It was December 3rd. A party was happening at one of the guys’ houses from the team, and obviously, Kerah was there. To be honest, he didn’t want to be. He couldn’t wait to go home. But one thing led to another — or rather, one beer led to another — and he ended up staying.

He was already a little drunk when she approached him. Heather. They had hooked up before, back in the summer. Nothing serious. Nothing that mattered. He let her pull him upstairs, clumsy steps, careless kisses.

But something felt wrong.

She didn’t feel right.

Because she wasn’t you.

And since you were his best friend’s sister — forbidden territory, a line he was never supposed to cross — he forced himself to settle for the girl practically on top of him. Pathetic. Even if he tried, he couldn’t pretend she was you. You were too different. Opposites, really.

God. He needed to stop thinking about you.

As if his thoughts were a magnet, hurried knocks suddenly echoed against the bathroom door where he was tangled up with the blonde. Everything happened too fast. Heather tried to pull him closer just as you opened the door.

Shit.

Fitz sobered up instantly.

He watched your eyes take in everything — him, the girl pressed against him, the situation he’d put himself in. He saw your cheeks flush, your gaze darken into something that looked a lot like… hurt.

“I’m sorry…” you murmured before closing the door.

And without really knowing why, Fitz knew he had to go after you. To explain — whatever that meant. He just needed to stop being an idiot.

He rushed out of the bathroom, fixing his pants, completely ignoring Heather’s sharp protests. He followed your trail outside, heart racing, mind spinning.

He just needed to reach you.

Good luck, Kerah.