They All Fall Down by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

grandfather.”
    “The king?” I laugh. “That’s what you call your grandfather? What happened to Poppa and Gramps?”
    He rolls his eyes. “So not my grandfather. Anyway, his name is Rex. You’re the Latin expert. Come on, he lives to meet pretty girls.”
    The way he says it makes me feel like I really am one of those pretty girls. As we walk through the house, I spy Molly in a game room with a bunch of kids surrounding a pool table. She’s laughing a little too loudly, her eyes bright with excitement, a red Solo cup inches from her mouth.
    “Wait—I want to kill her, er, say hi.”
    He laughs. “Don’t be mad at her. I made her tell me. And she’s deep into a beer pong match, so don’t bother her. Come this way.”
    Taking my hand, he leads me to another part of the house, a two-story great room connected to a massive kitchen, also peppered with groups of kids, and I don’t think I know a single one.
    “Isn’t this a Vienna High party?” I ask.
    Josh nods a “ ’Sup?” to a few guys and stays ahead of me, our fingers locked as he tugs me along. “I know kids from everywhere because of sports. I play on two travel teams—hey, Ryan—and lots of these kids are from all over this side of the state.”
    At my surprised look, he adds, “They all crash here tonight. We’ve got plenty of room, and tomorrow we’ll probably play touch football all day long.” He adds a slow smile and pulls me a little closer. “You should be here so I can tackle you.”
    “I thought it was touch.”
    Laughing, he closes the space between us. “It can get pretty dirty.”
    I don’t have to answer because we stop and talk to a few kids I don’t know who are from a town on the other side of Pittsburgh. And I thought Molly had a fun house. This is a whole different world—weekend parties, kids from all over the place, and a grandfather who apparently doesn’t care if they play beer pong on his pool table.
    “And who do we have here, Josh?”
    I turn at the sound of a man’s voice, meeting eyes the same gorgeous blue as Josh’s, only icier and feathered with crow’s-feet.
    “This is Kenzie Summerall.” The way he says it, I know they’ve already talked about me.
    “Kenzie.” The older man nods in approval. “Of course.”Flashing an easy, wide smile, he looks down—way down—at me. Instantly, I can see where Josh gets his gifts—his height, the build, the sort of raw masculinity mixed with charm that rolls off him. That’s hereditary, I suppose.
    The older man puts a familiar hand on my shoulder, and I’m immediately at ease. Another gift. “Rex Collier,” he says, studying me like nothing could make him take his eyes off my face. It’s disconcerting, and flattering. “You were absolutely correct, Josh. She is a refreshing change.”
    Josh just shakes his head, laughing. “And you thought you wanted to kill Molly?” he asks me. “How do you think I feel right now?”
    Rex shoos his grandson’s comment. “Nothing wrong with honesty, young man. Haven’t I taught you anything?”
    “You’ve taught me everything,” Josh says, a respectful note in his voice. “Including how to pick quality girls.”
    “Indeed.” The older man gives me one more thorough inspection. “Quality, and an improvement.”
    I feel my eyes widen. “Over what?”
    That makes Rex laugh, wrinkling his face but not making him any less imposing or regal. “Over the ones that have their bosoms spilling out and wear makeup like Cleopatra.” He lifts a glass. No Solo cup for the king; he’s got a crystal water glass filled with something amber over ice. “I’m guessing you don’t drink beer,” he says.
    “You’re guessing right.”
    “Some wine? Champagne? I have a lovely port.”
    I almost laugh comparing, once again, Josh’s home life with mine. “I don’t need anything,” I say. “I’m driving home.” At least, I am if that was beer in Molly’s Solo cup.
    “Good call, Mackenzie,” Rex says, still smiling