Ugh. Why were men so clueless?
Brett Conlon stared into the vivid green eyes of the golden boy of Hawthorne High, wondering why she’d bothered telling him the truth. She should have just pretended she didn’t know who he was. At least then she’d be spared the embarrassment of him not recognizing her.
Granted, there was no reason for the star of her high school football team, Mr. Popularity personified, to remember the artsy, hell-raising girl who’d been three years behind him in school. And even though she’d hung out with an older crowd, she and AJ Walsh definitely hadn’t traveled in the same circles. He’d been friends with the we’re-God’s-gift-to-the-world kids who made up the school’s popular group, which included the snobby cheerleaders. A.k.a. the awful girls who had no qualms about harassing girls like Brett.
When she’d walked up to the bar earlier and seen AJ, all the nasty comments she’d endured back then had buzzed in her mind and instantly triggered her hostility. She’d probably been ruder than she should have, considering AJ had never ganged up on her the way his cheerleader friends had. But he’d still been present for it, and when she’d spotted him behind that counter, her hands had involuntarily circled into fists as long-ago anger and embarrassment crept in like a puddle of oozing tar.
“C’mon, you’re not allowed to drop a bomb like that and not follow through,” he said quietly, intently studying her face as if trying to place her.
Brett met his gaze head on. “We went to high school together.”
A crease dug into his forehead. “No way. I would totally remember you if we did.”
“Why? Because of the tats?” She gestured to her ink. “I didn’t have these back then.”
“Not the tats.” Heat darkened his expression. “Your eyes. They’re so dark they’re almost black. I’d never forget eyes as sexy as yours.”
Oh God, he was flirting with her.
AJ Walsh was flirting with her.
She suddenly had the most ridiculous urge to sprint to the ladies’ room and make sure she looked okay. That her hair wasn’t tangled and her mascara hadn’t run. It was sad, really, how one blast from the past could turn a person into a stammering, insecure teenager all over again.
Or how one flirty remark from a guy who’d never given her a second glance in high school had caused the teenage girl inside her to do wild, excited cartwheels like the cheerleaders AJ used to hang out with.
Fortunately, the older Brett stepped in and kicked teenage Brett in the shin before she could make a total fool of herself.
“Yeah, well, my eyes haven’t changed, and trust me, we went to the same school. AJ,” she added meaningfully.
“The same grade?” he challenged.
She almost lied, just to make him feel bad about not knowing who she was, but she wasn’t that much of a jackass. “I was three years behind you,” she admitted.
Triumph lit his expression. “Ha. See? I definitely would’ve remembered you if you were in my class.” He shrugged. “I didn’t really chill with anyone younger than me.”
“Too cool for us young’uns, huh?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
The teasing smile he shot her made her heart skip a beat, and when he took a teeny step closer, she was floored by the sheer size of him. Whoa. He was a lot bigger than she remembered. He’d always been tall, but now he was ripped.
As his broad, muscular frame towered over her, she couldn’t help but gape at his arms. Sleek, powerful biceps poured from the sleeves of his snug black tee, and his chest was so deliciously defined she could see the individual ridges of muscle rippling beneath the fabric of his shirt.
She was momentarily dazed, incapable of doing anything but full-on ogling.
Crap. It was impossible to dwell on the bad memories when he was smiling at her like that, especially when AJ’s only crime in high school was being too damn popular for his own good.
“So do I ever get to learn your name, or are you withholding it as my punishment for not knowing who you were?” he asked, that boyish grin widening.
“I’m Brett.”
“Brett…not usually a girl’s name.”
She sighed. “My mom was obsessed with Hemingway. She named me after a female character from one of his books.”
“The Sun Also Rises,” he said with a nod. “I love that book.”
It didn’t surprise her that he knew exactly which book she’d been talking about. Another thing she remembered about the guy—he wasn’t your typical dumb jock. Nope, AJ Walsh had been the absolute perfect package. Smart, funny, gorgeous, athletic. It was just too bad he hadn’t had better taste in friends.
“So tell me,” he said, sounding pensive. “What heinous crime did I commit back in the day to get you all grumpy and scowly?”
“Nothing. You did nothing.” She paused. “Some of your friends weren’t so nice to me, though.”
“Ah. Let me guess—the cheerleaders.”