The loft was humid.
Like, windows fogging, music vibrating through the floorboards, heart-shaped confetti already stuck to someone’s shoe humid.
The Valentine’s party was packed. It had been thrown together by Xochitl Gomez and half of New York’s teen acting population apparently decided to show up.
You came with your Velvet Lies girls — all gloss and sharp eyeliner and “we’re not trying that hard” outfits that absolutely took an hour.
Across the room, near the drinks table, you spotted the cast of Percy Jackson and the Olympians walking in.
You didn’t care.
You absolutely cared.
You were mid-laugh when you felt it — that subtle pull, like someone’s looking at you.
You turned.
And there he was.
Not dramatic. Not posing. Just standing there with his friends, scanning the room — and then stopping when his eyes hit you.
It wasn’t slow. It was immediate.
Like recognition. Like curiosity.
You held it for half a second too long.
He tilted his head slightly. Not smirking. Just… intrigued.
Your friend leaned into your ear. “Do not tell me.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m observing.”
“Girl.”
You looked away first.
But when you glanced back?
He was still looking.
The party got louder.
Somebody started blasting early 2000s throwbacks. People were dancing in the middle of the living room. Someone spilled a drink and just yelled “IT’S FINE” like that solved it.
You were in the kitchen grabbing ice when someone bumped into you from behind.
You stumbled forward—
A hand caught your arm.
You looked up.
Of course.
“Careful,” he said, voice low enough you had to lean in slightly to hear it over the music.
“I’m fine,” you replied, immediately defensive. “It was the floor’s fault.”
He smiled. Subtle. Dangerous.
“Yeah? I’ll let the floor know.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t step away.
Up close he looked different than on screen. Softer. Less polished. More real.
“You’re from Velvet Lies, right?” he asked.
You nodded. “And you’re from Percy Jackson.”
“Guilty.”
A beat.
“You always crash into strangers or am I special?”
You blinked. “You think you’re special?”
He stepped slightly closer, not touching, just enough that the air changed.
“I’m asking you.”
The tension wasn’t loud.
It was tight.
Like a wire being pulled slowly.
“I don’t even know you,” you said.
“Working on that.”
Your stomach flipped.
Behind you, someone yelled your name. You ignored it.
“So what’s your deal?” you asked. “You just stand around observing girls trip over things?”
He laughed quietly. “You were looking at me first.”
You froze.
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“Prove it.”
“I can’t. But you know I’m right.”
He didn’t look cocky.
Just certain.
And that was worse.
Music swelled. The bass thudded through your chest. People squeezed past you in the kitchen, laughing, shouting.
But it felt weirdly contained — like the room had narrowed to just this counter space.
“Are you always this confident?” you asked.
“Only when I’m nervous.”
That caught you off guard.
“You’re nervous?”
“Should I not be?”
You chuckled.
The honesty shifted something.
He wasn’t playing a part.
He was just… there. Looking at you like he genuinely wanted to figure you out.
Your friend appeared suddenly beside you. “We’re taking shots. Are you—” She stopped. Looked between you two. “Oh.”
You cleared your throat. “I’ll be there in a second.”
She smirked and left.
He leaned closer so you could hear him over the music.
“You gonna disappear on me?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t.”
Your breath hitched slightly.
“You don’t even know if you like me,” you said.
His eyes flicked down to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your gaze again.
“I know I want to.”
That did it.
Heat rushed to your face. You tried to keep your composure.
“You say that to everyone at parties?”
“No,” he said easily. “Just the ones who look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re deciding something.”
Your pulse was loud in your ears.
“And what do you think I’m deciding?”
He held your gaze.
Whether to walk away.
Or step closer.