Bride In Blue

Keegan

I pull up to my new home and see some shirtless guy sprawled on the front porch.

He's lying on his stomach, wearing only jeans, his forehead pressed into sagging boards. He's got a beer bottle hooked over one finger.

Probably drunk. And blocking the damn door.

I close my eyes for a second and let out an exasperated sigh. All I want is to move in.

After a summer under the same roof as my grandmother, I left the Cooke Ranch just after dawn, anxious to start my new college life.

I was so wound-up from my never-ending battles with Virginia Cooke that I barely got any sleep last night; I've got a hellacious headache.

Grandmother Dearest always has that effect on me.

And to be fair, I probably do the same thing to her. It seems like we are toxic to each other.

I'm so not in the mood right now to deal with anybody, much less Mr. Drunk Mess here. But it doesn't look like I have any choice.

As soon as I step out of my car, I hear him talking. To nobody, apparently.

He's got his face pressed into the rickety-looking porch.

"Max," he's saying, "c'mere, buddy. It's okay. You can come out now." His voice is tender and deep; it's a nice voice.

I close the car door, maybe a little harder than necessary, and walk toward the house. Even with my sunglasses on, the bright sunlight seems to magnify my headache.

It takes me a moment to focus, and when I do, I see the guy is now on his feet, his hands wrapped around two of the porch posts, his bare feet hanging over the edge. The beer bottle is on the railing.

He's staring at me. And I cannot help staring back.

Because, drunk or not, he is easy on the eyes.

He's tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a square jaw. He's got jacked-up arms and washboard abs.

And even several feet away, I can tell he's got amazing eyes. They're a very light blue.

They make me think of the color of the summer sky at the ranch when it's been over 100 degrees for a month straight and most of the color has been bleached from the horizon.

They're mesmerizing. And I'm just standing here, staring into them.

A slow, teasing smile climbs his face. "You our new roomie?" he asks as my mouth drops open.

Oh God. Does he live here?

I'd just assumed—like a lame, sheltered freshman—that everyone living at the house was a girl. I'd just assumed he was the boyfriend of one of the girls who lives here, or something like that.

"Um, yeah, I guess I am," I mumble, feeling my heartbeat speed up.

He steps off the porch and walks toward me, sticking out his hand. "I'm Blue Daniels. Looks like we're going to be housemates."

And I don't say anything. I'm freaking tongue-tied, my stomach suddenly doing calisthenics.

Because this gorgeous guy lives here. In the same house where I'm going to be living.

After a couple of moments where my mouth opens and closes like a fish, I manage to whirl toward my old Nissan Maxima. I yank open a rear door and pull out an egg crate stuffed with my things.

Then I turn back to Blue Daniels, my face burning.

He's still got his hand out. But now, he's also wearing an amused smirk. He can probably tell the effect he's had on me.

"Oh, sorry," I fumble as I shift the crate I'm holding to one hip and slip my fingers into his. "I'm. . .um. . .Keegan."

I sound like I've forgotten my own name.

"Keegan Crenshaw," I add more forcefully, breaking into a sweat.

It is ridiculously hot, which is not unusual for an August day in Oklahoma. But I'm not sure that's what's making me sweat.

"Keegan," Blue says. "Cool name."

"Thanks," I murmur, wondering how I can subtly wipe my face. "I like your name, too."

He shrugs. "My mom was obsessed with Dylan when she was pregnant with me."

Seeing my blank expression, he prompts, "You know. . .Tangled Up in Blue? Bob Dylan?"

It takes my stupid brain a moment to catch up.

"Oh!" I finally say. "Yeah, I know that song. That's really cool."

"Yeah." He's nodding, and a fond smile crosses his face. "My mom loved everything Dylan did. She still listens to him a lot."

Hearing Blue mention his mother makes me think about mine, and as usual, a wave of grief and guilt washes over me. I wonder if that feeling will ever go away.