Axton
I should’ve stayed upstairs, but I didn’t.
One minute, I was standing at the balcony railing, drink in hand, convincing myself I could just watch. Stay quiet. Let her exist in her own corner of the night.
And then she looked up.
Our eyes met, briefly. A second. Maybe two. It hit me harder than I thought it would.
She didn’t smile. Didn’t react. But something flickered across her face, like she didn’t know whether to look away or walk right through me.
I was the one who looked away first. Or she was.. I didn't even know anymore.
And that’s when I moved. Down the stairs. Through the crowd. Shoulders brushing people I didn’t bother apologizing to.
I wasn’t going toward her. I told myself that. I was just… Getting air.
Right.
I ended up near the kitchen. Blain was leaning against the fridge, arguing with someone over which bottle of vodka had the least chance of ruining the night.
“Hey, what's up?” he asked when he spotted me.
“Just needed a minute.”
He looked at me like he knew I was lying but didn’t feel like calling me on it.
“She’s here,” he said casually, eyes flicking toward the hallway.
I didn’t respond. Didn’t have to.
“She looks good.”
I clenched my jaw. “Yeah.”
Blain gave me a half-smile. “You’re allowed to admit it, you know. You’re also allowed to do something about it.”
“Not here,” I muttered.
“Not ever?” he challenged.
I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know.
I wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to notice. And I definitely wasn’t supposed to be the one who couldn’t stay away.
But here I was.
I spotted her across the room, standing near Amelia, drink in hand, pretending to listen to a guy talk too loud. She looked bored. But beautiful. Unbothered on the outside. Tight in the shoulders. Like she was pretending, too.
My hand tightened around the bottle I was holding. Maybe I’d just say something. One line. Some sarcastic nothing. Maybe I’d pretend it meant less than it did.
I moved again. Without thinking.
Toward her.
It was stupid.
But not moving? That felt worse.

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