Tangled Up in Blue

A Boy Named Blue

Keegan

I pull up to my new home and see some guy sprawled on the front porch, blocking the damn door.

He's lying on his stomach, wearing only jeans, his forehead pressed into sagging boards. Probably passed out.

I let out an exasperated sigh. All I want is to move in. I'm so not in the mood to deal with some drunk mess.

I left the Cooke Ranch just after dawn, eager to start my new college life.

It's been a tense summer under the same roof as my grandmother, and I was so wound up from battling with her I barely got any sleep last night.

As soon as I step out of the car, I hear Mr. Drunk Mess talking. To the porch, apparently.

"Max. C'mere, buddy. You can come out now."

His voice is tender and deep; he doesn't sound drunk.

I close the door, maybe a little harder than necessary, and walk toward the house.

Even with my sunglasses on, the bright sunlight makes it hard to focus. When I do, I see the guy is on his feet, his

hands wrapped around two of the porch posts, his bare feet hanging over the edge.

He's squinting into the sun, staring at me.

And I cannot help staring back.

Because, drunk or not, the guy is easy on the eyes: 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 light-blue, and they remind me of the summer sky at the ranch when the sun has bleached the color from the horizon, and it's too hot to even think straight.

His eyes are mesmerizing. And I'm just standing here, gazing into them.

A slow smile climbs his face.

"You our new roomie?" he asks as my mouth falls open.

Does he live here?

I'd just assumed—like a lame, sheltered freshman—that everyone living at the house was a girl.

"Um, yeah, I guess I am," I mumble as my heart speeds 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 say nothing. I'm freaking tongue-tied, my stomach suddenly doing calisthenics.

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 whirl toward my old Nissan Maxima, yanking open a rear door and pulling out an egg crate stuffed with my things.

Then I turn back, my face burning.

Blue Daniels still has his hand out. But now he's wearing an amused smirk.

He can probably tell the effect he's had on me. I'm probably feeding his ego right now.

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

"I'm...Keegan?"

I sound like I don't know my own name.

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