2. Petra
PETRA
This can’t be happening, says the cynical voice in my head as I look up and my eyes lock with Sin’s. This is a moment straight out of a rom-com.
The heroine collides with the hero, literally and metaphorically.
If it’s your standard Hallmark suckfest, she’s either going to be a swooning, clumsy mess or a mildly disgruntled (but hot) woman whose entire schedule for the day is thrown off because of this annoying (but hot) man who decided to bump into her.
But I am neither. After my encounter with Daphne and Co., I don’t have the energy to be visibly vexed. And I also don’t fall over myself at the sight of blue-eyed guys with stylishly tousled hair.
Instead, I merely say, “Oh,” and keep staring at the rapidly expanding wet patch on my light-teal satin blouse. I had ‘borrowed’ this one from my mother’s enviable collection. She’ll probably hire a hitman to kill me; Mom doesn’t like to get her hands dirty.
“I’m so sorry!” Sin exclaims again, and though he sounds genuinely apologetic, I can see the lightest of smiles playing on his lips.
Despite the shots I have downed, some remaining shred of dignity forces me to regain my composure and muster up a wry smile. “Well, I guess I’m wearing your drink now. Do you always greet people this way?”
This makes him chuckle.
Hey, he’s got a nice laugh, I think, and then chide myself for getting sappy.
“Only the ones who stand in my way,” he says, leaning toward me so I can hear him over the music. “Here’s a radical idea. Maybe, just maybe, you can try watching where you’re going the next time?” he whispers in a low, gravelly voice that sends shivers down my spine.
“Me?” I blurt out, shaking away the intrusive thoughts. “You almost managed to blame me for you colliding into me.”
Sin grins. “All right, all right, you caught me.” He puts up his hand, feigning surrender. “But you were standing right in my path, so I’d say it’s a fifty-fifty split.”
“Nice try,” I reply, laughing despite myself, “but I was minding my own business. Maybe you should watch where you’re going.”
He chuckles again and grabs some napkins from a nearby table for me.
“Let’s agree on a truce, shall we?” he proposes.
I take the napkins and dab at the wet stain on my shirt.
“Fine, truce. But seriously, you owe me a new shirt. Or even better, when my mom kills me for ruining this one, you could write a eulogy for my tombstone.”
“Eulogy? Emo much?” Sin shoots back playfully. “Fine, I’ll add, ‘write a eulogy for the girl I bumped into at Elias’s party’ to my to-do list.”
This makes me laugh aloud in real time, something that rarely happens. Then, realizing that no matter how hard I try, the blouse is beyond repair, I give up and stand there with a resigned look.
“I’ve got a solution for your shirt. Elias’s mom wouldn’t mind if you borrowed something from her closet. She’s got plenty of clothes, trust me,” Sin adds.
The way he says the last two words, raising his eyebrows and looking around furtively, makes me laugh again.
But then I shake my head and say, “Thanks, but I’m not really in the mood for a wardrobe change. I think I’ll just head home.”
Perhaps that is what I need after all: a restful, if anticlimactic, end to what has been a turbulent birthday.
“You’re leaving already?” Sin asks with a look of mild surprise, which seems somewhat . . . deceptive. “Come on, the night’s still young.”
“Yeah, but I’ve had enough excitement for one night, young man!” I say in my best imitation of a crotchety grandma as Sin lets out an amused snort. “Besides, I don’t exactly fit in. Nobody wants me here, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Wait, so what brought you to this wild party in the first place?”
“Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And it’s my birthday, so I figured, ‘Why not?’” I shrug and avoid his eyes, not knowing what exactly I’m trying to avoid.
Maybe I don’t want to make it seem like my birthday is a big deal? Maybe I’m so used to people undermining my special day that I’m starting to wonder if it’s anything special to begin with?
But Sin’s reaction surprises me. His expression softens as he exclaims, “Your birthday? Happy birthday, Petra! You should have told someone.”
“Just didn’t seem like a big deal,” I respond with a nonchalant expression, even though I feel glad that finally, finally, someone other than Amelia has wished me happy birthday.
In the next instant, that cynical, sour voice in my head mutters, Wow, Petra, two whole people wishing you on your eighteenth birthday! Congratulations, girl!
I’m not sure if Sin can see even the faintest hint of the turmoil raging within me, but his smile turns sympathetic.
“What? It’s a big deal. Eighteen, right? That’s a milestone. You should be fucking celebrating, pardon my French,” he encourages.
“Thanks.” I smile again without meaning to. “It’s nice of you to say that.”
We stand there for a moment, the silence between us charged with all the bleak thoughts I try to dispel from my mind.
His gaze weighs me down in a way. That precise scrutiny of his eyes is a new sensation but . . . not entirely uncomfortable.
Just then, I spot Daphne and her cronies walking, nay, marching, toward us. My stomach contracts, and I instantly know that they aren’t planning to compliment me on the avant-garde design of my half-wet blouse.
I need to get out of here ASAP.
“I should go.” I step back, my eyes never leaving the approaching trio. “I don’t really want to deal with them right now.”
Sin follows my gaze and frowns slightly. “Oh, please, Daphne and her minions? They’re all bark and no bite. Don’t worry about them.”
His words are kind, and a part of me wants to stay and give them another round of sucker punches straight to their stupid faces. But frankly, I’m just tired by now. This has been a long evening.
“Maybe next time,” I say shortly, hoping that Sin won’t press the topic any further. “Thanks for the birthday wish, Sin. And for not plowing me down under your stomping giant’s feet.”
The comment makes him laugh, but I know he wants to say more. “All right.”
He’s still standing in front of me, unmoving. He’s watching me, his lips spread in a wide smile. There’s something odd about his gaze, something that doesn’t quite sit right with me.
Perhaps it’s just his baby-blue eyes. They’re quite pretty.
Just as the thought enters my head, I shake myself.
Here comes the Wicked Witch of the West, I think, as Daphne gets even closer. I’m not a fool to wait around any longer, so I make a beeline for the nearest door before me, ignoring Sin’s lazy eyebrow lift.
To my luck, the door opens out into the pool area, and it’s that time of the night when most of the party has spilled onto the back patio. The music is in full swing, and I hear a splash every few seconds as people dive and cannonball and trust-fall into the azure depths.
A prickle of awareness travels down my back.
Is Sin following me?
Are Daphne and Lenora and that nauseating Francois almost at my heels?
I’m too chicken to actually turn around and find out, so I keep trying to push through the pulsing crowds of dancers and drunk jocks.
Looking back, it’s hard to pinpoint when it happened. I am picking my way through the crowd near the pool. We are all sandwiched tight enough that I can’t see beyond the next body in front of me.
Just as the crowd before me seems to thin out, I hear someone say, “And just where do you think you’re going?” I’ll never forget how cold the voice sounds, and when I whip around to see who it is, I feel my foot slip over an edge behind me.
In the next instance, someone shoves me into the pool.
This time, the loud splash from my own fall seems to stop mid-sound as water engulfs me completely.
A shock of cold takes my breath away.
My mouth is half-open in a frozen scream as I drop down fast.
The sounds of the party become a distant, echoing throb, replaced by the gentle, rhythmic lapping of water against my ears.
Everything slows down. In the dim pool, I see legs and feet kicking nearby. The weight of my clothes pulls me down, making it hard to orient myself. My hair fans out around me like a halo. Like I had already drowned.
I open my eyes wider, trying to see through the chlorinated blur.