The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

I nodded. “I’ve seen what love gone rotten looks like. My parents were once best friends, too.”

She put her arm around me and gave me a hug. “I know.”

A short silence fell, and then I sucked in a breath. “Are we okay?”

“Of course. Why?”

“I don’t know. Miller said some things last night. That I’ve been distant lately. Hanging out with new friends instead of you two.”

“You’re moving up the social food chain. Scratch that. You’re casting a wider net. Everyone loves you.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do. You’re kind to everyone. And it resonates.”

“I guess. Evelyn said there’s a party at Chance Blaylock’s this Saturday—”

“Nope. Not my people.”

“Why not? You’ll know me, and I’ll get Miller to come—”

“I doubt that.” She gave me an arch look. “Do you have the political capital to invite me to a party you’re not throwing?”

“It’s a rager. No one knows how anyone gets there.”

“You, Dr. Violet McNamara, are going to a rager?”

“It’s an experience.” I smiled and looked away, watching other students milling around the grass or talking and eating at the tables. “Evelyn said River specifically asked if I was coming.”

“Then I guess your master plan is working.” She shielded her eyes with one hand and jerked her chin across the crowded cafeteria. “Hey, check it. Fresh blood.”

I followed her line of sight to a devastatingly handsome guy with hair that was probably blond under the silver dye. He leaned his tall frame against a cement column at the edge of the cafeteria, surveying the scene with casual detachment.

“That’s Holden Parish,” I said. “Evelyn told me about him this morning.”

“Evelyn is the TMZ of this school. She should have her own channel.”

I smirked, though she wasn’t wrong. “She said he moved here from Seattle, and he’s mega rich.”

“You’re mega rich.”

I inwardly flinched. I’m not so sure about that.

“Holden is millionaire rich,” I said. “Maybe billions.”

“He certainly dresses the part.”

Holden leaned against the poll, hands tucked into a expensive-looking black pea coat. An emerald green and gold-patterned scarf was wrapped round his neck and tied in an elegant knot. His jeans were perfectly tailored to fit his lean physique, and thanks to endless hours hanging out with Evelyn Gonzalez, who had her own popular fashion YouTube channel, I knew a Balenciaga boot when I saw one.

“Holden Parish,” Evelyn said, materializing beside me as if I’d conjured her. She stood over us, hands on the hips of her short denim skirt. A skin-tight black tank hugged her slender torso, highlighted her small, perfect boobs. Her huge hoop earrings glinted gold in the afternoon, as did her warm light brown skin. “He is so hot.”

Shiloh smirked. “I’m sure he is. It’s seventy-five degrees out, and he’s in a coat and scarf.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “He’s got impeccable style, and he looks as cool as a cucumber. I’ll bet he’s hung like one, too. Time to introduce myself.” She held her hand to me. “Let’s go.”

I let Evelyn pull me up, then looked to Shiloh. “Coming?”

She waved us away. “Go. See you in History.”