Page 48 of Kiss Slay Replay

I almost tell her Vicky got straight up decapitated in my dream last night but decide to just keep my mouth shut.

“Here we are,” the bartender says. I dig a crumpled bill out of my purse.

“Thank you,” I say, dropping the bill in the tip jar with a complete lack of finesse. I take my drink and move to cheers Cassie, but she’s already downing her tequila.

I cautiously pivot toward the party, adopting a casual posture—shoulders relaxed, chin down, drink at my lips. I let my eyes sweep the scene.

Evan and Wyatt have secured a spot on one of the couches. Luke stands in front of the married musical duo, nodding along to their cover of “Use Somebody” with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. Ravi and Tanya chat with Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, Jace’s parents. Tanya leans into Ravi, rubs his back.

Oof. Nope.

I gulp my drink and tear my eyes away, continue browsing the crowd.

And there he is. Danny. In a navy suit, white collared shirt, no tie. He’s alone, hovering near the floral arches, trying and failing to stay out of view as he takes a swig from his flask. He is exactly as I remember him. This person I’ve never met before.

How is this possible? Does it mean something? I need to know.

“Be right back,” I tell Cassie.

I start toward Danny. Maybe I should be nervous. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. Only…what if I do? Maybe it’ll be a story I tell years from now. It was intuition, I’ll say. I dreamt of him. I’d obviously omit the other details of the dream. All the brutal killing and eye removing and whatnot.

Everything else today—every other uncanny similarity and freakish coincidence, fucking Tanya existing—filled me with soul-crushing, nausea-inducing panic. But this, Danny being here and being real, fills me with something…something close to hope.

I come around the side of the arch to where he is. I catch him mid-drink, click my tongue, and shake my head. “This is unacceptable, sir.”

There it is—that goofy half smile. His dimples. His big green eyes. His wild hair. His awkward laughter that I already know the sound of, that I already adore.

“Whoa. Officer, it’s not what it looks like,” he says.

“Are you drinking whiskey out of a flask?”

“Ah. It’s exactly what it looks like. I’d offer you some but…” He gestures to the drink in my hand. “Hey. You’re drinking on the job.”

“Guess we’re both bad news.”

“I’m Danny,” he says, extending a hand. I slide mine into his. His touch gets my heart racing; my blood rockets through my veins and suddenly I’m cozy warm, suddenly I’m floating. The world smells sweet. Like fucking peaches. Danny, Danny, Danny.

“Willa. College friend.”

“Hey, Willa.”

I don’t let go, and neither does he. We look at each other. Hold eye contact.

Will you take me to Tokyo?

Will you prove to me that everything’s going to be okay?

“I’m stalling,” he says, nodding toward the cocktail area. “Are you stalling?”

“No,” I say, finally taking back my hand. “No, I’m having a nice conversation.”

He laughs, ruffles his hair. “Okay, okay. That, too. I just get anxious at shit like this. Formal. Stand here. Smile for photos. Sit-down dinner. Speeches. Family. Strangers. Not—”

“Not your thing. I get it.” If this déjà vu is a symptom of some sort of neurological disorder, is it wrong for me to use it as a cheat code to seduce Danny?

Probably. Fuck. I take another sip of my whiskey sour. Another.

“Not your thing, either?” he asks.