All the Right Moves (All The Right Moves 3)
The brunette lets out another gasp, visibly mortified, and angrily flounces to the other side of the street. She’s so pissed I can hear the heels of her boots thrashing the concrete from here, one angry clomp after the next.
Snarling, I turn toward the massive white house behind me, reaching under my ball cap to run a hand through my shaggy hair. Tugging the hat back into place, I only give pause when a glimmer of something shiny catches my eye. A pit of horror forms in my stomach, and, taking a few steps to my right, I bend down, hooking my index finger through a gleaming gold ring abandoned on the concrete driveway.
More specifically, on the driveway underneath the window of a particular second-story Kappa Omega Chi house…
Shit.
It’s a simple band that I study closely in the rising morning sun, a small blue sapphire chip mounted on top. I hold it closer to my face for examination, turning it this way and that, and make out the inscription, Love Mom & Dad, on the inside shank that’s virtually been rubbed out from wear, and barely legible.
My head snaps up, and I scan the perimeter for the brunette. Unfortunately, the only sight is an empty sidewalk, and a dog chasing a squirrel around the yard of the house across the street.
I groan.
Shit.
CHAPTER 3
ABBY
By the time I get back to my off-campus apartment, I am fuming breathing so deeply it sounds like I just returned from the Color Run. Flinging my door open so hard it hits the wall, I slam it shut behind me before stalking over and throwing myself on the bed.
Muttering a curse, I let out a frustrated scream. “Who the frick does he think he is?” I ask to no one. “Off all the nerve.”
Of course, he did kind of save me. Kind of.
Whatever! The jackhole.
Caleb.
Caleb, Caleb, stupid Caleb.
Ugh!
I close my eyes, forcing the image of him stowed in my memory to materialize in my mind. And it does, so vividly it’s like he’s here, glowering down at me.
Tall. Broody. Muscular. Of course, the muscles could have all been an illusion created by his bulky sweatshirt and slouchy Adidas athletic pants. The thick, heavy eyebrows, which peered at me from under a navy blue Flying W ball cap, were creased into a permanent scowl.
Solemn, serious, full lips set in an unyielding expression, he’s hardly the man of a girl’s dreams.
But that doesn’t stop me from wondering about that mass of hair hidden under that well-worn ball cap and the obscurity of his hooded sweatshirt. My thoughts stray to the five o’clock stubble casting a rugged shadow over his angry, chiseled jaw and cheekbones, all adding to his severe expression.
Believe me, I’m not waxing poetic about Caleb because I’m attracted to the Neanderthal (puh-lease, I’m not that desperate). Nope. I’m simply wondering where he came from, because you have to admit, he did just kind of appear out of nowhere to help me…
My chintzy, hollow bedroom door flies open, smashing against the wall behind it with a thud, and I glance up from under my pillow to see my two roommates in the doorway, both eyeing me with shocked expressions—Jenna, who I inherited as a roommate by default, and Meg, who I’ve been living with since sophomore year.
Jenna is the first one to speak. Her curious green gaze, which has been artfully lined with bright aqua eyeliner, scans my bedroom suspiciously until it lands on the curtains. “We heard a loud bang. What the hell is going on in here? Are you okay?”
I toss a pillow and roll to my back, staring at the ceiling to avoid her watchful gaze, measuring my words carefully. “Nothing. I was just upset before.” I give them a glance. “Jenna, you can stop staring at my curtains like a guy is going to jump out from behind ‘em.”
She wishes.
Our other, more laidback roommate, Meg, shrugs her shoulders idly and wanders into the room, plopping herself on the edge of my double bed. Unlike Jenna, Meg is still in pajamas—the fuzzy, footie kind we wore as kids. “It’s Saturday morning. What on earth could you possibly be pissed off about?” Meg looks down at the vintage silver watch on her wrist that she is never without. “It’s barely nine.”
“I’ll give you one guess,” I mutter.
Jenna saunters leisurely to the window, trailing a yellow fingernail along the curtains, none-too-subtly sneaking a peek behind them. Her ever-changing hair is piled in a messy mop on the top of her head, and the lavender and blonde strands artfully wisp around her face when she turns to give me a once over.
“Hmm. My first guess would be parent-related. But… since you’re obviously still wearing the same clothes you had on last night…” Her pert nose wrinkles with distaste and one skillfully plucked eyebrow arches into her hairline. “I’d say you just stumbled in.”