Page 63 of The Holiday Clause

Greyson, as always, got silent and pissed. Six beers later, and she was tripping over her words, laughing at jokes that probably weren’t that funny, and speaking without a filter while woodsmoke clung to her hair and clothes.

When she needed to pee, she excused herself. The walk back to the house from the yard was a long one that gave her plenty of time to realize she was drunk and should probably go home. But she wasn’t ready to leave—wasn’t ready to face the rejection letter or the uncertain future it represented.

After using the bathroom, she came face-to-face with Grey’s friend, Andy, who waited just outside of the bathroom like a predator who’d cornered his prey.

“Having fun?”

“Mm-hm. I am.” Beer was amazing, and she wondered why she’d waited so long to try it, why she’d been so good for so long.

Andy stepped closer, close enough that she could smell cologne mixed with smoke and beer. “So you’re a senior?”

She nodded, the movement making her head swim.

“Planning on going to college?”

She didn’t want to think about college at the moment, didn’t want to face the reality of closed doors and limited options. “I’m undecided.”

He looked down and took her measure with eyes that seemed to catalog every inch. “You seeing anyone?”

She shook her head. Andy was one of those guys who was always in the background at Greyson’s table or parties. She’d met him years ago but never really talked to him.

“How come?” He was standing right in front of her now, close enough to touch her, and when he did—fingers trailing down her arm with clear intention—she didn’t pull back. “You’re pretty enough. You should have guys falling all over you.”

It was a little hard to date when Logan or Soren or Greyson were always chasing guys away from her and scaring them off with threats and territorial glares. When she did get the slightest attention, it reminded her how much she wanted a boyfriend and how nice it would be to have someone special in her life.

She looked up at Andy through beer-blurred vision. He seemed interested. He had a nice face and dressed okay. There wasn’t anything wrong with him that she could tell.

He grinned, catching her checking him out. “Like what you see?” he asked, holding her stare with confidence that left her unsure. He was either grossly cocky or attractively assertive.

Did he just move closer?

She had no game when it came to flirting. Her head was fuzzy with alcohol and rebellion, and she really didn’t have any concrete thoughts about Andy.

“I like your hat.” It wasn’t a typical baseball hat. It had a smaller brim, and she liked the olive green color. It looked vintage.

“Yeah?” He lifted the hat and turned it around so the brim was facing backward, then he angled his arm onto the wall to lean over her, caging her in. “What else do you like?”

She looked up into his eyes, very aware of his proximity, of the way her back pressed against the cool wall. “I don’t know.”

“How about being kissed? Do you like that?”

She shrugged and nodded at the same time, her heart hammering against her ribs. Andy leaned down and?—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Before Andy could answer, Greyson ripped him off of her and threw him a good six feet in the opposite direction, the sound of impact echoing through the hallway.

“Greyson!”

“Shut the fuck up, Wren!” He towered over Andy, every muscle coiled with rage. “What did I tell you about going near her?”

“We were just talking, Grey.”

Mortification choked her as Greyson turned into a complete Neanderthal. She shoved him with both hands. “Knock it off!”

He spun and caught her by the shoulders, his grip firm enough to bruise. “I told you to go home.”

“You’re not in charge of me!”

“This is my fucking house!” He pointed in the direction of the door with violent emphasis. “You’re drunk and making a fool of yourself. Go find Soren and tell him to drive you home.”