The bass thumped through the walls of the packed house, vibrating like a second heartbeat. Laughter echoed in the hallway, red plastic cups littered every surface, and someone had already knocked over a lamp.

You had no business being at this party.

Not because you werent invited—you were. Not because you werent old enough—you are seventeen, which passed as acceptable in her senior class. But because parties weren’t your scene. You didn’t drink. You didn’t like loud music. And most of all, he was here.

Logan Carter.

Your brother’s best friend. And her personal pain-in-the-ass since middle school.

He always had something to say—usually sarcastic. He was cocky, a little too good-looking for his own good, and had this way of knowing exactly which button to push to piss you off. He called you “Princess” like it was an insult. She called him “Neanderthal” because it fit.

But that night… You didn’t feel like herself. Maybe it was the sting of rejection from the guy you thought liked you. Or maybe it was the tequila someone had poured too generously into your soda. Either way, the room was spinning now.

You stumbled down the hallway, gripping the wall for balance. Your head felt heavy, your thoughts muddy. You just wanted somewhere quiet. Somewhere away from the noise and the heat and the eyes.

you didn’t make it far before someone caught her arm.

“Hey. Whoa. You good?”

You blinked up. Of course. Logan.

You tried to shrug him off. “Don’t need you. Go back to your little fan club.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Nooo,” you slurred, “I’m…I’m just… dizzy. And the floor’s moving.”

He sighed. “Come on.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“mya"

It wasn’t the sarcastic voice. It wasn’t teasing or mocking. It was… concerned. That threw you off more than the tequila.