Page 2 of My Accidental Valentine

“Hi,” I reply, though my mind is still spinning from the hallway encounter with Adam freaking Payne, who just let me in.

Chara glances down at my feet, one eyebrow arched. “Hey, shoes off!”

“Right, sorry,” I mumble, handing her my backpack and the bouquet as I step back toward the hallway. But before I can make my escape, I bump into something solid. Something solid, warm, and smelling faintly of fresh laundry and shaving cream.

As I awkwardly turn around, already knowing I’ll be face-to-face with Adam, his hand briefly grazes my shoulder beforehe lets me go. God, I thought I was over him—especially after that humiliating day four years ago, and even more so after dating Tim—but clearly, I’m not.

“Sorry,” I mutter, keeping my eyes down as I try to step around him. But Adam’s so big he completely blocks the exit, so he has to step back toward the doorframe to let me through. As I squeeze past, our chests accidentally brush, and it takes everything in me not to bolt straight out of the house.

In the hallway, I fumble with the laces of my boots, doing an embarrassingly bad job of untying them, just to stall for time. Before I’m fully recovered, Peter strides down the stairs, a broad grin lighting up his face as he spots me.

“Hey, Sam, what’s up?”

“Hey, Peter,” I say, finally managing to tug off my boots and standing up to give him a quick hug. “Sorry I’m late. Got stuck in traffic.”

“No worries.” Peter grins, patting my back before stepping away. “Let me take your jacket.”

As I wrestle with my jacket, trying to shrug it off, I catch a glimpse of Adam out of the corner of my eye. He’s back in the hallway, leaning casually against the doorway as if he’s part of the conversation. His gaze rests on me, and suddenly, my skin feels like it’s on fire.

I hand my jacket to Peter and, doing my best to sound cheerful and nonchalant, ask, “How can I help?”

Peter pauses, considering. “We’re almost done with the decorations, and the catering service will be here in thirty minutes, so we’re mostly set. But if you’re up for it, you couldpick up the cake from the bakery in an hour. I’ll need to go get Millie, so it’d be a big help if you could handle that.”

“Sure, I’ll do it,” I say, relieved at the excuse to get out of the house—and away from Adam—for a bit.

“Thanks, man,” Peter says, then throws a quick glance at Adam before turning back to me. “Want something to drink? We’ve got beer and wine.”

“God, no!” I blurt out, heat rushing to my cheeks. The thing is, ever since my blackout at Peter’s birthday party—or rather, ever since I found out something happened but had no idea what—I’ve avoided alcohol like the plague. I never thought I had a problem with it before, but after that, I swore it off completely and haven’t touched a drop since.

“Thanks, I, uh…don’t drink,” I say quickly, trying to smooth over my outburst.

“Oh, right,” Peter says, his expression softening with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I forgot. We’ve got juice and Coke too.”

“And non-alcoholic beer,” Adam says suddenly, turning to look at me again. It twists something inside me—an irritating mix of tension and want that buzzes beneath my skin.

For the first time since I arrived, I really look at him—take him in—and God, he’s even more gorgeous than I remember. He’s more muscled now, his biceps straining against the sleeves of his T-shirt in a way that does dangerous things to my pulse. His hair is short, dark, and curly, and it looks so soft I catch myself wanting to run my fingers through it—maybe even smell it. And his eyes, that impossibly deep green, look almost unreal, like he’s wearing contacts. But I know he’s not.

Our eyes meet for a split second, but his expression is impossible to read. I usually pride myself on being a decent empath, but I have no idea what he’s thinking. Is he angry? Disgusted? Does he hate me? My breath catches, and my stomach twists into knots.

“Cool,” I manage to say, sounding anything but cool.

“Do you want some beer, then?” Peter asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice coming out hoarse. I clear my throat quickly. “Thanks.”

“I’ll bring it to you in a moment,” Peter says before heading off to hang up my jacket and disappearing into the kitchen.

I make my way back into the living room, brushing past Adam again. I swear he gives me a sidelong glance as I pass, sending a wave of heat straight through me.

“Hey, do you need help?” I ask as I step into the room, spotting Chara, Tina, and Amira. They’re putting the chairs back in place, the string lights glowing softly above them.

“Not really—we’re pretty much done,” Chara says.

Tina picks up a stack of napkins from the cloth-covered table. “But if you have time, can you show me how to make the swans again?”

“Sure,” I say, relieved to have something to keep my hands busy. My napkin swans are always a hit, and every year I show Tina how to fold them—but she always forgets. I don’t mind, though—I actually find the process kind of meditative.

I sit down at the table and start folding, doing my best not to look toward the hallway, where I might catch sight ofAdam. Still, after a moment, I can’t help but sneak a quick look—but he’s gone. I breathe a little easier.

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