Page 72 of Vacancy

Foster reached up and tapped the horseshoe above the exit as he left.

When the door closed behind him, Damien glanced at me in question. “Hungry?”

I looked up into his curious, whiskey eyes and melted. I’d never liked a guy moreaftermeeting his friends, but his had somehow made Damien even more appealing to me.

They’d peeled away some of his mystery and revealed how sweet and personable of a guy he actually was, which was a bit of a shame because the enigma had been a rush. But the man they exposed was downright charming.

I really liked him. And that made everything so much more complicated. But instead of running for the hills, I smiled and answered, “I’m starving.”

19

OAKLYNN

The four of us ate in relative silence for a few minutes with me sitting on a stool at the end of the counter, Damien leaning against the counter near me, Alec slumped in a chair at the table, and Keene moving periodically from place to place around the kitchen, unable to stay still for very long.

I’d kicked off my flip-flops and was swinging my bare feet lazily as I polished off the piece I’d been working on.

But when I glanced at the box, only to find nothing but crust left, I moaned piteously, then told myself it was just as well; the two pieces I’d gotten had been so loaded with toppings I was actually pretty full. I didn’t need to bestuffed.

“Oh God, that hit the spot,” I announced, holding my stomach as I rocked back on my stool, hoping to make a little more room in there.

Snickering, Keene elbowed Alec, and together they looked at each other, chorusing, “That’s what she said.”

Good Lord. I sighed and sent Damien a wry glance.

In unison, we scoffed, “Freshmen.”

Then we laughed, tickled that we nailed that so perfectly.

I was leaning toward him and setting a hand on his shoulder, enjoying the moment when the back door blew open again.

But instead of Foster—the pizza-delivering football player—reappearing, some newbie I’d never met before, wearing chef whites, swept inside in a grand flurry, grinning broadly and spreading open his arms as he said, “Break out the good stuff, boys; we’re celebrating tonight.”

Since Alec was sitting the closest to him, the newcomer leaned down to grab the curly-headed tall boy by the face and smacked a loud, quick kiss straight to his mouth.

“Ugh!” Scrunching his face in disgust as the stranger pulled away, Alec batted his hands over his mouth as if to clean it. “Unwelcome touch!Unwelcometouch!”

The other guy merely patted his cheek affectionately and said, “I finally made commis chef.”

Then he turned his attention to Keene. But instead of kissinghim, he showed him his backside and started twerking at him.

Keene playfully smacked him on the side of the butt. “Sweet, man! Who the hell did you have to fuck to get that?”

“That’s the thing. Absolutely no one.” The commis chef opened his arms as he answered as if he was surprised by that fact too. “I got it all by my damn self because I’m just that awesome.” Then he spun toward Damien and pointed at him with two hands, grinning contagiously. “Archie, you big lug, you. Come on, bring it in.” He opened his arms again and stepped forward.

Damien met him halfway and accepted the full, open hug. “Congrats, man,” he said, nodding out his pride as he pulled away.

His friend looked a little misty-eyed with joy as he patted Damien’s cheek.

He was just as attractive as the rest of them with dark, messy hair that seemed as if he’d styled it by merely running his hand through it. But it worked for him. In fact, from the way he moved and wore his clothes, it didn’t seem as if he put much effort into anything, and it made him seem more posh than if he’d primped all day. He was just one of those people who excelled without even trying.

He turned his lazy smile my way and tipped his head for half a second before opening his arms. “And, pretty lady I don’t know…” He lifted one eyebrow in invitation, silently asking if I was game.

I laughed and shrugged awhy-notback at him. “Congratulations,” I offered, slipping off the stool to hug him as well.

“Thanks.” He sent me a rueful, almost boyish glance as he pulled away.

“So, whatisa commis chef?” I asked.

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