TWO.

RED

I pat my dress softly as I let out a sigh.

“Are you sure this dress isn’t too much?”

“No, it’s not,” Alice responds, sounding annoyed.

I don’t blame her — I’ve asked that question too many times.

I pick up my phone and sit down.

“I don’t really want to go to this gala.”

“Yes, but you will.”

I glare at her through the phone.

“We are on FaceTime, Red. You can’t hurt me through the phone.” I can hear the mocking tone in her voice.

“I wish I could.”

I glance at the clock on the wall.

“Shit, I’m late.”

“Calm down, Reddy. No one is going to fine you for being late.”

I pick up my purse and car keys.

“Yes, but they’re going to gossip about me, which is not any better.”

“Oh well, you have a point.”

“Bye, Goldilocks.”

“Bye, Reddy.”

I end the call and leave the house.

---

The day after the night the pretty boy dropped me off at home, I woke up to my car outside my house with a sticky note on it:

Good morning, Little Miss.

I immediately knew he was the one who got my car home. And I didn’t run into him at school anymore — it felt like he disappeared for almost a week.

I didn’t want to go to the gala. It’s going to be filled with insufferable housewives who are miserable and want company. They’ve always had a problem with how I look. It’s why I always try to tone it down at any school event.

Getting a job at the prestigious Arborheight University was my fresh start. I got the job while going through a nasty divorce. It’s the only thing I have that isn’t connected to my ex-husband, and it led to me having things that belonged only to me: my apartment, my car, my life.

But the job came with a downside. Apparently, pretty ladies shouldn’t work as lecturers — or so they act. Most of these parents, mostly the wives, have made it very clear that they don’t like me, and I’ve made it my duty to stay out of sight. It’s not entirely possible, but I try.

---

My hands are sweaty. I wipe them against my plain black dress as I walk into the hall. The scent of expensive perfume fills the air. I pick up a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray before finding a quiet corner to insert myself into.

I sit down and quietly watch the room.

“Are you hiding from someone, Miss Townsend?”

Startled, I choke on my drink. I quickly clean myself up and turn around with a strained smile.

“Elizabeth, you look lovely.”

“I know that.”

She stares at me like I’m a speck of dust. She always does — looking down on me like I’m nothing.

She’s the chancellor of Arborheight… and an asshole.

“I understand,” she says, sizing me up. “I would hole myself up too in a dark corner if I ever wore such a horrible dress.”

British people are mean.

I laugh softly from embarrassment.

“Elizabeth!” A screeching voice reaches us. I tense as Nicole Freeman approaches — wife of Frederick Freeman, owner of Fredman, a chain of malls worldwide… and a bitch.

“Oh, Miss Townsend,” she says, making a face at me like she wants to gag.

It’s going to be a long night.

I stand there in silence while they talk. They act like I don’t exist. Like I don’t belong in their world.

“So, Miss Townsend, any man in your life?”

Nicole’s eyes glitter — she’s just fishing for gossip.

“No, I don’t.”

“Oh, that’s surprising. A beauty like you should have a man.” Her words drip with sarcasm.

I know she wants a reaction. She wants to rattle me. But I can’t care today.

“Miss Townsend,” Elizabeth says with her grating voice, “you should probably tone it down with the colors. I saw you wearing a pink outfit this week.”

She raises her glass to me and leaves with Nicole.

I don’t feel good.

My head hurts, my legs feel weak.

I drown the champagne down my throat. The noise becomes too much. I pick another glass off a table as I walk out of the hall. I dump the empty glass by the door and leave.

I don’t know where I’m going — I just need to get away from those obnoxious women and their endless torture.

I sway as I walk. I know I’m drunk and should go home, but I don’t want to be alone in my empty house. So I keep walking without a destination.

I stop by the fountain. The moon stands full in the sky, its reflection sparkling in the water. I sit and stare at its reflection.

“You are so pretty.”

“Oh my, I almost thought I saw an angel.”

Startled, I jump up.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I turn around and stare at the pretty face in front of me.

“Hello, Little Miss.”

He smiles.

“It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s I.”

He walks closer, closing the distance between us. A strand of hair escapes my tight high ponytail. He picks it up and rolls it on his finger.

“You are beautiful,” he says softly, catching my gaze.

My heart hammers in my chest. My face is flushed from the alcohol — now even more.

“I know that.”

He chuckles. “I’m sure you do.”

He hooks a finger under my chin, tilting my face up.

God, he’s perfect.

“Who made you sad?” His voice softens. His eyes fill with worry and… care.

It makes my eyes well up.

“You care for me?”

He smiles. “Yes, I do.”

I sniff. “You are very pretty.”

You are drunk, Red. You need to go home.

The voice in my head keeps warning me. But it feels warm with him. It feels good.

“Thank you,” he replies.

My eyes dart to his lips. I want to kiss him.

I glance up — his eyes look darker.

“You’re drunk, Red.”

“You sound just like the voice in my head.”

“Let me take you home.”

“I’m not drunk.”

I wrap my arms around him tightly and smile up at him.

It feels good with him.

He grins. “You are so cute. You’re going to regret this tomorrow.”

Maybe I will… but right now, I don’t care.

“You smell good.”

“I do, don’t I?”

“What’s your name?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks me up and sits me back on the fountain’s edge. He removes the hairband, letting my hair fall. I sigh in relief as he runs his hand through it.

“Feels good?”

“Yeah, it feels very good.”

“You shouldn’t tie it so tightly. You’ll get a headache.”

“I don’t want to, but Elizabeth and her group of bullies said I should. Apparently, I’m too pretty to be a lecturer. I hate them.”

He kneels in front of me.

“If you don’t want to pack your hair, don’t pack it.”

“Then I’ll lose my job.”

I stare at him for a moment.

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“Michael.”

“Your name is Michael?”

“It is.”

I stare down at him. From this angle, it’s easy to steal a kiss.

So I do. I lean down and plant a quick kiss on his lips. When I pull back, I giggle.

He doesn’t giggle or smile. His eyes stay locked on me, dark and intense.

“If you want to steal a kiss, you have to do it right.”

He stands and pulls me up with him. In one swift motion, he captures my lips with his.

Every nerve in my body wakes up. The hair on my skin stands. Electricity shoots down my spine. I’ve never felt a kiss so good. I don’t want to stop. I hold onto him like my life depends on it.

He lifts me off the ground. I wrap my legs around him. I run my hands through his hair — it feels exactly how I imagined. Amazing.

“Michael—”

I freeze. Someone saw us kissing.

I sober instantly.

Michael pulls me closer, shielding my face.

“What is it?” he asks sharply.

“Nothing. I’m just going to go.”

I didn’t see who it was — just a guy’s silhouette. When he leaves, Michael sets me down. I can’t look at him. I look everywhere except at him.

I want to say something, but nothing comes out. Words fail me.

I swallow hard and leave.

“You can’t run from me,” I hear him say — voice hoarse, firm.

Oh God.

What have I done?