Ray
"I swear on my favorite lip gloss, Ava, if I ever see that red-haired gremlin again, I'm throwing my entire latte at her—no whipped cream. Straight espresso. Burn her to the core."
Ava didn't even flinch. She just sipped her tea and kept walking like I wasn't two seconds away from reenacting a soap opera in the middle of the university courtyard.
"She pushed me," I went on, eyes wide, hands flailing. "I was reaching for the last cinnamon roll and she nudged me with her bony little elbow like she owns the entire café. And THEN she had the audacity—the actual gall—to give me a smile. Not even a full smile. A smirk! You know the kind. Like 'oops, did I do that?' Yes, Heather. Yes, you did. And I almost spilled my entire breakfast."
"Tragic," Ava deadpanned. "Truly, you're the victim of this generation."
"I AM," I gasped, clutching my chest. "She stole my cinnamon roll and my peace of mind."
We turned the corner and that's when it happened. My heel snagged on a crack in the pavement—curse these stupid cute boots—and I stumbled forward straight into—
Him.
The chest was familiar. The icy aura. The way everything around him went dead silent like someone pressed mute on the universe.
Sebastian.
I gasped mid-fall. But before I could face-plant into the universe's scariest jawline, his hand shot out and caught me by the wrist. Effortlessly. Like catching clumsy girls was something he did between meetings with Satan.
"Seriously?" he muttered.
My eyes went wide. "Ohmygod—it's you again! I didn't spill anything this time! That's progress, right? We're getting better at this!"
His fingers were still around my wrist. His face? Completely unimpressed. Like I was a pop-up ad interrupting his movie.
"You really need to watch where you're going."
"I was! But Ava was distracting me and—okay no, that's a lie. I was yelling about cinnamon rolls. But in my defense, it was emotional trauma."
I turned to Ava. "Tell him it was emotional trauma."
Ava blinked. "It was… a pastry."
I turned back to him, all dramatic. "I tripped. Again. But this time, you saved me. Which makes this an improvement from last time, where I assaulted your wardrobe with sugar."
He let go of my wrist and stepped back, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. "Try not to make this a weekly thing."
"Are you allergic to conversation or is this just a you-me thing?"
He gave me a long, flat stare. "Goodbye, Ray."
And just like that, he walked past me—tall, cold, and way too graceful for someone who probably thinks joy is a disease.
I turned to Ava, stunned. "Did he just full-name me? Like we're on a first-name basis now? Did we just level up?!"
Ava sighed. "I think you're the only one who thinks that."
"Shh. Don't ruin the moment."
I adjusted my hair, dusted off my imaginary dignity, and continued walking with Ava, now narrating the entire encounter like it was a historical romance novel.
Because apparently, almost dying twice was my new way of flirting.