2. Solomon
TWO
SOLOMON
Cecelia Ransome is dancing a few feet away from me, and I can’t keep my eyes off her.
This is nothing new for me. For the last two years I’ve found myself staring at her any time we happen to be in the same vicinity.
She’s gorgeous, for starters. I’ve never seen eyes like that, so dark blue they’re almost a shocking navy in certain lights.
When she’s around campus I usually see her long hair back in a braid, but every once in a while, she leaves it down to fall over her shoulders in a dark, shiny curtain.
I think about what her hair would feel like between my fingers way more than I probably should.
But I figure it’s better to obsess about her hair than her body—which my brain would have no problem doing.
She’s on the shorter side, her figure both curvy and athletic, as you’d expect from the star winger on a division one soccer team.
Tonight, she’s wearing tight jeans that show off the strength in her thick thighs and… yeah. Fucking gorgeous.
She’s also fierce and funny and joyful in a way that I have never been and never could be.
Cecelia scares the shit out of me. And I’m pretty sure she has no idea I exist.
“Dude.” My best friend snaps his fingers in front of my face. “You’re doing that thing again.”
I grunt and manage to tear my eyes away before Jason notices what I was staring at. There would be no end to the shit he’d give me if he knew the level of my obsession with Cecelia Ransome.
Jay is friends with her. Hell, he’s friends with the majority of the campus. Much like Cecelia, Jay has that confident, extroverted quality that people always seem to be drawn to. He doesn’t take anything too seriously and he laughs a lot.
Basically, the exact opposite of me.
Without my permission, my gaze drifts back toward Cecelia, who now has her arms raised over her head as she half-jumps, half-dances in the center of the room, flanked by two girls.
Her cousins. Cecelia is always with her cousins.
They seem to travel in a pack, like separating for more than five minutes is against family policy, always laughing and talking over each other as if the rest of the campus barely exists.
Which isn’t to say they aren’t friendly.
Everyone likes the Ransomes. But the five of them clearly seem to enjoy each other’s company over anyone else at this school.
That probably has something to do with the fact that their fathers are basically rock and roll royalty and the entire family is famous—and loaded. I’d imagine it’d be difficult to let strangers in when the whole world can read about your family all over the internet.
The dark-haired girl—Vega, I think— says something and Cecelia throws her head back and laughs.
I shift on the couch, tearing my eyes away yet again.
I don’t want to be the creepy guy at the party who gets turned on by girls dancing in his vicinity, but Jesus.
I find it difficult to come up with the right words to describe her, which is really saying something.
When I was a kid, I won our regional spelling bee three years in a row and nearly went to nationals. I know a lot of words.
“Shit, Solomon.” Jay laughs, shaking my shoulder this time. “You’re really far gone inside your head tonight. Worse than usual.”
I grumble something under my breath, making him laugh again. “Yes, I do understand that these are the consequences of bringing you out to a loud party.”
That’s the thing about Jason Miller—he might come across as a beer-swigging party boy, but he understands more than he lets on. At least when it comes to me. Most of the time, I don’t have to say a word for him to know what I’m thinking.
Probably just years of practice dealing with my silent, grumpy ass. I might know a lot of words, but putting them together in full sentences has always been a different matter entirely.
“Seriously,” Jay says, leaning in to study my face. “You at your limit yet? We can go if you’re uncomfortable.”
I feel a swell of affection for my old friend. Leaving a party early is definitely not his style, but he won’t hesitate to do it if I really needed him to.
“I’m not at my limit yet,” I tell him. It’s mostly the truth. For once, the loud noises and pounding music don’t bother me too much. Probably because I’m distracted by her.
Jay slaps my shoulder. “You just let me know and we can jet.” He gives me a knowing look. “But since we’re here now, how about I call CeCe Ransome over here so you can stare at her up close this time?”
Shit.
He bursts out laughing at the scowl on my face. “Dude. Did you think I didn’t notice? You’ve been looking at her all night.”
“Have not,” I mutter, only making him laugh harder.
“What’s so funny?”
I groan louder when I see Emery, Jason’s older sister, perching on the arm of the couch at my side. She glares at me. “Did you seriously just groan when you saw me? Way to make a girl feel welcome, dick.”
I shrug. “Just don’t feel like getting shit from both the Miller siblings tonight.”
She narrows her eyes at her brother. “Why are you giving him shit?”
Jay holds up his hands in surrender. “Stand down mama bear. I was indulging in some very mild teasing about our buddy’s crush.”
Em’s eyes snap to my face. “You finally admitted you have a thing for the Ransome girl?”
“Seriously?” I yelp, while Jay practically falls off the couch laughing.
“I told you so, man,” he wheezes. “Totally obvious.”
“I hate you both.”
Em, sitting close to my eye level for once, since she’s on the arm of the couch, pats the top of my head. “You love us. Don’t deny it.”
I do love them, loathe as I am to admit it right now. The Miller siblings, loud and overprotective and annoying as they are, have been my best friends since we were about six years old.
My only friends, if we’re being honest.
“Listen,”’ Jay says, voice uncharacteristically serious.
“I know CeCe pretty well.” My eyes snap to his, already narrowing, and he holds up his hands again.
“I don’t know her like that, geez. Get your mind out of the gutter.
” He flashes a grin. “Though I would like to point out how you just looked like you were ready to kick my ass at the mere hint I’ve hooked up with her. ”
Emery coughs to cover up her snort of laughter.
“Like I was saying,” Jay continues. “We’re friends. It wouldn’t be weird at all for me to call her over here. Then you can introduce yourself—”
“Pass,” I say immediately. “Hard pass.”
