I'd resorted to hiding in my bedroom, FaceTiming with Gabby. Her beautiful face hung on every word, eyes wide with an eager expression behind her glasses.

"They're talking about football. Like, extensively. While they stand around the grill like a couple of pals from way back," I said.

"I don't care what they're talking about," she scoffed, wrapping a long, dark ringlet around her finger. "Drayton Lahey is in your house. Having barbecue."

"I know," I groaned. "It's like a horror movie out there."

"You think he's hot?" Gabby asked.

"Yes. That doesn't change the fact that he's a di—"

"Dallas?" The knock on my door was followed by Drayton peeking through the gap, searching the room until he found me in the corner under my window. "Food's ready."

Hands in his pockets, leaning against the doorframe with a relaxed smile, he looked as though it wasn't the most bizarre thing in the world to be standing in my bedroom.

"Is that hi—"

"Uhshutupgoodbyeseeyoutomorrow!" I hung up the call, stood up, and smoothed out the black tank top I'd changed into after the water bottle incident.

Drayton watched me with a smug smile. "Talking about me?"

"Actually, yes," I confessed. "Apparently, there was some rumor going around about you and Mara Linden."

I dropped her name because, unfortunately for me, being on the cheer team meant being ear to a bunch of meaningless gossip twenty-four seven, whether I wanted to hear it or not. I knew for a fact he'd slept with her at a Fourth of July pool party at the beginning of summer.

"She's telling everyone that your penis is tiny and your stroke game is weak." The look that seized his features was so good that I was tempted to take a picture. His arrogant expression dropped, and, in its place, mortification bloomed as he visibly swallowed. "The cheer team have been talking about it all day."

That was a half truth. They had been talking about it all day, but more in praise, because apparently, he was as incredible as he looked. Of course he was.

I gave him a sympathetic smile and tapped his arm as I walked past, ignoring the impulsive desire to keep my hand on his biceps a little longer than appropriate. "Smells good. I'm starving."

The aroma of barbecue wafted down the hallway and I followed it out the back door to the yard, where Nathan had arranged the food in the middle of the picnic table. We ate like this all the time; neither of us cooked much, and the grill was easy and convenient. What wasn't normal was the buff star quarterback of my school dragging out a seat and sitting down like he was part of the family.

Drayton had clearly recovered from the blow to his ego, and was now leaning back in the chair, taking a swig of his beer, and winking in my direction. The fact that he knew I was uncomfortable and was enjoying it made me want to slap the bottle straight out of his hand.

"Seriously, why are you still here?" I scowled, leaning over the table. "I refuse to believe that you have nothing better to do."

"Dallas." Nathan gave me a wide-eyed warning as he sat down. "What is your problem tonight?"

"My problem is that you don't even know this guy. He goes to my school, but you invited him to stay for dinner. It's weird."

"I always invite your friends to stay if they're here around dinnertime." Nathan cut into his steak. "You've never had a problem with it before."

"What friends?" I recoiled in confusion. "I have Gabby, and that's it."

"You occasionally have guys here when I come home." Nathan shrugged. "I could be a protective big brother, but instead I invite them for dinner. How rude of me."

He thought that I didn't know that he invited them to hang around so that he could interrogate them and put on the scary-big-brother-I-will-kill-you act. I exhaled and noticed that Drayton was watching me with a curious, confident expression.

The meal consisted of silence from me; I sent Gabby a steady flow of updates, and she kept demanding Snapchats of the hunk across the table. There was no chance that I'd get caught taking pictures of him, though—I'd never live it down. Drayton and Nathan yammered on about the upcoming football season and a couple of away games that the Archwood Wolves had scheduled.

Away games weren't so bad. The cheerleading squad loved them because they meant a night away from home in a nice hotel. And while the rules would say that everyone obeyed curfew and stayed in their assigned rooms, I knew most everyone got up to no good. For me however, I slept, cheered, ate, and barred all attempts at communication. I'd never had any interest in making friends, considering how desperately I wanted to leave next year.

Drayton and I cleared the dishes. The sun had gone down, and the solar lights planted around the edge of the lawn provided a soft glow.

"Cheer, can I ask you something?"

"Cheer?" I peeped over my shoulder as he followed me into the house.

