I raise my right hand, then lay it over my heart. “Swear it won’t be.”
“Says the man who knows everyone attending.”
“Cora remembers you. And by proxy, Shelly.”
“No, they remember high school Peyton. The loner girl who preferred dark spaces and hidden alcoves.”
“Don’t you still?” I tease.
“Shut the hell up.” I laugh. “Micah, we’ve hung out a couple times. Yes, things are less shitty between us now.” I wipe away a nonexistent tear and she flips me the middle finger. You wish. “But I don’t think we’ve reached the ‘let’s hang out with other people together’ phase of our friendship yet.”
“At least you admit our friendship.” She rolls her eyes. “C’mon. Please?” I exaggerate my plea and aim for my best sad-puppy expression.
A groan rumbles in her chest and spills from her lips. “You are so annoying.”
“Before the contest, you agreed to winner’s choice,” I remind her with a smirk.
“True. But I didn’t think it would be you forcing me to hang out with you and a group of people I don’t know.” I give her a look that says, really? She narrows her eyes as she tries—and fails—to give me her most menacing expression. “What?”
“Don’t you pretty much do that every night we work?”
Once again, she presents me with her middle finger. “It’s different and you know it.”
“Please, Peyton,” I say, softer this time. “Promise not to make it weird.”
Peyton hangs her head. She stares at the floor and taps her thigh with her fingers. When she lifts her head, the look in her eyes stops my heart. Veiny damp eyes stare back. Her chin wobbles as she clamps down on her lower lip.
The chair legs scrape the concrete floor as I bolt up and dash over to her. I halt in front of her, desperate to frame her face in my hands and soothe her. But I don’t know if she will shirk my touch. Only one way to find out.
One at a time, and with slow precision, I bring my hands to her face. She doesn’t shy away from my touch and that small action has my heart galloping in wide-open pastures.
“Hey.” I tip her head little by little until our eyes meet. “It’ll be okay.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” I vow.
“I-I just can’t…” She swallows and gathers her thoughts. One deep breath, then another. “I just can’t go through that again.” She holds my gaze. “How people were all those years ago.”
“You won’t. I promise.” Fuck, I want to kiss her. Seal my words with our joined lips.
She nods. “Okay. But if shit goes south” —she gestures between us— “this is done.”
“Then nothing will go wrong.” She takes another deep breath and I reluctantly release her. “Give me your number and I’ll text you the address and time.”
This snaps her back to reality. “You want my phone number?”
“Yes,” I drawl out. “To text you the info. And in case you get lost, you have my number.”
That sounded like a legit reason to ask Peyton for her number. Right? Not that I couldn’t get it from the employee contact list. But I’m not that much of a dick.
“Fine,” she huffs out. I hand her my phone and she texts herself from my phone. When she hands it back to me, I read the screen.
Micah: Starlight??
“Couldn’t resist?”
“Nope.” She starts for the door again. “Need to go finish up. See you tomorrow.”
Sunday. “Tomorrow,” I parrot.
* * *
“You did what?” Shelly shouts in my ear. I yank the phone away and rub my ear.
“Shell,” I drag out her name with a groan. “It’s too early to yell.”
“I don’t care,” she yells louder. Thank fuck the phone is still a good six inches from my face. “When you text your sister that you invited Peyton Alexander to our Sunday night get-together, what did you think would happen?”
“Maybe that you’d text me back with shouty capitals. You know I work until three in the morning. Cut me some slack.”
She laughs some twisted, maniacal sound. “You want me to cut you some slack?”
“Please.” I bring the phone closer, hopeful she got all the yelling out of her system.