Infatuate Read Online Free PDF Page B

ornate gates out front, bay windows, delicately crafted balconies and porticos, and charming little detached pool houses nestled in back. “The Garden District totally rocks,” he said.
    “Kind of awesome that this was all one huge estate back in the day,” Lance said, eyes trained outside, his fingers drumming on my leg.
    “Good to know,” I said. “I feel like the trivia gauntlet is being thrown down.” Lance and I liked to get competitive about our facts—it was just our thing. This constituted flirting for us.
    “Just sharing,” he said, with a mocking faux innocence.
    “Ugh, have we forgotten we’re outta school?” Dante groaned. “Here, this one!” He pointed out the window at what looked like a small castle. “Let’s move here, Hav.”
    “I’m in,” I joked. Lance suddenly pulled out his phone again, as if an idea had just struck him. Dante shook his head and continued surveying.
    “Check this out.” Dante, ever the gossip, flicked his head toward the front of the streetcar where Connor sat chatting with the driver. The redhead beside him quietly looked on, nodding at something he was saying, hanging on his every word.
    “It seems this streetcar may indeed be named Desire,” I whispered back.
    “I know, right? Looks like someone is already trying to line up that midnight kiss. Good for her,” he declared in a sincere, even serious tone. I thought I could feel a trace of loneliness creeping out from beneath that confident armor of his.
    From the corner of my eye I watched Lance fiddling with his phone. There were plenty of dark clouds obscuring our thoughts. But tonight, I wanted to be like everyone else. For the first time ever, I had someone to make midnight matter.
    As if on cue, Lance gave up on the phone and emerged from his interior world to rejoin us. “Anyone want to check out Tennessee Williams’s old pad tomorrow?” he piped up as he cleaned the lenses of his glasses on his sleeve. “It’s near our place. And William Faulkner’s too.”
    “Faulk yeah!” said Dante. I gave him a playful slap on the shoulder.
    The streetcar stopped and Connor called for us all to jump out.
     
    After we walked a few of the leafiest, quietest streets I’d ever seen, Connor turned a corner and we were greeted by a pristine white mansion with sprawling, manicured grounds of lush hedges and sweet white rosebushes that spanned the full block. A porch wrapped around the entire first floor of the place and even from where we stood, we could hear the strains of a jazz band playing. Darkness had fallen, a chill settling in the air, reminding us that even here in the South, it was still winter. But a warm, buttery glow from the black-shuttered windows beckoned us in. A banner reading WELCOME, VOLUNTEERS! had been unfurled over the pillars. We crossed beneath an archway of greenery and went up the steep front steps.
    “Whoa, pretty nice digs,” Lance said under his breath as we entered, our senses enveloped by the festivities. Jaunty music and the scent of spicy food filled the air. Scores and scores of other high school students, college types, and well-dressed adults milled around, chatting, holding aloft tiny plates of towering fried foods and sipping from delicate stemware. Our group dispersed, everyone heading off in separate directions. Dante, Lance, and I wound our way to the back of the great hall, taking it all in, and continued on to a mahogany-outfitted grand living room complete with a buffet and white-coated chefs in crisp, cylindrical hats. A long line of people waited patiently to be served all manner of southern comfort food.
    “I’m dying for that gumbo,” Dante said, his eyes glued on the buffet tables. “Did I tell you I’ve almost perfected my roux? I’ll have to make it for you guys.” He seemed to be thinking, then he grabbed Lance and me by the arm. “That’s it, come ’ere.” He tugged us toward a less populated corner of the packed room. As we followed him, weaving