Summer moved our conversation over to Snapchat, because yes, my friends had made me get a Snapchat account, like some twelve-year-old girl. A pop-up notification told me she was typing me a message.
Summer:How are you in the kitchen? I’m in the kitchen.
Me:More than one kitchen?
Summer:I saw Matty like five min ago out by the maze.
Me:Ok I’ll take a look
I left the kitchen, heading back downstairs and in the exact opposite direction of the maze. Or so I thought.
But then Matt and Jesse appeared at the other end of the long corridor, walking toward me. We were the only three people in the hall, and this place echoed like fuck. My Vans were squeaking on the polished marble. Which meant they saw me right away. I couldn’t exactly ditch through a random archway into another room.
So I headed straight for them.
About two seconds later, Jesse nodded at me, patted Matt on the back, and slipped away into another room. Matt didn’t go with him.
Perfect.
“Hey,” I said, as we approached each other, “Summer was looking for you.”
“I just saw her out by the maze,” he said. “Went back for my weed, but I’m heading out there now. Come with me.”
“Sure.” I turned and fell in stride with him. Wasn’t really sure what the fuck else to do.
I tried to look busy with my phone and messaged Summer back.
Me:Meet us by the maze
We wandered our way through the corridors of the castle as Matt rolled a joint and we made small talk about tonight’s show, the festival, the castle. I followed his lead, though he was probably drunker than I was. I was pretty fucking sure we were lost, though neither of us was saying so.
“We should really find Summer,” I said. “We wanted to talk to you—”
“Have you got a light?”
“Uh, maybe.”
I was digging in my pocket, trying to figure out if I’d lost my lighter, when Matt turned to me—and pushed me right back into some dark alcove.
Shiiit.
He had me against the wall before I knew what the fuck was happening… his hands on my chest, his heat slamming into me.
Okay, I knew what was happening.
I looked into his hazel eyes. We were nose-to-nose, and he smelled fucking amazing. Scotch and rum and smoke and some kind of faint bodywash or aftershave or something. That tinge of metallic scent guitarists always had on them; fingers on strings. Sweat and skin and drunken kisses…
Oh,fuck.
He was gonna kiss me, for sure. And he was definitely drunk. His eyelids were half-mast.
And my internal radar for guys who wanted to fuck me? It was going off like an air-raid siren.
Everything in me told me to evacuate the fucking building before we both went up in smoke… but I just stood there, pressed between his warm hands on my chest and the wall.
“Heard about you,” he murmured, looking at my mouth. And there was no mistaking the meaning behind his words.
“Yeah,” I said, slowly, “heard about you, too.”
