Page 9 of Even Beneath the Stars

"Don't forget the 'over-cooked' part," I clarify. "I think it's an important qualifier in this instance."

His eyebrows shoot up. Is it possible I just rendered the King of Cool speechless?

Only I'll never know, because at that moment, a perky squeal shatters the air.

"Xave! Oh my God, I thought I lost you!"

A dewy-faced girl with thick brown waves bounces up and slings an arm around his broad shoulders, snuggling into his chest.

"One can only dream," I mutter, and the girl eyes me curiously as Xavier coils his arm around her bare midriff.

"Victoria’s making shots," she purrs. "You coming?"

"Yeah, sure," he says, eyes still on me.

I flash him a syrupy smile. "Aw,leaving so soon?"

He ignores me, turning to his admirer instead. "Seb with you guys?"

"Uh, I think he wandered off with Scarlett a while ago."

Xavier nods, then tosses a final parting shot over his shoulder. "A pleasure, as always, Lobster Girl."

God. So weak. Doesn’t he get he can’t insult me with the lobster thing when I made the reference about him?

Amateur.

"Careful not to trip over your ego on your way to the bonfire!" I call after him. "Wouldn't want you falling in and messing up that pretty face."

I think I hear him chuckle. Which pisses me off even more.

As the night wears on and I start to sober up, a new thought dawns on me: just because we’re not at the Welsford doesn’t mean Xavier couldn’t use tonight’s exchange as an excuse to go to his father about the Kid’s Club incident. Heck, he could even make something up and it would be his word against mine.

Xavier Rockwell may very well have just had the last laugh.

And I may have just let a couple too many White Claws seal my fate.

Chapter Three

(Maggie)

The scent of fresh paint and cinnamon drifts through Board and Brews, mixing with the salty breeze sneaking in through the propped-open front door. The place is a work in progress—half café, half mayhem—but my mom is practically vibrating with excitement as she surveys the stacks of board games we’re unpacking.

"You know," I say, slicing through another cardboard box with a pair of dull scissors, "I think we might actually own more board games than a corporate warehouse."

Mom dusts her hands off on her jeans, surveying the chaos. "Good. That’s the goal."

"Yeah, but where are we supposed to put all of them?" I motion toward the already-stuffed shelves behind us.

She tilts her head. "Stacking them to the ceiling might be an option. Maybe some Jenga-style suspense for our customers."

Laney snorts, peeling tape off another box. "High-stakes game retrieval. I like it. Loser gets buried under an avalanche of Settlers of Catan."

"Survival of the fittest," Mom agrees.

The bell over the door jingles just then, and I glance up, expecting another delivery. Instead, two guys walk in—one of them almost as familiar to me as Laney. Liam Kilberg. And the other one, I've only met a few times. Beckham Travers. Really tall, really gorgeous. Also, really arrogant. But possibly a decent guy underneath the cool swagger and tough-as-nails persona.

Apparently, he just moved here last year, and since then, he's reigned Ocean Heights the same way Seb Murdoch reigns Sandy Haven Prep. Girls fall all overhim at every turn. Which is why I suspect he's had his sights set on me these past couple of weeks—because I'm one of the few who hasn't.

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