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Okay, so technically the sky probably didn’t rain him down, but still, it’s cloudy, and he had to come from somewhere. Maybe that’s why I’m perfectly okay with the tiara on my head. Either that or the fact that Emersyn and I kept sneaking tequila shots during the drive. And by shots, I mean I’ve been chugging my sorrows away from a big, old cup.

Poor Evan had to endure the ride sober. He did it so quietly, just nodding his head along whenever someone yammered his ear off.

Watching him, I begin to wonder how I didn’t see it, how I didn’t recognize him as Silver, the sweet Emo kid who helped me pass chemistry.

About twenty minutes after pulling into the city, we park in the hotel parking garage. Carrie Lynn and her friends immediately head inside without bothering to help with the luggage, saying they’re going to get checked in/play the tables/find a sexy piece of man candy with a tight ass—it was really hard to sort through all the stuff they were shouting as they stumbled toward the doors.

Emersyn stays behind with us, seizing the opportunity to light up a cigarette and have “sexy, skanky phone time with her boy toy back home!” Thankfully, she wanders away from the car while making the call, because I’m pretty sure I caught, “tweak your nipples” and “tongue fuck your belly button” before she got out of ear range.

“I figured it out,” I announce to Evan as I help him collect everyone’s bags from the back of the SUV.

He arches a brow in disbelief as he starts to stack the suitcases onto the ground. “Is that so?”

I circle a finger in the air and almost topple over as the world spins with the movement. “You think I’m gonna try to lie to you again, but I’m not.” I brace my hand against the bumper to keep from tipping over.

He leans in to grab a bag. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. That tiara gives you mystery solving, super brain power.” Mocking rings through his tone.

“I never said mystery solving, super brain power,” I argue, my speech starting to slur. “I said it gave me mystery solving, awesome brain power.” I exaggeratedly snap my fingers. “Come on, Silver; get it right.”

He twists to face me, and for the briefest second, his lips are parted in shock. But he swiftly collects himself and puts on his I’m-too-cool-to-give-a-shit expression.

He then shrugs, focusing on the suitcases again. “Congrats on solving the mystery. Me, I’d like to forget about it.”

Confusion mixed with dizziness makes it complicated to concentrate. “Forget what? That I figured out who you are?”

“Forget about Silver altogether.” He drops the last of the bags down onto the ground.

“You want me to forget about him? That’s so sad.” I pout. “He was sweet and such a great listener.”

“He was also socially awkward, a loser, oh, and my personal favorite, a devil worshipping freak.” Evan glowers at the suitcases as if somehow they’ve offended him.

“You were not. You were sweet and quiet and cute in this strange, intense, I-rarely-blink way, which FYI, you still do that.” I’m attempting to convince him, but when he gives me this you’re-cuckoo look, I sigh. “Okay, so maybe that’s what everyone called you back in high school, but trust me, if I believed everything the cool kids told me in school, I’d still think I have t-Rex arms. But I don’t.” I stick out my arms and wiggle them around like I’m an octopus. “See? Perfectly normal length, my friend.”

That gets him to smile, and for some reason, it makes me feel like I’ve won some grand prize. Gold medal for Lexi! Hell, yeah!

“So, how about this?” I continue. “Instead of spending the night living in the shadows of our past, how about we go pro-nerd and celebrate our dorkiness?” I stick out my fist for a fist bump.

“I’m not dorky anymore,” he says, but fist bumps me anyway.

“No, you’re not.” I mull an idea over, checking him out as I thrum my finger against my bottom lip. “You look too sexy right now. It kind of contradicts dork celebration night.”

He wrestles back a smile. “Why do I have a feeling you’re about to do something really weird?”

“Because I am. Be worried, my soon-to-be-dorky friend. Be very, very worried.” I make a dun, dun, dun sound, tapping my fingers together like I’m about to do something sinister.

He smashes his lips together, struggling not to laugh at me.

I ponder how to make Sexy Stranger look less hot, and for some reason, the man dressed up as cupid pops into my mind.

“I have an idea.” Without warning, I reach forward and tug his shirt over his head.

“What the hell, Lex?” Evan’s face turns bright red, either from anger or embarrassment.

I don’t know why he’s embarrassed. The guy is ripped—not overly muscular or anything, just toned and lean and nicely yummy. He has tattoos, too—curvy patterns that ink down his side and disappear underneath the waistband of his jeans. I have issues with turning into a nympho when I’m drunk, and it takes all of my willpower not to unbutton his jeans and pull them off, too.

Although, maybe I could get away with licking his abs …

I laugh at myself.

Evan suddenly folds his arms across his chest. “For future reference, a guy never feels too great about himself when a woman takes off his shirt and then laughs at him.”

I blink my attention to his face. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at what I want to do to you.” It takes my drunken mind a second or two to sort through what I said. “But, anyway, that”—I twirl my finger around in front of his chest—“doesn’t make you dorky. If anything, I think your hotness when up a notch.” I give him a thumbs up.

A beat or two of silence goes by as he intently studies me, looking baffled as fuck.

“Are you always like this?” he finally asks, more curious than mystified.

“Like what?” I bend down and unzip the pink bag in front of my feet.

“Say whatever pops into your head, because I gotta say, it’s unnerving.”

I rummage through the bag for a get-up that will erase Evan’s sexiness. “You get used to it. And if not …” I grin, grabbing the bin of glitter and some body lotion.

“Then what?” he wonders as I stand back up.

“Then just make sure you never hang out with me again when I’m drunk.” Grinning, I dangle the glitter and body lotion in his face. “Now, let’s dorkify you.”

He shuffles back, putting his hands up in front of him. “No fuckin’ way.”

“But you don’t even know what I’m gonna do.”

“Anything that has to do with glitter and lotion is a no-go zone.”

“But we’re in Vegas.” I step toward him, and he matches my move, stepping back. “It’s the one place where you can finally wear glitter and get away with it.”

He gives me the death glare. “Who said I ever wanted to wear glitter?”

“Oh, come on, almost every guy has thought about it at least once.”

He stares at me blankly. “I can promise you I’ve never, ever thought about putting glitter on my body.”

“Okay, well, then look at it as a chance to have my hands all over your body.” I give him my best come-hither look while trying not to laugh.

I don’t really expect it to work. Even drunk, I’m not silly enough to believe I can entice a man into putting glitter on his body simply so he’ll get the reward of me touching him. So, when he steps forward and surrenders, I’m as shocked as I was the time I came home and found a rooster wearing the tiniest bowtie and top hat inside my bedroom. To this day, I still don’t know how he got in there.

Evan sticks his arms to the side and turns his head to look away from me. “Just hurry up and do it before I change my mind.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” I hurry up and rub coconut cream pie scented lotion on him, making sure to cover every single inch of his smooth, hard chest. Then I sprinkle glitter here and there, unnecessarily using my fingers to get it to stick to his skin.

“I’m way too sober for this,” he mutters as I use my hands to wipe my glitter lotion concoction up and down his arms.