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WILLOW

TWO YEARS AGO

S hit.

Double shit.

Triple shit with whipped cream and a cherry on top.

There’s no way this could be happening to me.

Of all the parties that are going on around campus on this Saturday night, he just had to show up here?

Blaise Dalton.

I feel like the universe is playing some kind of cruel joke at my expense.

Just when I need a stress-relieving break from school, he appears, looking like the very definition of awkward and yet somehow still pulling it off as cool.

His blond hair is messy, like he's ran his hands through it one too many times.

He's still in his red Crestwood Red Wolves hoodie. I would bet money he was dragged here straight from the rink by one of his teammates. Hell, my older brother would have been one of the people bringing him here if he was on campus this weekend. That’s what best friends and roommates do, after all.

This is what I get for accepting my best friend Ari’s dare to go out by myself tonight.

I take another sip of the drink I have no intention of finishing, all the while telling myself to ignore him.

I need to pretend his sudden appearance doesn't make my stomach drop through the floor.

But before I can think of an escape plan, he spots me.

Our eyes lock across the room, and for a second, I see surprise flash in his.

He looks just as shocked as I feel, like he’s a deer caught in headlights and I’m sure I resemble the same.

It’s probably the very last place he'd expect to find me.

But then he grins, a half-smile I know is meant to be casual.

And I swear my stomach tumbles into hell.

There's no way I can avoid him now.

He starts working his way through the crowd, dodging the people and cups of beer with grace that, in my mind, a man his size shouldn’t have.

I consider slipping out the back door before he gets any closer, sparing us both this awkward greeting, but something makes me stay.

Maybe it's because I’m curious about what he's doing here…yeah, that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.

“Willow,” is all he says, when he finally reaches me.

He towers over me, even more than usual because I’m in flats. I slowly move my head up to meet his beautiful blue eyes.

Not that I would ever tell him that.

“Blaise,” I say as I raise my brow. “Surprised to see you here alone.”

He shrugs. “The same could be said for you.”

Even I have to admit he’s not wrong. "Touché. So what's your excuse?"

"Wilder dragged me away from my gaming session. Said I needed 'human interaction' or something equally ridiculous." He makes air quotes with his fingers, and I can't help but smile. "Said he’d meet me here or something, but who knows if he has even made it here."

"Sounds about right." At least that’s based on what I knew about him from my brother Knox. I did my best to not hang around the hockey team, but got enough information about them from him.

"So where's your entourage?" Blaise asks, glancing around like he expects Ari or some of my other friends to materialize out of thin air.

"Flying solo tonight." I take another sip of my drink, grateful for something to do with my hands. "Ari dared me to have a night out by myself. Said I needed to 'expand my social circle' or whatever."

His eyebrows shoot up. "And you actually took the dare? I'm impressed, Sanchez."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"That you are." His eyes linger on mine a beat too long.

The music shifts to something with a heavier bass that I swear is vibrating through the floor.

Someone bumps into me from behind, pushing me slightly forward.

Blaise's hand shoots out to steady me, and in a split second, I’m wishing for the floor to swallow me whole.

I’m grateful for his quick reflexes, but I’m not sure how I feel about having the warmth from his fingers against my bare arm.

"Sorry," I mutter, stepping back to put some distance between us. “Anyway, attending a party alone does allow for some excellent people watching experiences.”

"People watching, huh?" Blaise shifts his weight before sticking his hands in his pockets. "Any interesting subjects tonight?"

I gesture subtly with my head toward a guy in the corner wearing a cowboy hat and swim trunks. "That one's been doing handstands against the wall for the last twenty minutes. No one knows why."

Blaise laughs, and my stomach raises back up from the floor and does a flip in my body. "Amateur. Check out the girl by the speakers who's collecting every red solo cup she can find. She's got a stack of at least fifteen or twenty."

I follow his gaze to spot a girl with jet-black hair with bright blue streaks swiping abandoned cups like she’s on a mission. "Wow. That's some serious dedication. I wonder what her end game is."

"Frat house art installation? Recycling vigilante? The possibilities are endless."

I snort. "I'm betting on a social experiment for her psych class."

"Could be.”

