Pool Boys by Erin Haft Page A

you’d probably want to be alone with—”
    “I probably what?” Valerie interrupted. “Georgia, you just blew off your two best friends at dinner to come out here and talk to me. I’m not going blow you off for some guy—no matter how cute he is. I mean it.”
    Georgia blinked. As always, a dozen different questions spun through her mind before she could manage to speak. But in the end, they all faded as Marcus Craft sidled up beside them, looking frustratingly gorgeous in a blue shirt and khakis.
    “So what are you two lovely ladies doing out here, all by your lonesome?” he asked, as nonchalantly as could be.
    “Why, waiting for you, of course,” Valerie answered, winking at Georgia.
    Georgia grinned but all she could think was, Brooke is going to kill me.

Chapter Eight
Double Betrayed
    Brooke kept sliding deeper into the seat at the empty table. She shouldn’t have stashed those Gummy Worms in her Gucci clutch. She hadn’t planned on eating them. But that was what happened after being ditched at dinner by her two best friends. She glanced at her watch, an old, silver antique keepsake from her dad. Ten fifteen. Damn. The plates had been cleared; the last stragglers had finished their dessert ports; even Jimmy had vanished.
    The patio doors opened. Her heart swelled. Had Marcus returned, hoping to pick up where they’d left off?
    Nope. It was Caleb.
    His curly black hair stuck straight up, as if he’d just stepped in from a wind tunnel. He was wearing some sort of ridiculous, fuzzy, homespun-ish brown sweater—something he’d most likely dug out of the trunk of his car, thinking nobody would be around to see it.
    “There you are,” Caleb mumbled. He sat down in Georgia’s long-abandoned seat. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
    Brooke’s recently reglossed lips twisted in a puzzled smile. “You have?”
    “Yeah.” His teeth chattered. “Man, it’s cold out there. What ever happened to global warming?” He eyed Brooke’s metallic clutch, sitting on the rumpled white tablecloth. “You got any of those Gummy Worms left?”
    “Gummy Worms?” Brooke echoed, pretending to be offended. “I didn’t bring any candy, Caleb. I came for dinner.”
    “Oh, give it a rest. You always bring Gummy Worms.” Caleb reached for her clutch, fiddled with the buckle clasp, cracked it open, and then frowned. “Lip gloss, wallet, eyeliner—”
    “Excuse me,” Brooke interrupted. She snatched it away from him before he could unearth her you-never-know condom stash. “That’s my purse, you jackass. It’s private.” She sighed. “So what’s up, Caleb? Were you hoping I could help you smuggle that sweater out of here without anyone seeing it?”
    “Ha, ha,” he said, rolling his eyes. But the sound was hollow, even for a fake laugh.
    “Are you okay?” she asked, softening her tone. “It’s me, Brooke, remember? The candy addict?”
    He tried to smile. “Well…I feel weird asking this.” He lowered his voice. His black mop of hair began to tumble down in his eyes. “This really is private. You know, even more than the contents of your purse.” He focused on the tablecloth. “Is everything all right between you, Charlotte, and Georgia?”
    Brooke blinked. She felt an odd, unpleasant flutter in her stomach. Maybe that was just the Gummy Worms.
    “As far as I know,” she answered coolly, tossing her hair. “Why?”
    “Well, I was looking for Charlotte just now. And Ethan told me that she’d gone off to look for Georgia. Out at the golf course. And—”
    “The golf course?” Brooke cut in. “Why there?”
    Caleb shrugged. “That was my question, too. Ethan said that he’d seen her heading off toward the back nine—”
    The patio doors burst open with a wobbly BOOM.
    Charlotte swept into the dining room, looking even more disheveled and distraught than Caleb. Her hair was in what she called “Fire-in-the-hole” mode: an explosion of red curls in every direction, and her cardigan