Someone shoved a red cup into Alexa's hand before she could finish saying "wait, I didn't—" and a guy with a backwards hat was already screaming "SHOTGUN RACE, KITCHEN VS. LIVING ROOM" like it was the most important announcement of the night. The crowd pushed forward, and suddenly she was being herded toward the kitchen island where a row of cheap beer cans sat lined up like soldiers, each one already punctured near the bottom.
"You're on kitchen team," a girl with glitter on her cheekbones told her, and Alexa opened her mouth to explain that she hadn't agreed to this, that she was only here because Marleny promised free food and an early exit, but the girl was already gone, swallowed by the crowd.
The kitchen smelled like spilled beer and someone's cheap cologne and the particular sour warmth of too many bodies in too small a space. Someone's elbow caught her ribs. A guy next to her was already popping the tab on his can, foam hissing out, and she watched him tilt it sideways, put his mouth to the hole, and drain it in about six seconds flat while the crowd around him lost their minds.
She was still holding the untouched can when a hand closed around her wrist and pulled her forward.
"You're with me," a voice said, and she turned to find a tall guy in a white t-shirt that was already damp at the collar, dark hair curling at the edges, a grin that looked like he was already in on a joke she hadn't heard yet. He had a beer in his other hand, already punched open, and he was looking at her like they were about to do something stupid together and he was thrilled about it.
"I don't think I—"
"Too late," he said, and popped the tab on her beer for her. Foam bubbled out of the puncture hole, ran over her fingers. "Just put your mouth on the hole and tilt. Don't think about it."
"That's terrible advice for most situations."
His grin widened. "Probably. But not for this."
Someone was counting down from ten. The kitchen was pulsing, bodies pressing in, voices layering over each other until the air itself felt thick with it. Alexa looked down at the beer in her hand, at the foam still leaking onto her fingers, and thought about the fact that she hadn't even wanted to come to this party.
Then the count hit three, and the guy in the white t-shirt was already tilting his can, and something in the crowd's energy pulled her in.
She put her mouth to the hole.
The beer hit her throat cold and bitter and fast, and she had to force herself to swallow, to keep swallowing, because the alternative was choking and she was not going to be the person who choked at a shotgun race in some stranger's frat house kitchen. The liquid burned going down. It was cheap and warm and she could taste the metal of the can, and somewhere above the roar of the crowd she heard someone counting, or maybe that was just her own heartbeat in her ears.
She finished.
The can went light in her hand and she pulled it away, gasping, chest heaving, beer dripping down her chin and onto the front of her shirt. Her throat burned. Her eyes were watering. She blinked through it and looked up—
—and he was already watching her.
Beer was running down his jaw, dripping off his chin, soaking into the collar of his white t-shirt, and he was grinning at her like she'd just done something impressive. Like she'd passed some kind of test. His chest was moving hard, breath coming fast, and he licked the beer off his lip without looking away from her.
Something in her stomach pulled tight.
"Wait," he said, and his voice was rough from the beer, and he was still looking at her with that half-drunk grin, but something in his eyes shifted. Sharpened. "Do I know you?"
She stared at him.
Her hair was different now—darker, longer—and she'd been wearing glasses back then, big round ones she'd thought made her look intellectual but actually just made her look like she was trying too hard. She'd lost them senior year, switched to contacts, and nobody from high school had recognized her since. But the way he was looking at her now, head tilted, jaw working like he was pulling at a thread he couldn't quite catch—
"Hayden," she said, and the name came out before she could stop it, and she saw the exact moment it landed.
His eyes went wide.
"Holy shit." He straightened, beer still dripping off his chin, and pointed at her with the empty can. "Alexa. You're Alexa Lucas."
"Yeah." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Hi."
"We had—" He stopped, shook his head, laughed. A real laugh, surprised and disbelieving. "We had calc together. Junior year. You sat two rows over and you always had that blue water bottle."
She felt something crack open in her chest. "You remember my water bottle?"
"You remember my name."
