Page 7 of Choosing Her

saylor

I’d never understood the appeal of having an indoor swimming pool in a house, but I’d never hated the idea as much as I did at that New Year’s Eve party.

About fifty drunk teenagers were splashing around, casting shadows over the multi-colored lights coming from the bottom of the pool.

Naomi was in there somewhere, but with the dim lighting and everyone looking the same, I couldn’t find her anywhere.

At first, I’d tried calling her name, but everyone was yelling here and making it impossible to hear a thing.

And once the bottom half of my jeans had gotten completely soaked through by some idiots using flutter boards to splash water at each other, I decided I didn’t care enough to find her anyway.

I had to fight my way back upstairs, since every inch of the house seemed to be filled with people, to the point of a fire hazard, with one couple even horizontal on the stairs as they made out.

For a moment, I considered stepping right on the girl’s back as I walked up just to make a point, but ended up just skipping the step, even though it meant that I felt like I was doing the splits over them.

When I got back up to the main floor, I started toward the backyard—which seemed like a safe place to hide out for the next couple of hours—until I noticed a girl on the back porch puking, while her friend held back her hair, looking utterly disgusted.

Seriously, who was so sick by eight p.m. that they were throwing up?

I did a quick one-eighty, brushing past the kitchen filled with overflowing snack bowls, empty cups and a few kegs, and started up the staircase to the second floor.

The party hadn’t spilled over to up here, aside from the long line of people waiting for the bathroom.

And, of course, all the closed doors that either meant the hosts were smart enough to lock them before the party, or more likely, that some couples had found their way up here and taken the rooms over.

I wasn’t planning on trying to open any of the doors to find.

That was, not until I found the seemingly only door left propped open—a tiny laundry room, with barely enough room to stand in front of the washer and dryer.

It was no wonder the room hadn’t been claimed yet; I couldn’t imagine a couple trying to do anything in here.

I closed the door behind me, letting out a sigh of relief as I experienced silence for the first time since arriving at this house. Yeah, I could get comfortable in here.

The washer and dryer sat side-by-side instead of being stacked, meaning it was low enough for me to sit on, and I quickly hopped up, turning sideways so I could have my feet up in front of me.

I didn’t have my normal phone with me because Naomi was so paranoid about us losing our phones at a party—as if we couldn’t just use Dad’s credit card to buy new ones—so all I had was my old Blackberry that barely worked and had no apps on it to entertain me.

Technically, I had it for emergencies, but it was so crappy that I wasn’t sure if I would even be able to hold a call with 911, so I was just hoping nothing went wrong.

It was right as I was considering the chances of that happening when the door flew open and the phone went flying from my hand.

It hit the wall hard, then crashed to the floor and broke in three pieces.

I stared at it, then at the boy who was now standing in the doorway, and said, “You owe me a new phone.”

I couldn’t see him well in the dimly lit hallway but he became much clearer to me as he took a step into the room.

I stuck one foot out to him, like that would stop him from advancing, and looked him over.

Naomi told me it was a pair of brothers hosting it and since one of them was in high school and one of them was in university, there was a mix of people here, but I was pretty sure the boy in front of me was about my age.

He had brown hair that felt in soft curls around his head and was wearing a pair of big glasses with a silver rim.

But the main thing my eyes were drawn to was his sharp jawline and the line of his biceps that was clear even through his long-sleeve shirt.

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t look apologetic at all. “I was just looking for the laundry room. Didn’t realize anybody would be in here.”

Then he leaned forward to peer around the back of the door, like he thought somebody might be hiding behind it.

I considered telling him I was alone to save him time, then realized that maybe I shouldn’t do that, because it would make me seem vulnerable.

I didn’t want him to think nobody would notice if I disappeared or something.

“Just waiting for my sister,” I said.

He nodded, chewing on his lip. I watched the movement, feeling oddly mesmerized by it.

“She in one of the rooms back there?” He asked, jerking his head back.

I choked on air at the implication that I might be waiting for my sister to finish hooking up, but covered it up with a cough.

The boy stepped all the way inside the room and pushed the door almost closed behind him.

I watched him warily, not liking the idea of being stuck in here with a total stranger.

“My friend is—using one of the hook-up room that is. I feel like I shouldn’t leave him behind, but it also means I’m trapped up here until he’s done. Want a coke?”

I only realized then that he had a can in each of his hands, like he’d been bringing it to someone.

Had he been looking for someone when he came up here?

Or had he been planning to try to pick up a girl and decided I seemed like an easy target?

He must have noticed my narrowed eyes because he said, “I was going to bring one to my friend but then he met a girl and now… well…” He shrugged and held a can out to me. “No need to let it go to waste, right?”

Taking a drink from a random boy went against all my safety instincts, but I was thirsty and it wasn’t like it was an open, easily-tampered-with cup.

I dropped my legs off the dryer and leaned forward to take one of the cans from him.

He seemed to take that as an invitation to sit on the dryer, as he jumped right up and sat facing me, while I inspected the can to make sure it was safe.

Once I felt certain enough that he hadn’t somehow spiked it, I popped the tab and took a sip, keeping my eyes on him the whole time.

“Refreshing,” I said after I swallowed.

His lips quirked. “Who are you?”

I paused before answering—again, stranger danger. But was telling this boy my name that much of a threat? What could he do with it?

“Saylor,” I said. There, he didn’t know my full name. And it wasn’t a lie—I went by Saylor with everyone but family members who thought calling me by the last name we all shared was distasteful. And, of course, all my parents’ snobby country club friends, but I hardly ever spoke with them anyway.

He tilted his head slightly. “Your parents really into boats or something?”

I shrugged with one shoulder, not bothering to correct the error. Normally, I had to explain to people that it wasn’t spelled sailor and that it wasn’t because my parents were super into sailing or anything. But I was never going to see this boy again and I didn’t see any reason for him to know.

“Or something,” I said, not giving him anything else to go on. His smiled widened. I waited for him to say his own name and sighed when he remained completely silent, forcing me to seem more eager than I liked to when I first met someone. “And you?”

“Oh, my parents love boats,” he said, seeming also dismissive. And even though I didn’t want to, I giggled at the joke. I guess that was enough to win him over, because then he said, “I’m Crossy.”