “That’s like having the answer key to life.”

He scoffed. “If only. As far as I can tell, it just means the nonstop thoughts in my head are more cunning and can torment me in multiple languages.”

I waited until the tension eased a little, then casually asked, “So, do I email you all my homework assignments directly or do you prefer hardcopy?”

Holden rolled his eyes, laughing, and the dark shadow that had fallen over him seemed to lift. “No chance, Stratton.”

I grinned. “Worth a shot.”

A more comfortable silence fell. “Yeah, it’s pretty damn perfect, right here,” Holden said. “Like we’re at the edge of the world and no one can touch us.”

“Yep,” I said, and Ronan nodded.

Holden inhaled and then exhaled. “I’m gay,” he said. “I just want to get that out there. In case it wasn’t obvious. Is that going to be a problem?”

I frowned. “No. Why would it?”

“Ask my father.” He looked to Ronan. “How about you?”

Ronan took a pull off his beer. “No, I’m not gay.”

A beat passed and then the laughter came roaring back. My sides ached and tears built in the corners of my eyes. Even Ronan chuckled and sp

ewed more lighter fluid on the fire. Any tension that might’ve existed between the three of us burned up in the flames, and I felt like I had when I first met Ronan. That Holden Parish belonged here too. With us.

“You’re a crazy motherfucker, you know that?”

He wiped his eyes. “So I’m told.”

“You could have been in with them, you know? The popular kids.”

“Why would I do that when fucking with them is so much more fun?”

“Fun,” Ronan said, his voice flat, cutting into the laughter like a cold knife. “Is that what that shit with Frankie was about? Fun?”