The Boy I Hate(76)

She hooked her heeled shoe on the rung of the barstool and crossed her legs. “Hi,” she began. “I’m Samantha. The maid of honor.” After all, she’d be spending the next few days with these people. She might as well get to know them.

He grinned slightly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before nodding. “Devon Montgomery,” he stated. “The bride’s cousin. We’ve met before.”

She bit her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes to get a better look. His eyes were dark, and he was very handsome, but he looked nothing like his blond haired cousin. “Devon? Oh my gosh, I haven’t seen you…in, well… Since that summer you threw dirt in my ear.”

He scrunched up his nose and took a large gulp of his drink. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

She laughed. “I have a memory like an elephant. You’re pretty much screwed.”

He bit his lower lip and looked down to his feet. “I was afraid of that.”

She ginned at him, then lifted her shoulders in a “Sorry to tell ya” motion, as the bartender set her drink down before her. Devon was older—maybe by five or six years, but the last time she’d seen him he was a scrawny teenager. One both she and Renee had a crush on.

“You look…” He eyed her up and down. “All grown up, Samantha.”

She took a long sip of her Martini and smiled. “Do you live around here?” she asked, taking the cocktail stick and scraping an olive off with her teeth.

He nodded. “Manhattan, and you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m still in LA, though I’m not sure why at the moment. This city is beautiful.”

He laughed heartily, sounding exactly how she remembered him. Robust and sincere… and possibly a little bit nerdy if that was possible.

She turned in her seat to take another drink, as another man came to fill the seat between them—but she barely noticed. Because Tristan appeared on the rooftop at that exact moment.

His eyes locked on hers right away. Possessive, brilliant blue, and caused a physical reaction to form in her belly. He raked his eyes up and down her figure, then began walking down the steps toward her. He looked as though he wanted to ravish her, though she didn’t blame him. She wanted to ravage him as well. Because for every inch Tristan Montgomery lacked in polish, he made up for in pure sex appeal. He wore tight faded jeans, a tight white V-neck t-shirt, and a black blazer that somehow made his shoulders look even broader.

“Where in LA do you live?” the man who’d joined them said to her.

She turned in her seat to give him her attention. “Sherman Oaks.” She swallowed. “Are you familiar?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I was just trying to steal your attention away from whoever stole it.” He grinned. “I’m Mark, by the way. One of the groomsmen.”

She glanced down to the bar, knowing she was blushing, and downed the rest of her martini. “Samantha,” she replied.

“Ahhhh… The maid of honor. Renee has told me about you.” He held out his hand, and leaned back against the bar.

Suddenly, Samantha realized Mark was the one of the men Renee was trying to set her up with. She could see why. He was built, good looking, and had a voice like shredded sandpaper. Husky, sexy… She shook his hand.

“You’re the artist, right?” he asked then, cutting off her train of thought.

She nodded, catching a glimpse of Tristan out of the corner of her eye. He already had at least three girls around him. One a ballerina that danced in Renee’s company, a brunette who looked harmless enough, and a redheaded hussy.

“I’m a sculptor. How about you?”

“Firefighter.”

Devon leaned forward again, butting into her new conversation. “I think I remember hearing about that. What type of sculptures do you do?”

She cleared her throat, slightly thrown from watching Tristan… But then she turned around, and a sense of calmness overtook her. “Modern—yet recognizable.” She grinned. That was one of the quotes written about her work at the gallery opening. Modern—yet recognizable. She loved it. Because that’s always what she strived to be.

“I like that,” Mark stated. “Do you happen to have any images of your work?”

Her brows furrowed, and she opened her clutch to pull out her phone, but quickly remembered. “No, actually—normally I do, but my phone got wet…” But her words trailed away as she saw Tristan watching her again. “All I have with me is the piece in my room that I made for Renee—it’s their wedding gift.”