Caveman (Wild Men 1) - Page 160
Well, I’m not sure if the new style is a sign he’s happy, or that he’s still searching, come to think of it. Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to him one of these days.
“Earth to Audrey.” Dylan waves his drink in front of my face. “Let’s get you a drink. What’s your poison?”
“Oh um.” My cheeks warm. “Just beer.”
“Knot Stock okay?”
I nod. I love the local brew with its faint peppery taste.
He grabs a bottle from the cooler, opens it and passes it to me. “Have you seen anyone else you know? I bet you’ll see lots of familiar faces from school.”
I turn the cool bottle in my hands. Any moment now I’ll start peeling the yellow label, and I force my hands to still. “No, actually, I haven’t. I just arrived.”
“The guys are here. In fact,” he glances around and hollers, “Zane! Rafe! Over here.”
Oh god. Automatically, I put a hand over the scar on my cheek and turn away. Heat licks up my neck.
“Are you okay?” Dylan mutters.
I nod. I know the scar isn’t very visible anymore—all that remains is a fine white line—but I’m suddenly transported back to the days when it was red and horrible and I hid it from everyone.
Someone claps me on the back and I’m forced to turn around and face them all. Rafe, his dirty blond hair long to his shoulders, his tawny eyes merry. Silver hoops glint on his ears and his arms bulge with muscles.
And Zane, with his dark, almond-shaped eyes and a faint smirk. He wears his dark hair in a tall, green Mohawk, the sides shaved, and has three silver rings through one eyebrow. Tats swirl down his arms all the way to his wrists, full of colors. He looks like a wicked Yakuza boy.
I must be staring at the rings in his eyebrow, because he chuckles and sticks out his tongue where a barbell glints. “Like my metal?”
Whoa.
“Of course she does,” Dylan says and winks. “She likes bad boys.”
That’s the truth. What can I say? Yeah, I prefer bad boys, ever since...
“Hey Ash!” someone calls from behind me. “Have you seen my car keys?”
I spin around, searching the sea of faces, my heart pounding and sweat springing on my face. Excitement and dread mingle in an indefinable, dizzying cocktail.
Is he here? He might be—after all, as Dylan said, this is my high school class and Ash was in it, but I didn’t think of it and now...
“Do you like my place?” Zane says, gesturing around.
I struggle to gather my thoughts. I tug my sweater lower over my black leggings and shift on my high-heeled boots. “This your apartment? Looks great.”
He grins. “Like me.”
“Knock it off,” Dylan growls.
That’s kinda funny. I shoot Dylan a half-annoyed look. What, is he my big brothe
r now? I realize I’m not used to having anyone filling that role anymore. Not that I ever had a brother, but I had Ash, and then I had Dylan.
And then I was alone and hiding from the world.
“Well, the apartment is mine and Erin’s. She’s out of town today.” Zane sips his drink, eyeing me over the rim of his glass. “Erin Wilson.”
I vaguely recall the girl from school. She’s a couple years older than me. “Girlfriend?”
“Just a friend.” He tips his head to the side. “Are you staying at your old house?”
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