Page 26 of When Stars Collide
“Isn’t the convention on a Saturday?” I asked.
“Yes, but you’ll get paid overtime, if you agree to go. I realize it’s a bit of an inconvenience. I promise you it’ll only be for half the day.”
In two weeks, Peter would be coming to visit me here and probably wouldn’t be too happy with spending most of the day sitting around waiting for me. Then again, I very well couldn’t tell Phineas to go kick rocks after the faith he’d shown in me since the day he’d hired me.
“Mena?”
“Yeah, that’s … that’s no problem. I’ll be there.”
“You’re a lifesaver. Let’s plan on meeting here at eight. We should be out of there and back home by noon.”
*****
I’d been awake for a solid hour listening to Peter’s breathing and the rhythmic melody of his heartbeat underneath my ear, which was pressed firmly to his chest. We usually slept like this, naked with my arm wrapped around him and my head on his heart, our legs entwined. I was the most at peace when I was in bed with him and had been since our first night together so many years ago.
2007
We’d gone out drinking in celebration of Elle’s twenty-first birthday that night. And by we, I mean Elle and me. Neither Peter nor Luke were of legal drinking age yet, essentially forcing them to be our babysitters. Although, I figured Luke would be perfectly fine with watching over Elle—he’d been completely and totally enamored with her since day one—Peter was a different story. He’d captured my attention when I first met him, mostly because I couldn’t read him. His expression had been the definition of a poker face for most of the night, aside from a few strategically placed sarcastic comments here and there, which I’d found refreshing amidst the usual drama that accompanied dollar pitcher night at Magillicutty’s, a Roanoke bar frequented by college students. Its popularity ensured that it would be packed any day of the week, and that night was no exception.
As the night progressed, and Elle and I found ourselves at the bottom of more than our fair share of shot glasses, a decision was made that would prove to change the course of our lives forever.
“I think I should go back to their dorm with them,” Luke said, casting a concerned glance over at Elle, who somewhere during the course of the night had acquired a baseball cap with ‘Straight Outta Rehab’ etched on it.
“I’ll watch over her tonight,” drunk Mena offered, honestly believing that she must have sounded legit responsible, when in reality, she’d just been pulled away from an attempted assault on a coat rack by Peter, after throwing a punch that had missed it by a mile.
Both Luke and Peter threw some serious side-eye in my direction. “That’s what he’s afraid of,” Peter said.
“Mena’s my best friend,” Elle proclaimed, hanging off my arm. The weight of her body, coupled with my compromised sense of balance and unsteady legs, caused me to stumble forward into a column, taking her with me. “See. She just saved my life,” she announced as my body bore the brunt of the impact.
Peter shook his head. “Oh, dear God. Yeah, I don’t think either of them should be left alone tonight.”
“Agreed,” Luke added. “If I know Elle like I think I do, I think she’ll just crawl into bed and fall asleep. But if we were to leave the two of them together, I’m pretty certain that one of them,” he paused to point at me, “would just as soon burn the dorm down than sleep. I’m predicting I’m going to have my hands full.”
And that’s when drunk Mena took over completely.
“If you’re so worried about me, then why don’t you take Elle back to our dorm, and I will just go home with Peter?
What the fuck are you doing?Sober Mena made her thoughts known.We didn’t agree to this.
Taken aback, Peter was speechless. A first for him. He peered up at me, catching my eye and holding my gaze for a hot second. Yet, despite my drunken haze, I could sense the conflict. It felt like, maybe, he was … afraid? No, that can’t be right. That wasn’t Peter Monroe. The man seemed fearless.
Sober Mena continue to plead with me.Mayday, mayday. Abort.
“Oh, we’ll each have our own sleepover,” Elle chimed in, not helping Sober Mena’s cause at all.
“Yup, sure will, and maybe since you’ll be alone, you and Luke can properly celebrate your birthday together.” I nudged Elle, almost losing my balance.
Luke’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson as I plucked the baseball cap from Elle’s head and placed it on my own. Meanwhile, Peter turned his head to “cough” as a way of concealing his own laughter.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but there will be no sleepovers, only me making sure you two don’t do anything you may regret tonight.”
“Too late for that,” Elle said, once again falling into me.
I would have fallen flat on my face that time if not for the pair of hands that caught me and stood me upright. I looked up to see Peter’s stunning, ocean blue eyes boring straight into my soul—or so it felt. It may have been the alcohol, but at that moment, an army of butterflies made their way into my stomach. Secretly, I had hoped it wasn’t the alcohol.
He let go of me as soon as he was certain I would remain steady on my feet, and I thought perhaps that would be the end of it, but I was wrong.
“Mena should come home with me,” he announced, taking all of us off guard.
