But when I actually got down to the pool deck, all thoughts of beer and burgers evaporated, replaced by pure, decadent, desperate lust. And not the teenage crush kind, either. No, I saw Evan Black shirtless and in swim trunks that clung in a way that made my sixteen-year-old hormones light up. His wet hair was swept back from his face, and he was brandishing a metal spatula as he stood by the grill, laughing with two other guys, who I later learned were his best friends, Cole August and Tyler Sharp.
All three seemed younger than the other four students who also populated the lush backyard. I later learned that I was right. The others were in their last year of grad school, whereas Evan was still an undergrad who’d been given special dispensation to take the class. And Tyler and Cole weren’t even enrolled at Northwestern. Tyler was a freshman at Loyola. Cole was a year older than Tyler, and had just come back from some sort of art internship in Rome. They’d come with Evan who, along with the others, made up the whole of that summer’s seminar class in finance.
Together, Cole, Tyler, and Evan were a smorgasbord of hotness that even my reasonably inexperienced eyes were more than capable of appreciating. But Evan was the only one that I wanted to take a bite out of.
I heard my uncle call my name, and the three of them turned to look in my direction. I stopped breathing as Evan’s gaze swept toward me, his expression never changing as he looked me over and then, oh-so casually, went back to flipping burgers.
I’m not sure what sort of movie I’d had running subliminally in my head. Something wild and romantic, I guess, because the moment he turned away, I felt a hot wave of disappointment wash over me. And that, of course, was immediately replaced by mortification. Could he tell what I was thinking? Was he going to think of me now as Jahn’s gawkish niece? The one with the schoolgirl crush?
Holy crap, the idea was horrifying.
“Hey, Angie,” Jahn called, his words jerking my posture straight as effectively as a string pulling a marionette. “You joining us for burgers?”
“I—” My words had stuck in my throat, and I knew I couldn’t stay there. I needed space. Hell, I needed air. “I—I think I’m coming down with something.” I blurted the words, then turned and ran back into the house, certain that my burning cheeks were a fire hazard.
I tried to concentrate on television. On a book. On screwing around on the Internet. But nothing held my attention. My mind was too full of Evan, and in the end I went to bed early. Not because I was truly sick, but because I wanted the pleasure of the dark. The thrill of sliding my hand down my belly and under the band of my underwear, then touching myself with my eyes closed as I imagined that it was Evan’s fingers upon me. His fingers, his tongue, every decadent inch of him.
It was a bedtime fantasy that became a personal favorite, and one I repeated many nights over the next few years. Fortunately, I didn’t repeat the squealing and running like a twit every time Evan came around. Fortunate because Jahn took a fatherly liking to them, and those three guys became a fixture at the house. And since I wasn’t inclined to spend my summer hiding inside, I began to venture out. By August, I thought of Tyler and Cole like big brothers. As for Evan—no way would I ever feel brotherly toward him, but at least I could carry on a conversation without imagining his lips on mine.
Jahn called them the Three Dog Knights, because the Three Musketeers wasn’t original enough for guys as unique as them. “Besides,” he’d joked one evening as he hooked an arm around my shoulder and grinned at the guys, “this way I have my knights and my princess.”
Evan focused those hypnotic gray eyes on me, obviously considering the comment. “Is that what you are?”
I froze, stunned by the question. Grace had always been the princess to my jester. But now that she was dead, I’d slipped on the mantle even though it was an awkward, uncomfortable fit.
He was watching me—his gaze holding steady on my face as I floundered for a reply, and for a moment I thought that he saw the girl beneath the facade and the family name. I thought that he saw me.
Then he smiled, all casual and false, and the spell was broken. “It’s just that in the stories, the princess is always dragonbait.”
I had no idea how I was supposed to respond to that, and my discomfort made my temper flare—and then explode when Tyler and Cole both guffawed and Evan shot them a cocky I’ve won this round grin.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said coldly. “I won’t ever be dragonbait.”
“No?” He looked me up and down, and it took every ounce of my self-control to stand still as his eyes raked over me. “I guess we’ll see,” he finally said, and then without another word, he turned around and walked away.
I watched him leave, feeling itchy and unsatisfied. I wanted something—something big and wild. Something like the sizzle and pop that Evan’s slow, heated gaze had made bubble up inside me.
Something? Oh, please. How much bullshit was that? I knew exactly what I wanted—or more accurately, I knew who I wanted. And he’d just flat out left, as uninterested in me as I was enraptured by him.
As I bit back a frown, I saw my uncle watching me with an odd expression, and for the first time I feared that he knew my secret: I had more than an innocent schoolgirl crush on Evan Black. And somehow, someway, I was going to do something about it.
I released a long-suffering sigh, my eyes still fixed on the almost-magical image of Evan in his tux. I didn’t know if I was charmingly optimistic or sadly pathetic. All I knew was that despite the years that had passed—and despite the lack of any interest on his part whatsoever—my fascination with Evan Black never waned.