“Or maybe she's planning to build a solo cup throne," I toss out lightly.

"A throne fit for the queen of questionable party decisions." Blaise nods. "We should probably keep an eye on her. Witness the coronation."

"Definitely." I take another small sip of my drink, the jungle juice burning slightly on the way down.

It's so strange standing here going bar for bar with him like this. Easy. Comfortable even. Which is the opposite of how I usually feel around him because I’m usually hyperaware of the 'Knox's Sister' label that hangs between us.

"So," he says, breaking the brief silence, his voice a little lower now, "aside from taking dares and analyzing people, what else brings Willow Sanchez out on a Saturday night?"

I shrug. "Just needed a break. School's been kicking my ass, and trying to balance writing articles on top of that? It’s been hell."

"Tell me about it." He sighs, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Midterms are coming up, practice is brutal, and sometimes I think Coach lives purely to invent new ways to torture us."

"At least you get to hit people legally," I point out, swirling the ice in my cup. "Journalism can involve character assassination at times, but it is less physically satisfying."

He chuckles and I try to pretend I’m not affected by it. "True. Though sometimes, after a particularly bad check, I wish I could just write a scathing article about….” he paused for a moment, “the other team's questionable hygiene."

I side-eye him before returning my gaze to the dancing unfolding in front of us. “You’re ridiculous.”

"Maybe," he agrees, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "But you laughed."

"Barely," I retort, though the corner of my mouth betrays me when I can’t fight my smirk. "It was more of a pity chuckle."

"I'll take it." He leans against the wall beside me, mirroring my posture.

I look around for a second before turning to look at the man next to me. “I thought you were supposed to be meeting up with Wilder?”

“Trying to get rid of me?”

"Maybe," I repeat his earlier comment. "Or maybe I'm just wondering how long you plan on ditching the guy who supposedly rescued you from a night of playing video games by yourself."

"That's assuming video games need rescuing from," Blaise counters, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulls his hoodie tighter across his shoulders, and I force my eyes not to linger although every fiber of my being wants me to.

"Let me guess—you were in the middle of some epic raid? About to level up your wizard or whatever to fight the warden of Hollow Eclipse?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "First of all, it's a warlock, not a wizard. Completely different class specifications. And second—" He stops abruptly, studying my face. "Wait. How did you know I was playing Realm of the Unknown?"

I bite my lip, cursing myself for revealing too much. "Lucky guess?"

"No way." He's fully turned toward me now and I swear his eyes are sparkling. "You play?"

"I might have reached level sixty-three with the witch last weekend," I admit. It feels weird admitting this out loud, but here we are. "But if you tell anyone, I'll deny it and then kill you."

"Your secret's safe with me. Level sixty-three? That's impressive. I can't believe Knox never mentioned you play."

"Because Knox doesn't know," I say, lowering my voice. "It's a stress reliever, not something I broadcast."

Blaise’s grin widens slowly. "Okay, okay. Your secret gaming life is safe. But seriously, a level sixty-three witch? I’m impressed."

"It's not that impressive," I mumble before I take a larger gulp of my drink this time. The alcohol burns a little less, or maybe I'm just getting used to it. "It's mostly just mindless clicking after a certain point."

"Don't sell yourself short," Blaise says. "It takes dedication. Strategy.”

As I feel my cheeks grow warm, I quickly realize that those words coming from him feel like the highest praise I’ve ever received. I finish the last of my drink in one go, and although I know I’m going to regret it in the morning, I can’t careless right now.

"Whoa there," Blaise says, his eyes widening as I set the empty cup down on a nearby table a little too forcefully. "Pacing yourself isn't really your thing tonight, huh?"

"Relax." I wave a hand dismissively, already scanning the room for where I can find another drink. "My tolerance is very high." That is a total lie, but the alcohol is starting to fuzz the edges of my anxiety, making me feel bolder.

"Highest of tolerances, secret gaming skills... what other hidden talents are you hiding?" He pushes off the wall and his gaze lands on the doorway to the kitchen. "Need a refill?"

"Lead the way," I say. I immediately regret saying the words a little too eagerly, but I do my best to shake it off. After all, I can’t take them back now.