squeal, “Tyler!”
She turned to see Tyler Hawthorne doing his best to resist Rebecca’s attempt to cling to him.
Not that she could blame her cousin. He was dressed in jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket. Casual, but he made it look as elegant as a tux. He was glancing around the room, saw Amanda, and smiled.
She smiled back, raised her hand in a little wave, felt like an idiot, and turned away.
To come face-to-face with a nightmare.
She hadn’t seen Todd Norenbecker in eight years. Not since the night that her parents, and Brad and Rebecca’s parents, had died in a car accident. It also happened to be the night of a neighborhood Christmas party. And the night she lost her virginity to Todd.
They had been dating for a teenage eternity—three months. Todd had spent most of that time begging her to give it up to him. He had swornundying devotion to her in the same breath with which he had said he would have to find a more “mature” girlfriend if she wouldn’t have sex with him. Being incurably honest with herself, later she had owned up to the fact that she had never loved Todd any more than he had loved her. Curiosity and hormones—and for her, a long-since-abandoned, but then oh-so-strong desire to fit in—had driven her to experiment that night. An experiment that had never inspired her to try it again.
The accident that killed her parents severely injured Amanda, and she had spent several weeks in the hospital. Todd never visited her, never called, didn’t do so much as send her a text message saying, “Sorry about your parents.” Ron, who had always disliked Todd, had been by her side as often as possible.
“You remember Todd!” Brad was saying.
Todd smiled smugly.
“No,” she said, “I don’t think there’s any reason I should.”
Brad looked startled and uneasy, and she realized in that moment that Brad probably didn’t know much of how her history with Todd had ended—Brad’s parents had also died in that accident, and understandably, any thought of Amanda’s love life and breakups at that time wouldn’t have registered on anyone else’s radar.
She started to turn away, but Todd grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her toward him.
“Hey!” Brad protested.
Todd ignored him. She could smell the booze on Todd’s breath, and tried to squirm away from him. Painfully tightening his grip on her shoulder, he said in a loud voice, “Don’t know me, Amanda? What a liar. I was your first and you know it! You begged me for it—”
“Take your hands off her,” a commanding voice interrupted. “Apologize, and then shut the hell up.”
Tyler Hawthorne. Could her humiliation be any more complete?
“Mind your own fucking business, asshole!” Todd said. He let go of her, then took a swing at Tyler.
It missed.
“Oh, thank you for that,” Tyler said. His fist flew into Todd’s face.
Women screamed as Todd toppled backward into the bar, then hit the floor.
“Apologize to her,” Tyler said.
“It’s not necessary,” Amanda muttered, mortified. She ducked her head and stumbled away through the crowd surrounding them.
She heard Todd say, “Apologize to that—”
But before he could finish his sentence, there was the sound of blows, the crash of furniture, and more shouts and screams.
She hurried out the door and all but ran to her car.
Driving through the desert night helped to calm her. A motorcycle had passed her old Honda several miles ago, pulling far ahead of her on the narrow road, then settling at a steady speed that kept her car about half a mile behind it. Whoever it was had to have come from the party—although she had since passed some small side roads, there weren’t any between the mansion and the point where she had first noticed the motorcycle.
Since everyone at the party had been three sheets to the wind, she was happy to let the biker pass her. Having her car rear-ended by a drunk on a bike in the middle of the desert would,
She turned to see Tyler Hawthorne doing his best to resist Rebecca’s attempt to cling to him.
Not that she could blame her cousin. He was dressed in jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt, and a leather jacket. Casual, but he made it look as elegant as a tux. He was glancing around the room, saw Amanda, and smiled.
She smiled back, raised her hand in a little wave, felt like an idiot, and turned away.
To come face-to-face with a nightmare.
She hadn’t seen Todd Norenbecker in eight years. Not since the night that her parents, and Brad and Rebecca’s parents, had died in a car accident. It also happened to be the night of a neighborhood Christmas party. And the night she lost her virginity to Todd.
They had been dating for a teenage eternity—three months. Todd had spent most of that time begging her to give it up to him. He had swornundying devotion to her in the same breath with which he had said he would have to find a more “mature” girlfriend if she wouldn’t have sex with him. Being incurably honest with herself, later she had owned up to the fact that she had never loved Todd any more than he had loved her. Curiosity and hormones—and for her, a long-since-abandoned, but then oh-so-strong desire to fit in—had driven her to experiment that night. An experiment that had never inspired her to try it again.
The accident that killed her parents severely injured Amanda, and she had spent several weeks in the hospital. Todd never visited her, never called, didn’t do so much as send her a text message saying, “Sorry about your parents.” Ron, who had always disliked Todd, had been by her side as often as possible.
“You remember Todd!” Brad was saying.
Todd smiled smugly.
“No,” she said, “I don’t think there’s any reason I should.”
Brad looked startled and uneasy, and she realized in that moment that Brad probably didn’t know much of how her history with Todd had ended—Brad’s parents had also died in that accident, and understandably, any thought of Amanda’s love life and breakups at that time wouldn’t have registered on anyone else’s radar.
She started to turn away, but Todd grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her toward him.
“Hey!” Brad protested.
Todd ignored him. She could smell the booze on Todd’s breath, and tried to squirm away from him. Painfully tightening his grip on her shoulder, he said in a loud voice, “Don’t know me, Amanda? What a liar. I was your first and you know it! You begged me for it—”
“Take your hands off her,” a commanding voice interrupted. “Apologize, and then shut the hell up.”
Tyler Hawthorne. Could her humiliation be any more complete?
“Mind your own fucking business, asshole!” Todd said. He let go of her, then took a swing at Tyler.
It missed.
“Oh, thank you for that,” Tyler said. His fist flew into Todd’s face.
Women screamed as Todd toppled backward into the bar, then hit the floor.
“Apologize to her,” Tyler said.
“It’s not necessary,” Amanda muttered, mortified. She ducked her head and stumbled away through the crowd surrounding them.
She heard Todd say, “Apologize to that—”
But before he could finish his sentence, there was the sound of blows, the crash of furniture, and more shouts and screams.
She hurried out the door and all but ran to her car.
Driving through the desert night helped to calm her. A motorcycle had passed her old Honda several miles ago, pulling far ahead of her on the narrow road, then settling at a steady speed that kept her car about half a mile behind it. Whoever it was had to have come from the party—although she had since passed some small side roads, there weren’t any between the mansion and the point where she had first noticed the motorcycle.
Since everyone at the party had been three sheets to the wind, she was happy to let the biker pass her. Having her car rear-ended by a drunk on a bike in the middle of the desert would,
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