"do it," I still couldn't. He yelled at me and called me a cocktease and frigid and damaged. A couple of days later, he broke up with me. Now seeing him with Morgan Anderson, the school slut, made perfect sense; he was going to get what he wanted—what he couldn't get from me.
My heart was breaking all over again, just watching them.
" Would you like to dance?" a familiar voice asks out of nowhere.
I look up, and I am staring into understanding hazel eyes—Evan. He reaches his hand out to me, and after some hesitation, I finally put my hand in his.
" What about Chelsea? Won't she…won't she be mad?"
" Now why would she be mad? I'm just going to have one dance with a beautiful girl who just happens to be my best friend." He quirks an eyebrow.
I nod. Evan leads me to the dance floor and spins me around. I can't help but giggle.
" That's better. I don't like to see you upset, Zoey. He's a dickhead. He doesn't know what he had when he had it," Evan tries to reassure me.
I know he's just being nice. I know he's just being my friend. My crush on him lingers just below the surface, but I keep it squashed. I don't want to ruin the best friendship I've ever had with stupid girly feelings. Evan leads and I of course I follow. He's a perfect dance partner. He's just perfect. I hope Chelsea realizes just how lucky she is. The song ends and turns into something too fast.
" Thanks for the dance, Miss Richards." Evan bows.
I giggle. "Anytime, Mr. Harris." I return with a curtsy.
Evan gives me my favorite smile before he leaves the dance floor and goes back to Chelsea.
" Zoey, are you okay?" Evan asks.
"Yeah, I'm good, just got lost in my head there for a second."
Evan shakes his head and laughs. "Some things never change."
"They certainly don't."
I follow Evan off the dance floor and bee-line it straight to the bar. I approach and I see Griffin and he's smiling…at me. Cue butterfly action round three. My eyes drink every ounce of him in as I approach. I hadn't gotten a good look at him when we met, but now my eyes wander up and down his body. He is wearing a gladiator costume, that much I knew when we first started talking earlier tonight, but what I didn't notice was the body attached to it. He isn't built like Brett—let's face it, no one is built like Brett "the tank" Harris—and he isn't built like Evan; tall, lean and chiseled. Griffin is slightly shorter than Evan but still taller than me. His shoulders are broad and strong. He definitely has a body that he works at, but not overly. You don't get his athletic build sitting at home eating bon-bons, but he doesn't appear to be one of those slaves to the gym types. Griffin is definitely easy on the eyes with his boy next door looks—that pearly white, yet warm smile, sparkling blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair. A look I definitely could get used to—a look I am getting used to.
"Hi."
"Hi," Griffin echoes.
"Oh, please," Evan mumbles, and thankfully only my ears hear him. I elbow him in the side.
"Ow," he whispers, rubbing his side.
I lean into him. "Play nice or else I will elbow more than just your side."
"Fine."
"Griffin, this is Evan, my best friend. Evan, this is Griffin."
The two exchange handshakes.
"So, how did you avoid being in the contest?" Evan asks, eyeing Griffin up and down, like he's sizing him up.
"Oh, I was luckily able to dodge that bullet this year. Usually Patrick and Geoffrey have me up on that stage. But, um, after a few years, I learned to hide. So, I hid when they were in search of contestants."
"Damn it, why didn't I do that? Oh, I know why, because someone handed me over to them." Evan tries his best to give me his version of a bitch brow; it just makes him look weird.
I laugh, hard.
"Don't blame me. It's 'cause you're Tarzalicious. They wanted you, and they were going to have you no matter how much I protested," I remind him.
"Um, I hate to say it, Evan, but she's right. Once those two get an idea in their heads, there's no
My heart was breaking all over again, just watching them.
" Would you like to dance?" a familiar voice asks out of nowhere.
I look up, and I am staring into understanding hazel eyes—Evan. He reaches his hand out to me, and after some hesitation, I finally put my hand in his.
" What about Chelsea? Won't she…won't she be mad?"
" Now why would she be mad? I'm just going to have one dance with a beautiful girl who just happens to be my best friend." He quirks an eyebrow.
I nod. Evan leads me to the dance floor and spins me around. I can't help but giggle.
" That's better. I don't like to see you upset, Zoey. He's a dickhead. He doesn't know what he had when he had it," Evan tries to reassure me.
I know he's just being nice. I know he's just being my friend. My crush on him lingers just below the surface, but I keep it squashed. I don't want to ruin the best friendship I've ever had with stupid girly feelings. Evan leads and I of course I follow. He's a perfect dance partner. He's just perfect. I hope Chelsea realizes just how lucky she is. The song ends and turns into something too fast.
" Thanks for the dance, Miss Richards." Evan bows.
I giggle. "Anytime, Mr. Harris." I return with a curtsy.
Evan gives me my favorite smile before he leaves the dance floor and goes back to Chelsea.
" Zoey, are you okay?" Evan asks.
"Yeah, I'm good, just got lost in my head there for a second."
Evan shakes his head and laughs. "Some things never change."
"They certainly don't."
I follow Evan off the dance floor and bee-line it straight to the bar. I approach and I see Griffin and he's smiling…at me. Cue butterfly action round three. My eyes drink every ounce of him in as I approach. I hadn't gotten a good look at him when we met, but now my eyes wander up and down his body. He is wearing a gladiator costume, that much I knew when we first started talking earlier tonight, but what I didn't notice was the body attached to it. He isn't built like Brett—let's face it, no one is built like Brett "the tank" Harris—and he isn't built like Evan; tall, lean and chiseled. Griffin is slightly shorter than Evan but still taller than me. His shoulders are broad and strong. He definitely has a body that he works at, but not overly. You don't get his athletic build sitting at home eating bon-bons, but he doesn't appear to be one of those slaves to the gym types. Griffin is definitely easy on the eyes with his boy next door looks—that pearly white, yet warm smile, sparkling blue eyes, and sandy blonde hair. A look I definitely could get used to—a look I am getting used to.
"Hi."
"Hi," Griffin echoes.
"Oh, please," Evan mumbles, and thankfully only my ears hear him. I elbow him in the side.
"Ow," he whispers, rubbing his side.
I lean into him. "Play nice or else I will elbow more than just your side."
"Fine."
"Griffin, this is Evan, my best friend. Evan, this is Griffin."
The two exchange handshakes.
"So, how did you avoid being in the contest?" Evan asks, eyeing Griffin up and down, like he's sizing him up.
"Oh, I was luckily able to dodge that bullet this year. Usually Patrick and Geoffrey have me up on that stage. But, um, after a few years, I learned to hide. So, I hid when they were in search of contestants."
"Damn it, why didn't I do that? Oh, I know why, because someone handed me over to them." Evan tries his best to give me his version of a bitch brow; it just makes him look weird.
I laugh, hard.
"Don't blame me. It's 'cause you're Tarzalicious. They wanted you, and they were going to have you no matter how much I protested," I remind him.
"Um, I hate to say it, Evan, but she's right. Once those two get an idea in their heads, there's no
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