Bodies packed the Harrington family's renovated rec room, now a basement den. The air smelled of popcorn, cheap beer, and too much cologne.

You were wedged between a bookshelf and a knot of basketball players, nursing a lukewarm drink, when the crowd shifted near the stairs.

Your stomach dropped. You hadn't seen him since the fight. Since the misunderstanding. Since everything.

As if sensing the weight of a stare, his gaze slid across the room. It passed over the basketball players, over the giggling cluster of cheerleaders, and landed squarely on you.

His smile vanished. His eyes widened, just for a second. Then his expression shut down, becoming carefully, painfully neutral.

He pushed off the doorframe.