Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

"Dude! Join us," the player shouted.

The redhead inclined his head toward me. "Maybe tomorrow."

The other boy sized me up then pumped his arm at the ginger.

My plan to blend in imploded. The wretched boulder refused to crack open and swallow me whole. My adrenaline surged as the boy neared. Before I could formulate an escape, his shadow slanted across me. Hope and excitement gleamed in his eyes. "Sailor? Sailor Saint James?" His copper brows twitched.

My stomach free fell. Crap. I should have fled to the girls' bathroom while I had the chance. I cleared my throat. "You have me confused with someone else."

His pale sage eyes narrowed then he rubbed his lower lip. "May I join you

?"

He knows. Panic rooted me. I pushed up the sleeves of my boy-shirt and vintage bomber jacket. Then, remembering my mini-sailboat tattoo, I tugged them down. Good manners branded during Junior Cotillion fought with the word flee screaming inside my head. I gave him a one-shoulder shrug. "It's a free rock. Suit yourself."

Unexpected dimples emerged on either side of his perfect mouth. "Oh yeah," he said, grinning as if I had slipped up somehow and proven my true identity. He joined me on the wide boulder.

I hoped the cold granite froze his skinny butt.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he said.

"Sure I do. You're the guy who stared at me for forty minutes in first period Spanish." Remembering sent a blush storming across my cheeks. First day, first class, and he had me so distracted I nearly blew my chance to make a good impression on Senora Mendoza.

I tilted my chin up so I could stare at him from beneath my cap. Seeing him up close sparked an elusive memory that danced just beyond my reach. I bit my lip and shoved my lunch box into my messenger bag.

He stuck out his hand. "Nathan Sheehan, formerly of Three Oaks Elementary School."

My jaw dropped. I recovered, closed my mouth, and willed my features into a neutral mask. Hopefully, my jacket muffled my heartbeat's sudden spike. Sheehan! This freckled fire god is the boy who sat behind me in fifth and sixth grade and tugged my hair? Stunned, I shook his hand. The warmth and roughness of his skin sparked an unexpected flutter in my stomach. "I'm Haylee Birch."

Several emotions played across his face in rapid succession. His brows knitted together in confusion, then something sparked a flicker of triumph and validation in his eyes. My muscles tensed. Did he know Birch was my middle name and my mother's maiden name? Had my voice given me away? How many times had I whirled in my desk chair after a hair pull and snarled, "I hate you, Nate"? Never Nathan. Always Nate.

"Haylee, huh?"

"Yes." My ears burned. I withdrew my hand, but his energy still crackled across my palm. I smoothed my hands over my hair.

"Hmm." He shifted and his knee brushed against mine. Heat seeped through his black jeans. I inched away. He did a good job pretending he hadn't noticed.

"Can I trust you with a secret, Haylee?"

Good one. I crossed my arms over my torso, walling myself off. "I'm the queen of secrets."

"Okay, but promise you won't laugh."

"Promise." I prayed he'd say, "Wow, I'm such an idiot. I totally mistook you for the debutante daughter of a big shot developer."

He drew in a long breath, then released it through his nose. "At the end of sixth grade, my parents were convinced an earthquake was about to plummet California into the ocean."

I breathed in his scent, mandarin and spice with a hint of musk. "You're kidding."

"Would I lie about something so embarrassing?" he asked.

I would. I remembered his parents because of their bright copper hair. They had seemed down-to-earth, not flighty. Mrs. Sheehan--actually Doctor Sheehan, she had a PhD in psychology--had counseled veterans before she quit to raise Nate and his two brothers. Mr. Sheehan had been the carpenter for at least one of the Saint James planned community developments. He and Dad had greeted each other by name and shaken hands at the fifth-grade science fair. Funny. I didn't remember them speaking to each other at the sixth-grade fair.

I glanced about. "So divination wasn't their strong suit?"

"No." Nate's dimples reappeared, bracketing a sardonic smile. "It gets worse. They dragged me and my siblings to Indiana."

I pressed my lips together.