Free One Night in Boston by Allie Boniface Page A

interested in donating any items to a charity auction we’re holding next month? You know, like a landscaping consultation, or a lawn treatment, or…”
    “Ah, I’m not sure…” Dillon wasn’t very good at this part of the business, schmoozing to get his name splashed across the paper. J.J. usually handled publicity.
    “It’s a tax write-off, of course, and all our proceeds go to the local shelter for battered women.”
    Well, I’ll sound like a real schmuck if I say no to that . “Could you let me talk to my partner and get back to you?”
    “Of course,” she answered. “We’ll be putting together the list of donations through next weekend.” She paused. “Incidentally, I’ll be at the Deveau Ball this evening. Will you be attending? Maybe we can talk a little business while we’re there.”
    Dillon cleared his throat. “Actually, I plan on it...” He’d almost forgotten.
    “Wonderful. Well, I’ll make sure to find you while I’m there, then. Have a good afternoon.”
    “You too,” Dillon mumbled as he replaced the receiver.
    Rubbing one thumb against the nub of his ponytail, he closed his eyes. Against his will, his imagination replayed that morning’s conversation with Ellis Casterline’s daughter. What was her name? Wilma? Willow, that was it. Might as well be Maggie Doyle, though .
    God, he didn’t want to think about his sister today, didn’t want to remember. But it was almost as if today, he couldn’t think of anything else.
    *
    Still a little stoned from the weed they’d smoked earlier that night, Dillon and his buddy huddled in the shadows by the mailbox. They shared the end of a butt and laughed. One glance at the light slipping through Maggie’s first-floor window told him his kid sister was the only one still up. Sam followed Dillon’s gaze and whistled under his breath.
    “You sure got a cute sis.”
    “Shut up.” Dillon elbowed his friend. “I‘ll kill you if you even think about it.”
    Sam didn’t answer, just shrugged and grinned as he finished the cigarette and toed it out in the gravel of the driveway. “Mind if I use your bathroom?” He jerked his thumb toward the Murphy’s front door.
    Dillon frowned. “Can’t you take a piss out here?” If his dad caught him sneaking anyone in after curfew again, he’d be grounded until graduation.
    “It’s not pissing I gotta take care of.”
    “Yeah, all right, whatever. Just make it fast and keep your mouth shut.” Dillon tiptoed around the shrubs, up the drive, and opened the door with a silent, practiced motion. Together they made their way through the dark foyer and past the kitchen, leaving all the lights off. Sam knew where the toilet was; he’d been to the house a half-dozen times. Dillon crept to the bottom of the staircase and listened. Nothing but his father’s snores so far. Good thing.
    “Hurry up,” he hissed, following Sam toward the hallway that led to the downstairs bedrooms. He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his jeans, leaned against the wall, and kept one eye focused on the staircase.
    Halfway down the hall Sam stopped
    Maggie’s door opened a few inches, and her round, freckled face peeked out.
    “Hey, Maggie.”
    Dillon jabbed his friend in the back, but Sam ignored him.
    Maggie’s eyes flicked back and forth from her stepbrother to Sam Knight, captain of the football team and president of the senior class. A flush rose in her cheeks and she opened her door all the way.
    “What are you guys doing?” It was a whisper, a laugh, a biting of the bottom lip. Clad in an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of Dillon’s white tube socks, she leaned in the doorway and stared at Sam.
    “Came by to say hello,” Sam said. He ran a hand over that buzz cut that all the girls at school seemed to drool over and edged his way closer.
    That was enough for Dillon. Grabbing Sam by the arm, he hauled him into the kitchen. “Stay away from my sister. I mean it. You even look at her wrong, I’ll send your ass