You weren’t even supposed to come to this party.
Your friend dragged you out after promising “no weird men, just vibes.”
The house is packed. Music too loud. Red cups everywhere. Someone screaming along to a song in the kitchen.
You’re weaving through the crowd trying not to lose your friend when it happens.
A solid body collides with you.
Cold liquid splashes down the front of your top.
You freeze.
Slowly look down.
Then up.
She’s standing there holding an almost-empty cup, staring at the stain spreading across your shirt.
A beat of silence.
Then she exhales through her nose.
“…Well.”
You blink.
“Are you serious?”
Her eyebrow lifts slightly.
“You ran into me.”
“You ran into me!”
She glances down at your shirt again.
“I mean. It’s mostly on you.”
You stare at her in disbelief.
“Oh my God.”
She takes a small step back like she’s assessing damage.
“It’s clear,” she adds. “Probably vodka. You won’t smell.”
You gape at her.
“That’s not the point?!”
And that’s when it happens. Her mouth twitches. She’s trying not to smile.
“Why are you smiling?” you demand.
“Because,” she says slowly, “you’re yelling at me like I keyed your car.”
“You just spilled a drink on me!”
“Accident.”
“You didn’t even say sorry!”
She tilts her head slightly.
“Sorry.”
Flat. Unconvincing. Almost amused.