Chapter 56
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
mia
I make it back into the living room first, legs not entirely steady, and beeline for the drinks table.
If I’m going to survive this party—hell, survive him—I need something cold and maybe alcoholic to trick my pulse into slowing.
I zero in on the champagne flutes and raise the fullest one.
A sip. Two. If I keep sipping, maybe nobody will notice that my entire body’s still vibrating.
And then he walks in.
Preston doesn’t even make it two steps before the hyena pack of single moms swoops in, batting lashes and clawing at his sleeves. He doesn’t bark, doesn’t fake a polite smile or play nice. No. He exhales through his mouth. A bone-deep sigh.
Only it’s not just a sigh. It’s Eau de Me.
My cunt on his breath, my slick on his tongue, misted straight into their hopeful faces.
I choke so violently on my champagne it erupts up my nose. April leaps into action, thumping my back hard enough to knock my lungs loose, while Callie snatches the flute from my hand and replaces it with a water glass, muttering, “Lightweight.”
“You good?” April frowns, concerned.
I wheeze out, “Totally fine.”
Lies. I’m dying. He just crop-dusted the PTA with my pussy.
Across the room, Preston catches my eye. And smirks.
I watch him excuse himself from their entrapment and go upstairs. Callie’s interrogative eyes ping-pong between the two of us, and she asks where he’s disappearing to now.
“Beats me,” I hush out. “Brush his teeth, hopefully?” I mumble to myself. “It’s almost cake time.”
“That makes no sense. You brush your teeth after sugar,” she clips back, and I’d be metaphorically slapping myself for letting my mouth run if I wasn’t too busy grinning like an idiot at the memory of Preston telling me how sweet I taste.
I flee to the bath bomb station before I embarrass myself some more.
Wait. Whoever left Liam in charge there?
He’s basically coaching a squad of future arsonists, explaining ratios with the seriousness of a boardroom presentation.
One kid holds up a bath bomb that’s definitely fizzing more violently than intended, and Liam mutters, “Don’t light any matches near that. ”
By the time a boy proudly announces he’s made “unicorn poo TNT,” April swoops in, full bomb squad mode, snatching the fizzing bath bomb from his hand and clearing the table. “Let’s try a different activity, shall we?” she says tightly.
We all scramble to help her, herding the kids toward the craft corner.
I take mental snapshots of at least three kids already fated to be last in line for the pinata.
No way I’m handing them a bat. I keep myself as busy as possible, evading Callie, whose stare is currently scorching the back of my skull.
Preston rejoins us shortly, and his presence warms the rest of my body. The sound of a dramatic inhale makes me whip around.
“Minty,” Callie declares, nose unconventionally close to his mouth. He pulls away while my eyes practically pop out, cartoon springs yanking them in and out of my head.
Her sly gaze whiplashes to me. “How did you know, huh? How could you possibly know?” She crosses her arms. “Make it make sense.”
“Caaaaaake,” I bellow to the entire house. “Time for cake.”
Callie squints at me, tutting under her breath. She’s on to us. And same as her, I wonder, how the hell can she possibly know?