Page 4 of Landon & Shay: Part One

Except that one time nine months ago.

Her grandmother, Maria, had attended Lance’s funeral, and Shay had come with her. They came to the reception at my house, and Shay walked in on me during one of my not-so-manly moments.

I wished she hadn’t seen me that way: broken, disheveled, raw, real.

I also wished Lance hadn’t died, but you know how it goes. Wishes, dreams, hopes—all fiction.

“You sure you want a party?” Greyson asked, lowering his voice and pulling me from my thoughts about Shay. The other guys at the table were talking about basketball and girls, but Greyson seemed unfazed by it all. “With it being Lance’s birthday.”

No one else really knew about my uncle’s birthday, and I was thankful for it. Greyson only knew because he kept track of important things. He was that kind of friend. He had a memory like no other and used it for good. Monica only knew because she collected any information she could somehow use as daggers to stab her victims with. She was the complete opposite of Greyson.

I shrugged. “Rather be with people than alone, I guess.” He went to argue, but I shook my head. “It’s fine. I could use the company. Plus, I don’t see Monica letting up on the idea.”

“I could host at my place,” he offered, but I declined.

Besides, me throwing a party was one thing; Greyson throwing one was a completely different ball game. My parents would be annoyed to hear about the party but would shrug it off pretty quickly. If Greyson’s father found out about him hosting it, he would have a much harsher punishment. If there was anything I knew about Mr. East, it was that he had a violent hand and wasn’t afraid to use it on his wife or his son.

He was lucky I’d never witnessed him laying a hand on my friend. That hand would’ve been chopped off quickly.

A few girls came up to our table, giggling like the damn schoolgirls they were, and they waved our way. It was no secret that every girl had a crush on Greyson, and quite a few had a crush on me, too. It was funny because Greyson and I were pretty different in almost all ways. Greyson’s persona at school was the saintly good student. I was the damn devil, but it turned out, a woman could love the angels in the sunlight and still want to sin at night.

“Rumor has it there’s a party at your house this Saturday, Landon,” one of the girls said, twirling her hair around her finger. “Can we come?”

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“Not yet, but you can get to know me at your party,” she said with a suggestive tone. She stuck her tongue into the side of her cheek and jabbed it in and out for good measure.Geez.I was kind of shocked she didn’t reach straight into my jeans, yank out my cock, and start slobbering all over it.

It was clear they were younger than us—sophomores, probably. No one was more horny than sophomore girls. It was like one day they went from innocently playing with their Barbies to dramatically making Barbie and Ken bang. I understood why fathers worried about their high school daughters. It was likeGirls Gone Wild: High School Edition. If I were a dad, I’d lock the kid in the basement until their thirtieth birthday.

I shrugged off her provocative gesture. “If you can find out the address, you can come.”

Their eyes lit up with excitement, and they giggled, hurrying off on a quest to find out where I lived. If they would’ve asked me, I probably would’ve told them. I was feeling charitable that afternoon.

“So this party is really happening?” Greyson asked.

I bit into my dry chicken patty sandwich and tried to get Lance out of my head and out of my heart. A party would work. It would distract me a bit.

“Yup.” I nodded, one hundred percent sure. “It’s happening.”

I glanced up across the space to see Shay talking to some band geek or something. She was always doing that kind of shit—talking to people in all social classes. People didn’t just love her; theyloveloved her.

Shay was Jackson High’s royalty, but not the bitchy, asshole kind like Monica and me. People liked Monica and me because we scared them. People loved Shay because she was…Shay, the Princess Diana of high school.

Which was exactly why I hated her. I hated how unapologetically happy she was, hated how she had a way of moving around with so much confidence and joy. Her happiness annoyed the living hell out of me.

She looked like a princess, standing tall with bright chocolate doe eyes and plump lips that always smiled. Her skin was a smooth warm tone, and her hair was the darkest of black with light waves. Her body curved in all the right places, and my mind couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like without clothes on. To put it simply, Shay was beautiful. So many dudes called her hot, but I didn’t agree. Calling her hot felt idiotic and cheap because she wasn’t just hot like some girls at our school. She was a vibrant light. She was the spark that lit up the sky. A fucking star.

As cliché and chick flick as it sounded, every guy wanted her, and every girl wanted to be her.

She was friends with them all, too—every single person. Even if she dated someone, they never ended on bad terms. The split always seemed peaceful. Shay not only looked like a damn princess, but she acted like one, too. Cool, calm, collected. Poised. She never went without saying hi to anyone who approached her. She never excluded anyone from any activity. If she hosted a gathering, she’d invite the nerds, the band geeks, and the football players.

She didn’t believe in separation by social class, which kind of made her an anomaly at our school and in life as a whole. It was as if Shay was born with a mind light-years ahead of the rest of us and knew high school status wouldn’t mean shit in the scheme of things. She wasn’t a piece that fit one puzzle. She was a one-size-fits-all person. She managed to find a spot in everyone’s world, and it all seemed so effortless. The geeks at our school talked about Shay the same way the goths did—with love and admiration. She was amazing to everyone.

To everyonebutme.

I was fine with that, though. Truthfully, the idea of Shay being kind to me was enough to make me want to lose my lunch.

I’d take her hateful looks over her gentle doe eyes any day.

---