“Sol, man, come on. You like her. You stare at her every time you’re in the same room.”
“She doesn’t know I exist,” I point out.
He rolls his eyes. “Hence the calling her over here and introducing you.”
I let myself imagine it for a moment—what it would be like to look at her up close. To talk to her. To maybe see if I could get her to laugh like her cousin just did, loud and easy and self-assured. So beautiful.
And that stops the train of thought immediately.
In what universe would I make Cecelia Ransome laugh?
If I let Jay bring her over here there’s no question what would happen— I’d screw it up.
My throat would freeze up, as it so often does when I’m uncomfortable.
I wouldn’t be able to get more than a few words out.
Or, even worse, the nerves would get so bad that I’d blurt out something completely ridiculous or inappropriate.
No. Cecelia is definitely the kind of girl I’d rather admire from afar.
“Dude, you’re selling yourself short,” Jay continues.
“Shocker,” Em mutters, and I flick the side of her jean-clad thigh.
“I bet CeCe would totally go for that silent, broody thing you always do to get girls,” Jay continues.
I don’t bother to respond to that. Girls do seem to like how quiet I am, if my track record is anything to go by.
But that only lasts for a night or two. Eventually they figure out that I’m not the strong, stoic romantic hero they’re imagining.
Eventually they figure out it’s not just that I don’t enjoy talking, it’s that I very often physically can’t.
The way I really am isn’t actually attractive to them, and it doesn’t take them long to catch on.
So I stick to one-night stands, when I feel like sex. I’m polite to the girls who invite me to their beds. I don’t lie or try to deceive them in any way. They know up front that I won’t be spending the night and that I probably won’t call.
And yeah, I get lonely sometimes, but I guess a one-night stand is better than nothing.
Not with Cecelia, though. I wouldn’t want just one night with her.
I wouldn’t want to pretend like my silence and aloofness make me mysterious and interesting.
I wouldn’t want to pretend at all. And there’s no way the woman currently bouncing around the living room at this crowded party like no one is watching would ever like who I really am.
My view of her is interrupted when a figure steps in front of me. He’s tall and lanky, wearing ripped up jeans and a leather jacket. Something about his carefully tousled hair gives me a wannabe rocker vibe.
He’s also very clearly wasted, if the way he’s swaying on his feet is any indication.
One of Cecelia’s cousins dances by, and he reaches out to grab her arm. “Vi, baby, can we please just talk?”
So I guess that one is Violet. I’ve never talked to her, either, but her twin brother is in my poetry seminar.
He doesn’t really seem to fit with the rest of them—the other Ransomes at this school are loud and boisterous, always the center of attention, while Ash is quiet.
Withdrawn even. A damn good writer, though.
I stop thinking about her brother pretty quickly when Violet tries to yank her arm out of the drunk guy’s grasp.
I can’t see her expression, the guy is blocking her, but she’s pretty clearly attempting to get away from him.
Whatever she says makes him take another step closer, leaning down to get in her face.
Jay and I stand at the same time. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on here, but I don’t like the way he’s gripping her arm when she obviously doesn’t want him to. Over his shoulder, I see her head twisting this way and that, like she’s looking for someone. Her cousins, I would bet.
“Hey, man,” Jay says, moving to get in between them. “I think you better step back.”
Drunk Guy turns and glares at us with red-rimmed eyes. “Fuck off.”
“We will,” I say evenly. “After you let her go.”
Violet uses the opportunity of us distracting him to yank her arm again, and this time he lets go, stumbling a little as his balance is thrown off.
“Come on,” Jay says, nudging Violet behind him and reaching for Drunk Guy’s shoulder. “Let’s take a walk. Cool off.”
“Fuck you,” the guy slurs, then belches loudly.
Jay rolls his eyes. “Charming. How about this—get your ass out of this party before I physically remove you myself.”
“Like you even could. ‘Mm bigger n’ you anyhow.”
“Yeah, but you’re not bigger than my friend there.” The guy turns, his eyes widening a little at the sight of me at full height. I don’t move, just stare him down.
Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be drunk enough to think he could take both of us on. He steps back but turns his attention to Violet again. “You’re not some big loss you know,” he spits. “I was just fucking you ’cause I wanted you to introduce me to your dad.”
Jesus, he’s an even bigger asshole than I thought. I clamp my hand down on his shoulder, squeezing until he winces. “You’re done. Let’s go.”
Then several things happen at once. Drunk Guy turns and tries to take a swing at me, barely managing to graze my chin. Then another guy is there, grabbing Drunk Idiot’s arm and pulling it behind him. “Can I kill him now, Vi?” the new guy snarls.
And suddenly, Cecelia Ransome is standing right there in front of me, her entire focus on the asshole who just tried to punch me.
Fuck me, she’s gorgeous, I think to myself, breath catching as I momentarily forget the reason they’re all congregated around me.
She’s pissed—enraged might be a better word—and her eyes are flashing wildly, jaw set.
Something about that expression has heat unfurling low in my belly.
“I told you what would happen if you talked to my cousin again,” Cecelia snarls, her voice so low and fierce it actually sends a chill down the back of my neck. Then she lifts her leg and knees the guy in the balls.
Unfortunately for me, the last Ransome chooses that moment to get involved in the melee. Vega, clearly quite tipsy, lets out a little shriek of anger and tosses her drink at Drunk Idiot—who is currently bending over double after the assault on his manhood.
Leaving me, standing behind him, as the prime target for a face-full of sticky, dark red liquid.