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Still pretending to fix my neckline, I pull out two of them and put each in a glass. Then I grab my pendant, the one I’ve never removed ever since I got it for my thirteenth birthday. The one that matches my eye color and calms me beyond anything else I’ve ever tried.
“What do we have here?”
I freeze, my heart catching in my throat. Christopher, another football player and the captain’s friend, slides to my side.
His curly hair kisses his forehead and his eyes twinkle with mischief. Jeez. Please tell me he didn’t see me put the pills in the drinks? I chose a corner on purpose.
“You look hot as fuck in that dress, Nikki. I bet you’d look even better out of it.”
Phew. So he’s just being his usual flirty self.
He reaches a hand for my arse, but I swat it away. “Gross. Not in this lifetime.”
Then I grab the shots and head to where I last saw Astrid and Daniel. But my stepsister is nowhere to be found.
Daniel is all alone, standing near the balcony, but that’s not all. Both of his hands are shoved in his jean pockets and he’s narrowing his eyes on me.
Not anyone else, me.
Seeing Daniel alone is as weird as witnessing a flying unicorn toward England’s nonexistent sun. But the fact that he’s also looking at me is even stranger.
My nerves start to snap and attack the rest of my body. I can feel my feet getting cold and the tips of my fingers becoming numb. But I continue channeling the inner diva in me who’s a glorified version of eight-year-old me.
Only, she has more issues now.
And they all start with him.
Daniel.
I don’t have to keep walking to him, because he closes the distance between us in a few long, determined strides.
My feet come to an abrupt halt when he nearly crashes his chest against mine and brings us both tumbling to the ground.
“What?” I ask because he’s looking at me weirdly.
More accurately, he’s glaring.
Almost like he wants to split my face open and peer inside it. Or maybe punch whatever he finds there like he’s always bruised my heart.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“And that’s any of your business because…?” Yeah, so I usually sound like this. Snobbish, mean, and completely detached.
It’s a defense mechanism.
That sadistic gleam returns to his eyes. My chest hardens for the hit, for the attack that always leaves me emotionally crippled. “Thought I would check in case you decide to steal some peaches and ruin the party.”
“Whether I eat peaches, live or die, or end up paralyzed is none of your business.”
“It is if I’m forced to attend your funeral instead of going to summer camp.”
“And who says you’re invited to my funeral? Maybe I’ll have a ban list and you’ll be at the top of it.”
That makes him pause, a muscle working in his square jaw. And did I just imagine that or did his arms become tauter?
A smirk breaks out on his lips, and although his dimples make a guest appearance, I don’t like them under this light. They’re sinister, projecting the sadism in his eyes. “Or maybe you won’t have a say in it and I’ll be sitting in the front row singing ‘Hallelujah’ in my head.”
“Then at your funeral, I’ll wear a pink dress, hold a matching umbrella, and stand on your grave, crying loudly. When people gather around, I’ll say, ‘Everyone says men with minuscule penises have short lives, but I never believed that until now.’”
