Page 104 of Kiss Slay Replay

Somehow, I forget. Every time I forget. The way his dirty blond hair falls in his face. His sea green eyes. His wide, crooked grin. Perfect teeth. He smiles, and the slate is wiped clean. I forgive him of all his sins because of how beautiful he is. His charm is a black hole.

Maybe he’s a trap, a distraction that keeps me in the loop. A flimsy Band-Aid over an open wound. An inevitable letdown. A temporary high.

Yet I cannot resist him.

“Are you waiting for a drink?” he asks. “Do you need one?”

“Um. Yeah. Whiskey. Whiskey sour.”

“Good choice,” he says.

“You’re a whiskey drinker, too.” I reach out to where I know the flask is tucked in his suit pocket, tap twice. “That’s what I thought.”

“How did you…”

“You seem to me like the kind of guy who fancies himself a rebel, and this whole wedding thing really isn’t your scene. You’re looking for something or someone to make this night more interesting. That’s why you’re here talking to me.”

He laughs his awkward laugh. Classic Danny. Endearing me to him by presenting a sliver of vulnerability, a glimpse of someone not all veneer. “You’re psychic?”

“No, you’re just not that complicated.” The bartender sets my ginger ale on the counter, and I leave it there, pretend like I didn’t order it. Danny requests my whiskey sour. Gets himself a whiskey neat.

He ruffles his hair, bites his lip. “Okay, okay. You’re right. I get so anxious at shit like this. Formal. Stand here. Smile for photos. Sit-down dinner. Speeches. The weird mix of family and strangers. Not my thing. I don’t think it’s yours, either.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You practically ran to the bar after the ceremony.”

I open my mouth to deny it but change my mind, shrug it off.

“How do you know Jason and Steph?” he asks.

“College friend,” I say. “Willa.”

“Willa. I’m Danny. I’m Jason’s—”

“I know. He talks about you.”

“Ah. So, Willa. You were there at the beginning,” he says. “When they met.”

“Correct.”

“And?”

“We were at a party. He saw her from across the room. Went over to talk to her. That was that. It’s not much of a story. Everything that came after is the story. This is the story.”

“This is the middle of the story. I’m asking about the beginning.”

“If you think the beginning is the best part, the story is going to end a lot sooner than you want it to. Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

“Did you?”

“Oh yeah.” The bartender slides our drinks across the counter. I take mine and step off to the side. He follows me, puts a hand on my back, and leads me toward the floral arches.

“Run away with me,” he whispers in my ear.

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, right?

I know where this is headed. He will disappoint me. Discard me. He will not save me from my heartache, or from anything else that may or may not happen tonight.