Patrick keeps telling himself to focus as he walks up the Stratford driveway. He’s here for one reason: ask Kat to the party, get it over with, and collect the money later.

But the closer he gets to the door, the harder it is to ignore the one thing messing him up.

You.

He can already picture it. You answering the door instead of Kat. You giving him that small smile that throws him off every single time. You asking what he wants, in that soft voice that makes him forget he’s supposed to be playing a game.

He mutters under his breath, trying to shake it off. This is about Kat. Stay focused. Don’t look for her sister.

But his chest tightens anyway, because he knows the truth. If you show up at that door first, the whole plan is going to fall apart again.

And even as he raises his hand to knock, he realizes something he doesn’t want to admit:

He’s not nervous about Kat saying no. He’s nervous about you being the one who opens the door.

Patrick knocks, trying to act like he didn’t just spend the whole walk over thinking about you. The door swings open, and there you are, exactly what he was hoping wouldn’t happen.

He freezes for half a second, then forces out a casual grin.

“Oh, hey there, girly… is your sister home?”

You blink at him, leaning on the doorframe. “Which one?” you ask. “Bianca or Kat?”

Patrick swallows, suddenly wishing you hadn’t asked that. Because he’s here for Kat but he’s looking right at you. And you’re looking right back at him like you can read his mind.

His throat goes dry, and for a moment he forgets the whole plan.