Chapter 2 New Years Eve 2026
Asher
“Out of all the places in the world, Amelia Island is where you want to spend your first long leave?” Travis asks. “This place doesn’t exactly scream party hard and forget it all for two days.”
“You didn’t have to come.” I step through the doors of the ballroom to find it exactly the same as last year: decorated to the nines, loud with chatter, and filled with people dancing and celebrating.
Crashing this gala last year was a blessing and a curse, but this year, I bought a ticket like everyone else, so I won’t be shying away from enjoying my time and seeing if I can find her.
“And what? I don’t even have anywhere to call home anymore. You’re stuck with me, buddy.”
I shake my head, leading the way through the crowd of designer dresses and strong perfume.
But none smell like oranges. None smell like delicate fresh citrus.
None have perfect breasts behind a red dress or a quiet but pretty smile she hides away.
None of them have long, dark hair mimicking my soul, or cute bangs kissing her eyebrows as if they’re meant to coexist. None of these women are her.
Her, because I didn’t even get her name.
Her, because I left before I could ask anything.
Her, because I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss and the angel who carried those lips.
“Two beers, please,” Travis tells the bartender, who doesn’t ID us.
Just like last year. Except this year, I’m actually legal to drink.
Technically, I was last year too—at least I was when I downed the champagne glass when I was already drunk.
Drunk on her kiss and her scent. Drunk on the feel of her soft, delicate skin under my rough hands. Drunk on her.
“Wait a damn minute. Are you here because of your mystery girl? I thought you wanted to come back now we could actually afford a ticket and do it right . . . but you’re hoping she’s here, aren’t you?” he asks.
I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip of the worst-poured beer I’ve ever tasted. I don’t understand why they must pour it into a glass instead of just keeping it in the vessel it arrives in, all in the name of etiquette. It’s a waste of time and good beer.
My eyes search silently, ignoring Travis’ question.
I know the chances are slim, but this is my last attempt.
I haven’t been able to find her, not in pictures tagged from last year on social media or in the thousands of profiles with Amelia Island listed as her place of residence I found online. Nobody here looks like her either.
“Fine. If you won’t answer my question, I’m gonna go enjoy my time.” He gets up, grabs his glass, and pats my back. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think she’s real, man. Nobody gets so stuck into someone’s brain to the point they can’t stop thinking about them for a whole year after one kiss.”
He walks away, leaving me with the same thoughts I’ve had for a year. I know I didn’t make her up. I know she exists. I know it deep in my bones. I just hope I can find out who she is.
The room is buzzing with energy, and when Lorde’s Royals blasts through the speaker followed by loud cheers, a multitude of people rush to the dance floor.
Right there, at the edge of the dance floor, there’s a very loud and lively girl shouting the song at the top of her lungs. My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat. Dancing across from her, in a royal blue dress with dark lipstick and beads of sweat sliding down her neck, it’s her.
She dances to the song in the opposite way of her friend.
Her friend, or who I assume is her friend, bounces on the balls of her feet, the giant, puffy skirt of her dress bunched in her hands as she shouts the lyrics.
My mystery girl just sways side to side and sips on a dark liquid I assume is wine.
Her bangs are slightly stuck to her forehead and, judging by the sweat kissing her body, she’s been dancing for a while.
I will her to look at me, but she’s entirely lost in this song.
The chorus hits again, and with it, her hands fly up as her body rolls to the beat.
Her body is like an illusion, and mine is having the hardest time doing anything other than keeping my eyes on her.
The beat drops, and loud cheers erupt. I use that as my cue.
Even if I have to tell my body to follow suit and my dick to calm the fuck down, I decide to walk up to her and see if she remembers me. She has to.
What we experienced last year couldn’t just be in my head.
I know she felt it too. But where I was lost in mine and practicing self-control not to fuck her mouth in that bathroom so she could stop overthinking, she was as forward as possible.
At least, forward with her questions. I wish she would have just given me a sign she wanted me to do something, but we were in a tough position, one she didn’t show she wanted to be a part of before I led her to the bathroom. I couldn’t also make the first move.
I didn’t want her to feel pressured into doing anything . . . but then, she kissed me.
