When she uncovers his plan to lead an entirely uneventful life, Mia Evian is determined to teach Preston Maddox how to stop living like a ghost, but Mia and Preston have history, tension, and a lot of complicated feelings.
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Cool.
Cool.
Since when did Preston Maddox say cool? Before I have a chance to question his sudden vocabulary switch-up, I spot some familiar faces from our group approaching, so welcome them with one big wave. I try to catch Preston's eye as we make our way down the stairs, but he's already way ahead.
Once downstairs, my first stop is the bar. Margot and a few others join me while the rest of our group, including Preston, head straight to the dancefloor. It seems silly in hindsight because the guy's not some alcohol-induced werewolf, but I was holding onto this fear that Preston having more than a few drinks would lead to the re-emergence of Zack. That he'd not be able to stop, that he'd go too far or revert to a version of himself that would make him feel like a stranger. Tonight has buried that fear for good–buried Zack for good.
It's nearly midnight and Joe's reverted to his role as timekeeper, this time for my birthday. We're huddled in a tight circle as he's yelling his countdown into the questionably musky air, and as the clock strikes twelve, I figure I best not mention I wasn't actually born until two in the morning. Margot's screaming happy birthdays into my ear as she wraps her arms around me, then lifts me from the dancefloor to spin in circles.
'Welcome to non-teenage life!' she shouts in my ear.
Everyone's throwing happy birthdays at me, total strangers included, and I'm so distracted by the chaos that I forget I'm supposed to be avoiding Preston. I've not glanced at him since I stepped onto the black and white dancefloor because after our revelation upstairs, I've got no idea what I'd say to him, or how to even look at him.
He's standing directly opposite me in our circle, the club's neon blue lights turning his eyes a deep teal colour, and they're on me. His gaze is so focused, so direct that I'd bet everything I have on him watching me the entire time I've been trying to avoid watching him.
I'm so sure the music has stopped–that the world has stopped–because his, 'penblwydd hapus,' is the clearest, smoothest sound I've heard all night.
Only, when Joe loudly interjects with, 'is that Welsh? Does it mean happy birthday?' I realise I was wrong.
I trip back into reality with a laugh, then answer him with, 'yep!'
Margot says something, but I don't hear what. I smile in the hope that it'll do, and it does–she turns to Joe to start speaking with him while my eyes are pulled back towards Preston. From that moment on, he's all I can look at. Every movement, every quirk of his lips, every hand gesture, every nod of his head, every laugh. Every single thing.
I can't stop looking.
I don't say anything to him. We don't say a single word to each other after his penblwydd hapus, but I can't stop looking. We both can't stop looking, from quick glances between dancing bodies to lingering stares over strangers' shoulders.
