Sam rolled her eyes. “Can you at least be happy for me?”

“For what? Dating the devil? Setting the bar so low the rest of your romantic life will seem like a victory?” I shrugged. “I suppose that is good planning.”

“You’re just jealous because you don’t have a date.”

“Date,” I scoffed. “Your date is a life-size Ken doll, with less personality. I’d rather go to prom alone than have to deal with that.”

“Liar. I bet if Matty Hayes asked, you’d go with him.” Damn Sam for seeing what I didn’t want her to. I had a slight crush on Matty. Sam grinned, reading me like a cheap tabloid. “He probably would if you put a little effort into your appearance.”

“Like hell he would.” The declaration was deep and confident and not mine.

My shoulders stiffened, and a cold wave of dread went over me at the sound of his distinctive voice rumbling from somewhere over my head.

Macon leaned a shoulder against the edge of my locker, his eyes mocking me from under the mop of his stupid Zac Efron–style hair. Every time I set eyes on Macon Saint, the reaction was visceral, a punch to the solar plexus. He was gorgeous, sure, but it was his eyes that did it. They burned as if he could strip the skin from my bones and rip right into the heart of me.

Mama always said I was fanciful with my words, but that was the truth of it: locking gazes with Macon was like forging into an angry storm. You’d come out of it weak, breathless, and a little bruised.

“I don’t recall asking you to join the conversation,” I said.

He snorted. “I don’t need an invitation. And you don’t stand a chance with Hayes. He likes his women stupid and thin. You know, like a Barbie.”

The thin comment cut into me. Clearly, he’d heard my Ken-doll comment as well. I didn’t give a shit and was about to say as much. But Macon wasn’t done. Standing toe to toe with me in the hall before lunch, he let that dark, wild gaze of his slide over me as his nostrils flared in disapproval. “You look like a tater tot in that dress, Baker.”

I hated that I suddenly regretted wearing my camel-colored sweaterdress with matching knee-high suede boots and the fact that I instantly felt like a potato under his assessing eye.

But I didn’t let Macon Saint see that. “Some of us know that looks aren’t everything, Con Man.” Because that’s what he was—a perfect con, tricking others into believing he should be adored. “Beauty fades, and the ugliness inside you will eventually show.”

He straightened then, looming over me with a sneer. “I suppose you’re one of those people who sees past beauty and only loves someone for their personality?”

I felt the setup. I just didn’t know where it was going or how to avoid it. I thrust my chin high and played it cool. “I am.”