She didn't have an answer for that. She remembered a lot of things about high school that she'd rather not, but she remembered him too—tall and quiet, carrying a guitar case through the hallways, always surrounded by people even though he never seemed to be saying much. She'd walked past him a hundred times. A thousand. They'd shared the same hallway for four years, the same lunch period for two, and never once exchanged a single word.
Until now. In a frat house kitchen, soaked in cheap beer, while someone's terrible playlist blasted through speakers that were definitely too loud for this room.
"This is insane," Hayden said, and he was still grinning, but it was softer now, more real. "I literally—I was just thinking about high school the other day. Wondering what happened to people."
"And I made the list?"
He didn't hesitate. "Yeah."
The word sat between them, heavier than it should have been. Alexa became aware of the crowd still pressing around them, the noise, the chaos—but it felt like it was happening at a distance now, through water.
"I'm Hayden," he said, and then laughed at himself. "I mean, you already—you said my name. But. Yeah." He held out his free hand. "Hayden Schwartz. Apparently we went to high school together."
She took his hand. His palm was warm, calloused, and he held on just a beat longer than a handshake needed.
"Alexa Lucas," she said. "Apparently we did."
Someone behind them whooped as another shotgun race finished, and the crowd surged, pushing her forward into him. Her palm pressed flat against his chest—damp t-shirt, solid muscle underneath, the rapid thump of his heartbeat—and she looked up to find him already looking down at her, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
"Sorry," she said, pulling back, but her hand lingered on his chest for just a second longer than necessary.
"Don't be." His voice was low. Quiet. Meant for just her.
And then a body slammed into him from the side and a voice yelled "SCHWARTZ YOU ABSOLUTE ANIMAL THAT WAS SEVEN SECONDS" and the moment shattered.
A guy with messy copper hair and glasses that were slightly askew was clapping Hayden on the back, grinning like a maniac. He was lanky and loud and his shirt was somehow already untucked. "That's a new record, I'm timing you next time, we're going pro with this."
"Liam," Hayden said, but he was laughing, and he let himself be pulled into the chaos. "Liam, this is Alexa. We went to high school together."
Liam's eyes snapped to her, bright and interested. "No shit. Small world. You want another beer?"
"I haven't finished the first one."
"That's what she said," Liam said, and then he was gone, swept back into the crowd, leaving a trail of chaos in his wake.
Hayden shook his head, but he was smiling. "Sorry about him. He's—"
"Loud?"
"That's one word for it." He looked at her, and something in his expression shifted. "Do you want to—I mean, we could go outside. It's quieter. If you want."
She should find Marleny. That was the responsible answer. She'd come with her best friend, and Marleny was probably somewhere in this chaos, and she should at least check in.
But Hayden was looking at her with those dark eyes, beer still drying on his chin, and she hadn't talked to anyone from high school in years. Hadn't thought about it. Hadn't wanted to. But he remembered her water bottle. He remembered her name.
"Yeah," she said. "Okay."
He led her through the crowd, one hand hovering at the small of her back without quite touching, close enough that she could feel the heat of him. They pushed through the back door and onto a porch that was surprisingly empty—just a guy with close-cropped blond hair sitting on the steps, nursing a bottle of water and looking at the chaos behind them like he was calculating how much it would cost to fix everything that was about to break.
"Ben," Hayden said, and the guy looked up. "This is Alexa. We went to high school together."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "You went to high school with half the people here."
"No, we went to the same high school. Four years. Never talked once." Hayden sat down on the steps, leaving room beside him. "And now she's here. At this party. In this city."
Ben's gaze moved to Alexa, assessing, and after a moment he gave a small nod. "That's weird timing."
"That's fate," Liam's voice called from inside, and Ben closed his eyes with the patient exhaustion of someone who had heard that word too many times tonight.
"Ignore him," Ben said. "He's been saying that all night about everything. He said it about a parking spot."
Alexa laughed, and the sound surprised her. She sat down on the steps, not quite next to Hayden, but close enough. The porch wood was warm from the day's heat, and the night air was cooler than the kitchen had been, and she could hear the crickets underneath the muffled bass of the party inside.
