Page 7 of The Unexpected

He shrugs, his breath curling in the cold. “Maybe I just wanted to talk to you.”

I’m not sure why, but that answer makes me shiver. He’s so earnest, and I don’t think I’m ready for it. I drain my glass and set it on the balustrade. “You want to come in? Or are you just going to stand here and pretend to smoke?”

He grins, showing perfect teeth, and leans in, lowering his voice. “I don’t smoke.”

“Good,” I say, “because if you did, I’d have to kick you out.”

For a second, neither of us moves. We just watch each other, letting the silence stretch. There’s a gravitational pull, and I feel it: the way his hand could fit around my waist, the way he’s looking at my mouth. It’s not subtle, but then, nothing good ever is.

Inside, the music spikes. We both look up, startled, as Kayleigh bursts through the doors, a blur of energy and shimmery dress.

“Stell, you’re missing the best part!” She grabs my arm and tugs, hard, hauling us both back inside. Brad follows, his fingers brushing my bare shoulder for half a second—just enough to make my skin tingle.

The rest of the night is a series of dissolving moments, each more fluid and unfocused than the last. I work the room, glass in hand, bumping shoulders and swapping barbed compliments with Mary Kate, letting Chloe douse me in glitter spray, posing for a few too many selfies. I catch Brad’s eye across the room more than once—he’s always just outside the circle, watching, waiting. At one point, he ducks into the kitchen with a couple of the boys, and I hear him call my name, but it’s lost in the shriek of the crowd.

The party escalates, as parties do. Clothes loosen, shoes are abandoned, and someone has the brilliant idea to start a game of truth-or-dare that spills from the formal dining room into the grand hall. At midnight, Kayleigh dares me to shotgun a beer in the great room, and when I do, the whole crowd goes wild. I finish the can and tip it upside down over my head, letting the foam drip onto the rug, and everyone howls. I’m more buzzed than I want to admit, but not so far gone that I can’t sense the eyes on me—the way Brad is still watching, like he’s waiting for a cue.

It’s after one when the music dips into something low and dangerous, and the first wave of people begins to peel off. I find myself in a patch of relative quiet by the curved staircase, glass in hand, the hem of my dress riding up my thighs. My hair is wild, and my lips are numb from the cold outside and the steady stream of vodka cranberries.

Brad finds me there, stepping into my orbit like he’s always belonged in it.

“Still standing,” he says, and there’s a note of admiration in his voice.

I look up at him, letting my head fall back just a bit. “It’ll take more than a little tequila to bring me down.”

He laughs, and it’s a good sound, deep and honest. Then he steps closer, so close I can smell the cedar of his cologne, and puts his hand lightly on my elbow.

“Want to get some air?” he asks. “The real kind, not the kind in the freezer.”

I nod, and let him steer me through the thinning crowd, back onto the patio, where the night is so dark it feels like we’re standing on the edge of the world. For a moment, neither of us speaks. I stare out into the winter black, the far-off city lights winking through the skeletal trees.

He’s the first to break the silence. “You always throw parties like this?”

I shake my head. “Only when I need to prove I’m still alive.”

He considers that, then turns so we’re facing each other, almost close enough to touch. “You seem pretty alive to me.”

I smile, but it’s a small one. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” His thumb traces a slow circle on my arm, just above the bone. “You’re, uh, kind of electric.”

I should say something clever, but I can’t think of anything. So I just look at him, letting the seconds drag out, and then I tilt my face up, almost imperceptibly. He reads the signal, and in one smooth motion, brings his lips to mine.

It’s not a sweet kiss. It’s hungry, and a little clumsy, and more honest than anything that’s happened tonight. I feel it all the way down to my toes. My hand goes to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and his other arm wraps around my waist, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll evaporate.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the pulse in my ears. Then I pull back, blinking, and realize I’m grinning like a fool.

“Wow,” I say, because it’s all I can think of.

He laughs, low and soft. “Yeah. Wow.”

We stand there, caught in the afterglow, until the cold finally seeps into my bones. I shiver, and he pulls me in tighter, tucking me under his chin. It’s a little weird because I feel like I should be more attracted to him. He’s tall, handsome, athletic, and genuinely nice. But there’s no danger to him, no spark of electricity that makes my body hum.

But I should make the most of the situation because how often do you meet a bona fide “nice guy”? I pull away, smoothing my hair, and look him straight in the eye. “Want to see the rest of the house?”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Lead the way.”

We slip back inside, unnoticed, the party still thumping on somewhere in the background, but for us, the world has narrowed to just this: the hush of empty hallways, the whisper of our footsteps on the runner, the fizz of anticipation between us.