My life has been suspended in this worm hole of possibilities ever since.
Three hundred sixty five days, I’ve been thinking about this girl.
Three hundred sixty five days, I’ve been stroking my dick to the sight of her in high heels and a tiny thong, those perky breasts she flashed me accidentally.
A whole year of dreaming of this girl, and she’s finally here.
Woman. She’s a woman. Her words from a year ago echo in my head as I reach her on the dance floor.
Her eyes stay closed, even when my hand snakes across her belly, pulling her body flush against mine.
She tilts her head back, and dark, thick eyelashes kiss her cheeks as she whispers the lyrics.
Her friend’s puzzled look vanishes when another man does the same as me, and dances with her.
She jumps up and down in his arms and dances away, but my attention is back on my mystery girl.
My mystery girl who grinds her perfect ass against my dick. So much for me keeping it calm. There’s no way I’ll be able to now. I slide my hands to her hips, holding them in place as I whisper in her ear. “I’m so glad to know you weren’t a figment of my imagination.”
She tenses, stopping all movement and snapping her eyes open at the same time the song transitions.
“Asher,” she whispers, turning in my arms and searching my eyes. What for? Not sure, but she’s not stepping back, which is a big deal . . . and she remembers my name.
“Mystery girl.” My smile widens at her reaction. Soft smile, pretty, glimmering eyes, and flushed, rosy cheeks. Just like I remember, except better somehow.
“Mystery girl, huh?” she asks, not moving one bit now. My fingers dig deeper into her hips, willing her to move, and she takes the unspoken cue. Even though the thunderous beat vibrates through the speaker, my eyes and ears are laser focused on her.
“What else was I supposed to call you? You never told me your name.”
“I didn’t think you were real,” she whispers, and I open my arms, showing her my body.
“I am. In the flesh.”
She cocks her head to the side. “Permission to touch?”
As if she couldn’t be any more perfect already, asking for permission does it.
I nod, allowing her to do as she wants. Her hands graze my chest tentatively, as if I’m a ticking bomb she’s trying to defuse.
She’s more on point than she thinks, proceeding with caution, but damn it if I don’t want to be reckless and allow her to touch as much as she wants.
Her fingers continue to my neck and my tense jaw. I didn’t know I was clenching it until she caresses my jawline gently.
“You shaved,” she whispers, not stopping her fingers as they ghost over my phantom mustache delicately. Her fingertips feel like soft feathers over my skin, and it’s too much.
Too much.
My hands grip hers, changing their trajectory and placing them on my shoulders instead.
“I did.” I didn’t tell her anything particular about me, just my name, and I want it to stay that way. Nobody calls me Asher, so it makes it even more special, as if it was just me and her in this moment, a reality where only we exist.
“Where did your glasses go?” she asks, tracing my eyebrows.
“Contacts.” I’m lost in her eyes, in the deep gray of them. They look like the ocean, salt kissed, impossible to forget. “You still haven’t told me your name, beautiful.”
“Did your voice change? It’s deeper now.”
She might be deflecting, but she’s not wrong. It does sound deeper. Twenty, too young to drink but old enough to go to war. Twenty, too young to rent a car but old enough to parent a child or carry a gun. This is backwards as fuck and always has been.
“You just remember it wrong,” I reply, turning her body and drawing her back flush against me.
I’m afraid she’ll see right through me if I don’t put some sort of distance between us, but I don’t want there to be any.
I just need a second to compose myself and not give her the shy kid she got last time.
She drags her nails up my thighs, leaving pure fire behind, even if there’s zero contact with my skin. We both shiver when her ass grinds back against my hard dick. Her skin breaks into goosebumps under my touch, and the air leaves my lungs as if I was underwater and I need air. I need her.
“Have you been thinking about me too, mystery girl?” I whisper against the shell of her ear.
I can feel the smile on her face even if I can’t see it, and almost as if she was psychic, she tilts her head back and shows me.
The most wicked smile I’ve ever seen steals the oxygen from my lungs—and my dick—once more.
“Why don’t we get out of here and I’ll show you how much?” Shit. I lace my fingers with hers, and she starts walking right back to where we were a year ago. Back to the giant bathroom tucked in the hallway.