Page 9 of My Accidental Valentine

“Right—sorry!” I mutter for the third time, my voice barely audible as my brain finally reconnects with my body. I spin on my heels and stumble backward into the corridor, slamming the door shut behind me.

I just stand there, heart pounding like a jackhammer. Then I hear Adam’s footsteps inside the room, and panic surges through me.

Without thinking, I bolt down the corridor like my life depends on it.

I dash into the bathroom at the start of the corridor, locking the door behind me. My chest heaves as I sink onto the edge of the bathtub, catching my breath. The adrenaline surges through me, making my hands tremble.

It takes a full five minutes—five long, agonizing minutes—for my heart to slow and my thoughts to stop spinning. But the deep embarrassment—that awful, sinking pit in my stomach—refuses to go away.

It’s so overwhelming that, for a moment, I genuinely consider hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the evening—maybe forever. My mind spirals somewhere ridiculous—I picture myself transforming into some sewer-dwelling cryptid, slithering through the pipes like Tooms fromThe X-Files, surviving off soggy pizza crusts and the occasional sewer rat, all so I never have to look Adam Payne in the eye again.

Then, as if venting will somehow make this better, I grab my phone and furiously type to Peter:“THAT WAS ADAM’S ROOM!”

Blaming him for this mess makes me feel marginally better. I pull out the change of clothes from my backpack—of course, they’re crumpled to hell, like they’ve been sat on by a hippo—and start changing. The entire time, my ears are tuned to the hallway, bracing for any sound that might signal Adam coming to ambush me and finish me off.

Yeah,finish me offprobably isn’t the best choice of words, given the circumstances. And speaking of that—why the hell was he completely naked? Why didn’t he lock the door? And, seriously, why on Earth was he hard?

That last thought jolts back the memory of what I saw, and before I can stop it, heat floods through me, blood rushing straight to my own cock. Nope.Nope.I can’t think about Adam Payne and his cock. For one, this is Millie’s birthday. For another, there’s the unresolved weirdness of that blackout night and Adam’s reaction when I brought it up. The whole situation is way too complicated and unsettling for me to be getting turned on by him.

After changing and stuffing my dirty clothes into my backpack, I splash cold water on my face. It helps—just a little. I take a deep breath and listen. Voices drift up from the first floor, and I realize Emilia and Peter must be back.

Leaving my backpack in the bathroom, I crack the door open and peek out. Coast clear. I slip out and head down the stairs, forcing myself to breathe evenly.

Millie is already in the hallway, hugging Tina, while Chara and Amira wait their turn. Peter notices me as I step off the last stair.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his gaze curious—probably because of my panicked text.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Did you find your room?” he asks.

“Nope,” I reply quickly, then add, “You can show me later.”

The last thing I want is to rehash what just happened—especially since Adam could appear at any moment. And, of course, right on cue, I hear footsteps descending. A flash of movement enters my peripheral vision, and I know it’s him. I focus all my willpower onnotlooking at him and beeline straight for Millie, who’s finally free for a hug.

“Sammy!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around me. “My button!”

“Happy birthday, buttercup,” I say, lifting her off the ground in a tight hug. Since high school, we’ve been calling each other ridiculous pet names—a running joke to mock a girl she hated who used to cling to Peter and call him syrupy nicknames.

“How are you?” Emilia asks as she steps back, a hint of concern etched into her face. It’s a simple question on the surface, but we both know what she really means:How are you with Adam here?

A small pang of hurt flickers in my chest. She didn’t warn me she invited him. But knowing Millie, there’s probably a reason—one she thinks is solid enough that I’ll forgive her later.

“Great,” I say, forcing a casual tone. But it doesn’t sound convincing, because Emilia’s eyes widen just slightly, her gaze sharpening. It’s the look she gives when she decides something needs addressingnow, birthday or not. God, I love this girl. She’s not just like a sister—she’s like my twin. A more capable, get-shit-done version of me who somehow loves me no matter what.

“Happy birthday, Emilia,” Adam says, and I instinctively step back as he leans in to hug her.

“Thanks, Adam,” she replies, her smile bright and warm. “It’s great to see you.”

But I can tell—she’s already observing him, reading him in that quiet, subtle way of hers that most people miss entirely. I wouldn’t notice either if I didn’t know her so well.

Turning to Chara and Tina, Emilia announces, “I’m going to get changed, and then let’s get this party started!” But before she leaves, she throws me a quick look. “Sam, can you help me with my stuff?”

“Sure,” I reply, fully aware it’s just a ploy to get me alone for a talk.

I grab her bags—and nearly topple over. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

She shrugs. “I went shopping. Peter kicked me out of the house at nine this morning, and I had nothing to do after the movies.”

---