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Story: Anti-Hero

Flynn groans under his breath. “Don’t you dare ditch me once we get over there! I hang out with your cousins.”
“Youbegme to hang out with Wren.”
“No shit. She’s?—”
“Off-fucking-limits,” I finish for him.
Flynn rolls his eyes. “Uh-huh. Good luck scaring off every dude in New York.”
We reach Perry before I can reply.
I won’t have to scare off anyone. Wren can take care of herself. But since she and Rory don’t have a brother, I feel some responsibility towarn away anyone I know is bad news. Flynn might be a fantastic best friend, but he has as little experience with commitment as I do.
“Flynn!” Perry greets his cousin cheerfully. “Christopher!”
But I note how his knuckles have whitened around his glass. The contents are completely clear, suggesting he’s drinking straight vodka or water. Based on our prior interactions, I’d bet heavily on the latter.
“Nice to see you, man.” I set my tumbler down on a customized coaster and shake Perry’s hand.
As soon as the pleasantries are complete, I glance around, tuning out Flynn’s stilted small talk with his cousin. Flynn will probably grumble about my lack of support later, but his dislike of Perry has little to do with Perry himself. It’s fueled by Flynn’s resentment toward his dad’s side of the family.
Really, I’m doing my best friend a favor, urging him to move past old grievances and form his own conclusions about his cousin.
Finally.
My jaw flexes as I focus on the opening that leads to the restrooms. I force the taut muscles to relax. Make my eyes wander rather than allowing them to remain fixed where they want to be.
As soon as I’ve completed a lazy perusal of the room, my attention snaps back to her. This time, she’s looking back at me.
Collins considers changing direction when our gazes collide. I watch the urge flit across her face before determination replaces the initial impulse for avoidance.
That’s my girl.
Well, notmygirl. But my … something.
Anticipation accelerates my heart rate into an uneven staccato as her steps continue straight this way.
I don’t have many problems.
But Collins Tate would be my favorite quandary even if I had hundreds to contend with.
There’s no surprise on her face when she reaches the table—only resignation—which means she spotted me earlier and our lack of interaction so far was purposeful on her part.
“Sorry that took so long,” Collins says, smiling apologetically at Perry. “There was a line.”
“No problem. Your champagne didn’t try to run off while you were gone.” He grins at his own lame joke.
I glance at Flynn, who’s wearing a reluctantly impressed look on his face. Perry is a decent-looking guy, I guess, but I’ve never seen him flirt with a woman before. I doubt Flynn has either.
My jaw tightens again. I’m entirely still, outwardly calm yet fully tensed. Like a sprinter poised on the block, waiting for the starting gun to fire off. My bloodstream hums with pure adrenaline.
“Hey. I’m Flynn.”
I say nothing as Flynn introduces himself to Collins. They’ve met before—Lili invited Collins to my grandmother’s famous Fourth of July party the year they graduated—but I’m unsurprised Flynn doesn’t remember. I usually throw my own less stuffy party during my grandmother’s annual bash that isn’t conducive to a clear recollection of the holiday.
“Collins. Nice to meet you.”
They shake hands right in front of me, but Flynn is the only one who glances my way afterward. He’s waiting for me to introduce myself.

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