His chuckle makes every inch of my skin light up, right down to my hair follicles. How did he just do that? He holds out his hand. “Crosby.”
I finally let our eyes meet because I’ve decided that I’m not turned on by the name. It’s not adorable at all. And I’m definitely not thinking of how it might sound in my mouth while I moan, my body crushed against all that hardness, my legs wrapped around him.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, letting him squeeze my hand in his. The skin of his hand is warm and rough, with a hunk of metal in the middle. I look down at our joined hands and see he wears a weird skull ring on his right hand.
“Interesting ring,” I say, intending to make the words sound snobby, but they escape me sounding more earnest than I intended.
“Thanks,” Crosby says. “I got it to commemorate the day I met my idol at this con I went to as a kid. You might know him, he was in that movie…”
I try to listen as he talks about some guy I have no clue about, but wind up just staring at his eyes, praying he doesn’t quiz me on any of this geekery later.
3
Crosby
She’s already bored with me.
Ridley’s shockingly beautiful eyes are already glazing over and I’ve just barely made a mention of my idol since childhood. I know in my head that I don’t have chance with this girl. But really, how could I even consider flirting with someone who doesn’t freak out at the mention of Army of Darkness?
Still, I like looking at her. But I should figure out a way to pull her back from the edge of Mean Girl boredom for the sake of familial harmony.
Turns out, I don’t have to.
The two of us spring two steps apart from one another at the sound of another woman’s voice echoing down the hall, accompanied by the sound of heels on the marble floor and the indulgent chuckling of my father.
“Oh!” chirps an older, more severe version of the young lady I’ve been speaking to. “You must be Crosby! I see you’ve met my daughter Ridley!”
Oh shit. This is the spoiled daughter I’ve dreaded meeting? I have to scramble my thoughts and my feelings. Something in her haughty expression is a flat-out lie, and I see something deeper, something vulnerable about her.
Bianca Rushmore turns to my father and hugs his arm like a teenage girl would hug her boyfriend. If I weren’t so skeptical of this entire relationship, I might think they look cute together. But then I realize no, it’s just because I kind of want someone to snuggle up to me like that.
Someone like Ridley.
My father introduces himself to Ridley, and he does that embarrassing thing he always does whenever he meets a new acquaintance. Presses his palms flat together and does the yogi bow.
“Namaste,” says my father.
My eyes go from my father to Ridley and I have to bite back a chortle when I see Ridley’s lip curl up. “Mother, I think your boyfriend thinks we’re going to do a yoga class right here in the hallway.”
Bianca laughs it off, but I can tell she’s seething at her daughter’s sarcasm.
“Well, maybe if you learned how to stretch properly through yoga you wouldn't have had that injury last year that cost your school the state swim title.”
I can tell Bianca is a force to be reckoned with, and I’m not prepared. Something inside me wants to protect Ridley, stand up to her mother for her. I’m not ready for a moment like this.
I spend all day indoors, writing gaming code and avoiding human contact, so even meeting a normal person is awkward for me. I knew I was going to be meeting at least one or more Rushmores—like the Kennedy clan of our town—so I should have come more prepared. But nothing prepared me for meeting Ridley. I don’t know anything about what swim title her mother is talking about. And I don’t care.
“Mrs. Rushmore, or, is it Ms. Rushmore? I…, um. Thank you for inviting me and my father into your beautiful home. I’m very much looking forward to celebrating the holidays with you and your charming daughter.”
Ridley, Bianca, and my father all look at me like I’m certifiable. Well, what did I expect? I just started babbling before I knew what to say.
“Neil,” Bianca says, “your son is very formal. Please tell him to relax; this isn’t the White House.”
Could have fooled me.
This gigantic house is decked out from ceiling to floors with enough posh decorations to make a clod like me very nervous, yet none of this grandeur can compare to the beauty that is Ridley Rushmore.
Bianca claps her hands together noisily to distract us all from this awkward moment that I created. “So, tomorrow at noon is the big photo shoot by the tree. Don’t forget to wear something blue.”