"So," Hayden said, leaning back on his hands. "What are you doing here?"
"My friend dragged me." She gestured vaguely at the chaos inside. "She promised free food."
"Did you get any?"
"I got beer." She held up the empty can. "Does that count?"
"In some circles." He was quiet for a moment. "What do you do? Now, I mean. Are you in school?"
"Yeah. But mostly working at the moment. Front desk at a hotel. It's boring, but the hours are flexible." She hesitated. "I play guitar. Sometimes."
His eyes lit up. "No shit. Me too."
"I know." She said it without thinking, and then felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I mean—I remember. You used to carry a case through the hallways. Everyone knew you played."
He was looking at her differently now. Softer. "You noticed that?"
She shrugged, trying to play it off. "Hard not to. You were—" She stopped herself before she said too much. "You were around."
"So were you." His voice was quiet. "I just didn't know it."
Ben made a small sound beside them, and when Alexa glanced over, he was looking at his phone with the deliberate focus of someone pretending not to eavesdrop. But there was a slight curve to his mouth, like he knew exactly what was happening and was choosing not to comment.
The door slammed open and Liam appeared, holding two fresh beers. "You guys are out here being boring and I respect it but also you need more alcohol." He thrust a can at each of them. "Drink. Be social. Fall in love. Whatever."
"Liam," Hayden said, but he was already taking the beer.
"I'm just saying." Liam dropped onto the step below them, sprawling out like he owned the porch. "You two have that thing. That 'we just met but actually we've known each other forever' thing. It's cute. I'm a fan."
Alexa felt her face go hot. She cracked open the beer just to have something to do with her hands.
"Ignore him," Hayden said, but he was smiling, and when she glanced over, he was looking at her with that same soft expression from before. "He's incorrigible."
"I prefer 'charming and insightful,'" Liam said, and Ben snorted.
The four of them sat on the porch steps, the party raging behind them, and Alexa found herself laughing at something Liam said—some story about a folding table and a bet gone wrong—and for the first time all night, she wasn't thinking about leaving early.
She was thinking about the way Hayden looked at her when he said her name. The way his voice dropped when he said "don't be." The way his hand had hovered at her back, warm and careful, like he was afraid to touch her but wanted to anyway.
She was still thinking about it when Marleny found her twenty minutes later, looking mildly concerned and also mildly amused.
"You lost a shoe," Marleny said, holding up a sandal that had definitely seen better nights.
Alexa looked down at her bare feet. "Huh. So I did."
"And you made friends." Marleny's gaze moved past her to the three guys on the steps, and her eyebrows went up. "Four of them?"
"It's a long story."
"We have time."
Hayden stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. "You must be the friend." He held out his hand. "I'm Hayden. I went to high school with Alexa. Apparently."
Marleny shook his hand, her sharp brown eyes taking in everything—the way he stood, the way he looked at Alexa, the slight flush on Alexa's cheeks. "Marleny. And you're the reason she lost her shoe?"
"I think that was the folding table," Liam offered.
Marleny's gaze moved to him, then to Ben, then back to Hayden. She smiled, slow and knowing. "Right. Well. We should probably go before she loses anything else."
Alexa stood, brushing off her jeans. "Yeah. Probably." She looked at Hayden, and for a second, neither of them said anything.
Then he pulled out his phone. "Can I—would it be weird if I asked for your number?" He said it fast, like he was getting it out before he could lose his nerve. "We just met. Again. But I'd like to. Not lose track of you this time."
She felt something warm spread through her chest. "Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."
She typed her number into his phone, handed it back, and their fingers brushed. He held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, and she felt it—that same pull she'd felt in the kitchen, like something was clicking into place that she hadn't known was loose.
"Goodnight, Alexa," he said, and her name in his voice sounded different than it had in anyone else's.
"Goodnight, Hayden."
She turned and followed Marleny down the porch steps, barefoot, one sandal in her hand, beer still warm in her stomach. She didn't look back, but she wanted to.
She wanted to a lot.