A few minutes later, I’m nursing a French 75, half of it already gone. The bubbles do nothing to lift the weight in my chest. Then I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Well, damn. I knew that was you.”
I turn, eyes widening as I come face to face with a ghost from my past.
“Shawn?” I blink, stunned. “What are you doing here?”
He grins, boyish and too confident. “My dad got an invitation and had me come along so I can network, whatever that means. But forget that, look at you, Blair Miller. Still stunning.”
I chuckle awkwardly. “Still full of it, huh?”
He laughs, stepping in just a bit closer. “Maybe. But I’m serious. You look incredible.”
Shawn, the guy who took my virginity senior year. The guy who taught me a little about kissing and a lot about nothing. We were never in love. It was high school. It fizzled out after graduation.
Still, the attention is flattering. He flirts, and I let him. He leans in close, lips brushing my ear.
“Dance with me,” he murmurs, and the hairs on my arms rise, but not because of him.
Because I feel it.
Eyes. Heat. I glance around, and there he is.
Calvin.
Standing a few feet back from the crowd, dressed in black and gold, mask still on, but I can feel the fire burning from behind it. He’s glaring at Shawn like he’s seconds away from tearing his head off.
Then, subtly and slowly, he shakes his head.
A warning.
The bastard thinks he has the right to warn me? Now?
I inhale sharply, forcing a smile as I turn back to Shawn. “Sure. Let’s dance.”
We step onto the floor, and Shawn’s hand finds my waist like it’s done so a hundred times before. His palm slides lower, fingers splaying ever so slightly, like he’s testing the boundaries.
But I’m not really with him.
My body’s moving with Shawn, but my pulse is synced to someone else entirely.
Across the room, Calvin’s eyes are on me, unblinking. He doesn’t say a word, but I hear him loud and clear. His stare pins me in place, hard and unforgiving.
His jaw ticks. He lifts his glass, watching me the entire time, and drinks like he’s trying to kill the fury burning in his throat.
Then, he sets it down. Hard.
He steps forward.
Once.
Twice.
His movements are controlled. But there’s something barely restrained in the way he stalks toward us. Like he’s seconds from tearing the room apart just to remind me exactly who I belong to.
Shawn leans in, oblivious to what he’s walking into, his hand slipping lower. A spark of panic ignites in my chest.
Calvin keeps walking.
