Page 47 of If You Stayed

“What? No. It’s fine. I’m cool. I’m hip. I’m a party animal.”

He laughed. “Penguin.”

“I mean it. I’m sick of Ali hating me and calling me a good girl.”

“So you feed into her bullshit by drinking?”

“If that will get her to shut up, yes.”

His brows knit. “I can tell her to stop being rude to you. I have no problem doing that.”

“Don’t you dare,” I ordered. “I’m not going to be the reason you end up single, because I run off everyone you date.”

“You know why she hates you, right?”

“Because I’m ridiculously charming, likable, and beautiful?” I joked.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t follow it up with anything else. A strange butterfly sensation hit the pit of my stomach from his words. He looked down at the floor and flicked his thumb against his nose before looking back up. “You don’t have to try to fit in here, Kierra. You weren’t born to do that.”

“To have fun?”

He laughed. “To fit in.”

“Gabriel!” was hollered from the kitchen, and we both looked over to see Ali standing there, pouting.

“Duty calls.” He nudged my arm. “I’ll check on you later.”

“You don’t have to. Be a good boyfriend,” I told him. “I’m good.”

“I’ll check on you later,” he repeated before giving me a half grin as he walked away to his whiny princess.

I stayed glued to the staircase, studying everyone around me as I sipped the disgusting drink in my hand. Rosie seemed to be having the time of her life, finding her social butterfly skills hitting an all-time high. Her birthday dreams were coming true, and I was fine taking a back seat to be a side character to her story. I knew if I asked Rosie to spend the day reading with me in the library, she’d be right there, front and center. Even if that meant she’d have to be quiet. My dear friend struggled to not talk much.

“Do you always hang out against stairwells at parties?” a person said, making me stand straighter.

I glanced up to find Brett Stevens in front of me. I looked over my shoulder to see if he was talking to someone else, but all I found was the stairwell. Obviously.

As I tried to choke down my bursting spike of panic, I just smiled.

No words were anywhere to be found, which was expected. I had a way of freezing up when I was nervous, scared, happy—or, well, any emotion. I froze up instantly like a Popsicle.

Brett held another cup toward me. “I noticed you’ve been chewing on that cup for a while now. Figured you needed a new drink.”

My eyes all but bugged out of my skull. He noticed me? “You noticed me?”

“How could I not? You’re the most beautiful girl in this place.” He leaned back against the stairwell beside me. “Want to screw?”

“Screw what?” I asked, taking a sip.

“Me.”

I spat my drink out, stunned by his words.

That was not how I saw my first interaction with Brett Stevens going.

“What?” I laughed, feeling as if he was just joking. “No. Do you even know my name?”

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