He grinned but offered no further explanation for the nickname. "Where are your parents?"

"They died in a car accident when I was nine. Nathan was seventeen," I explained with my back to him as I filled the sink with hot, soapy water. My parents' death had hurt—it still hurt and I missed them like crazy—but the topic didn't kill me to talk about. "My grandmother, Nan, helped Nathan look after me until she died when I was fifteen."

"Shit. That blows. Are you okay?" He leaned against the counter, exhaling deeply.

"I'm fine." I gave him an apprehensive look. "They've been gone a long time." It would have been comical to see his concern if it wasn't so weird. "You can go home now," I said, offering him an out so that he didn't feel obligated to hang around after he'd eaten. I always felt rude if I dashed too fast after a meal at someone's house.

I scrubbed the dishes but noticed that he wasn't moving. I kept my head down and refused to look up at the boy whom I'd considered to be transparent. I wasn't ready to admit that he might not be such an ass after all. He suddenly pushed off the counter and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that he might be leaving—until he grabbed a dish towel and started drying the dishes.

"What are you doing?" I asked as he whistled an upbeat tune and toweled down the plate in his hands. "Seriously, this night has been weird enough without Drayton Lahey doing dishes in my kitchen. You are aware we've never even talked before?"

"Don't say my name like that," he ordered. "Call me Dray. And whose fault is the lack of conversation? You're antisocial as hell."

"No, I'm not," I stammered. "I'm just . . . reserved."

"Reserved, huh?" He continued toweling the dishes with a smug, disbelieving grin. "Are you reserved with the dudes here in the afternoons?"

I'd hoped that he hadn't caught that earlier dig from Nathan— who still hadn't returned from the "phone call" that he'd heard ten minutes ago. "That's none of your business."

"Come on, I'm curious," he said.

"I have a question of my own." I slipped another plate into the dish rack and hoped that that was a smooth enough transition to a new subject. "Does Emily know that you're here?"

"Emily and I aren't together, Cheer," he said. "She doesn't need to know."

"Does she know that you're not together?" I asked with mild amusement, watching his chiseled back as he sauntered over to the cabinet and put the plate away. "Because it seems that she's under the impression that you two are very much together."

"I just leave her to it, you know? I've never been interested, but she's got her own shit going on. Kind of feel bad for her, so if she wants to fantasize a relationship, whatever."

I wondered if he would elaborate on what she had going on but he continued with the last of the dishes and kept his lips sealed. It made me smile and I realized that I might have been too quick to judge. He wasn't as bad as his behavior would have you believe. We finished the washing up in comfortable quiet, only sharing quick glances, as if we shared a secret, which I guessed we did now. I doubted that anyone was going to find out that he'd spent the evening here. He slipped his phone out of his pocket while I emptied the sink.

"I guess I better head off," he mumbled, reading the screen before he slid it back into his pocket. He glanced around for a moment and then his green gaze settled on me again. "Tell your brother that I said thanks for dinner."

"Sure," I said.

I walked him to the front door and leaned on the frame as he stepped out into the dark night. I admired the motorcycle parked beside the curb; the incandescent beam of the streetlamp shone down on the sleek machine. I gave Drayton a once over, appreciating his toned arms, but more than that, finding myself concerned for his flawless, exposed skin. "Is it safe to wear a tank top when you ride?"

"I don't know." He grinned and rested a hand on the doorframe beside me as he leaned in. "Should we go inside and find out?"

"Wow," I laughed and gave him a light shove in the chest. "That was smooth. A for effort."

He laughed and moved back again. "My jacket is in the seat compartment. With the helmet. I always wear protection."

"Let me guess," I said, refusing to humor his innuendo. "It's leather."

"It sure is. For safety purposes," he called over his shoulder while heading down the footpath, "not because it gives me points for cool. Goodnight, Cheer."

I watched him pull on his jacket, which fit him like a glove, and almost wanted to question the nickname again. But I didn't. He swapped his backward cap for his helmet, and the tinted visor reflected the streetlights above as he swung his leg over the seat. The engine roared to life, loud and obnoxious. Still, I couldn't help but watch with subtle admiration as he left. The entire night had been unexpected, but I wasn't disappointed with its outcome. Not disappointed at all.