Page 14 of Kiss Slay Replay

“I was.”

“And?” he asks. “Hey, give me that back. Mooch.”

“Oops.” I return the flask. “And what?”

“And…I don’t know. I wanted the story. The real story. Inside scoop.”

“We were all wasted at a party. It’s not much of a story. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ah,” he says, shrugging. He takes a gulp from the flask and offers it back to me.

I shake my head. “I shouldn’t. Don’t want to show up drunk to this wedding.”

“Damn,” he says, reaching up and tucking his hair behind his ears, again. It immediately comes loose, again.

Here’s what I know about Danny. He’s Jason’s childhood best friend; they were inseparable until Danny’s family moved across the country halfway through high school. Danny is a charismatic nomad who parties too hard, who made a ridiculous amount of money at a Silicon Valley tech start-up a few years back and hasn’t worked since. Steph once randomly found him passed out on their patio set wearing a Santa suit. It was June. I’ve never met him before because he never shows up to anything. I’m shocked that he’s here, especially since last I heard he was living out of a hotel in Reykjavik.

“I’m not that cool after all,” I say.

“You are. I’m the asshole.” He slips the flask back into his pocket. “I get so anxious at shit like this. Formal. Stand here. Smile for photos. Sit-down dinner. Speeches. And the weird mix of family and friends and strangers. Not my thing.”

I put a hand on his shoulder. “Tonight’s not for us, bud.”

He sets his hand over mine. He holds it there. He looks at me. The look is dopamine, the touch electric. “It could be.”

Oh.

I laugh him off in case he’s kidding.

But, God, I hope he’s not kidding.

He squeezes my hand, then slides it slowly down his arm. He maintains eye contact the entire time. And he wears that fucking grin.

He has the obscene confidence of someone stupid cute and rich.

What a twist. What a pleasant surprise. Things just got interesting.

He releases my hand.

“We should probably go,” I tell him.

“Probably.” He rolls his shoulders, adjusts his collar. “How do I look?”

He’s fishing. How do I want to play this?

“Good.” I run my hands down over my hips, smoothing my dress. “How do I look?”

He steps back and gives me the once-over. He doesn’t say anything. He just does his awkward laugh and fidgets with his hair again. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he bites his lip, and I wonder if we’re about to hook up. It kind of feels like we are. Am I losing my mind? What is up with me today?

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Let’s go. Let’s do it.”

He gestures for me to walk ahead of him. I hesitate.

Part of me doesn’t want to leave these woods, doesn’t want to leave this moment, this exchange between us fizzing with potential. Part of me wants to stay here, ditch the ceremony and all its inevitable sentimentality. Avoid Ravi and Tanya. Pretend they don’t exist for a while. Defer my feelings. Dissociate.

I should be motivated by the fact it’s my best friend’s wedding, by some sense of love and loyalty. Instead, I’m motivated by the memory of the masked figure.

I turn around, scan the woods again. There’s no one there. No one I can see. I try to swallow the fear, but it sticks between my teeth.