When Perfect Meets Crazy novel Chapter 22

It was him. I was certain of it. That tousled hairstyle that screamed, ‘Touch me, I’m as soft as I look’ had to be his. I knew those dark locks, just like I knew that physique. That tall and built but not excessively so in such a way that was off putting physique. And the tuxedo. No one else could feel out a tux like that. It was him. It had to be, which could mean one thing; the sneaky little bastard was avoiding me and spying on me from afar. I was absolutely sure of it.

I had caught a glimpse of him two days ago at a café downtown during another entirely unnecessary prom committee meeting and again before that when I was picking Olly up from her violin lesson. Both times, as soon as I caught sight of him, he’d be gone. He disappeared that fast. By the time I turned back for a closer look to be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me, he was nowhere to be found so I wrote both times off as my mind playing tricks on me but, clearly, it wasn’t that. The asshole was spying on me and avoiding actual contact. Can you imagine the audacity?

Sure, it could’ve been that he didn’t notice me but believing that felt a lot like lying to myself. He had actively stalked me for over a month, following me everywhere but the toilet and now, he could overlook me in a crowd? That made no sense.

I was going to get to the bottom of his strange behaviour. Who exactly did he think he was? If he thought he could just pop in, stalk me for weeks and then pop out with no warning, he was mad. Plainly insane. How dare he even?

I kept my gaze trained on the dark locks covering his scalp, tracking his movement through the crowd as I brusquely brushed past people in a bid to catch him before he bolted again.

How he thought he could avoid me in this crowd was beyond me and to an extent, it pissed me off. This was my turf. I had been coming here for years and this year, I was part of the organizing team for the show. Thank you, private elitist schools for your fancy events meant to ‘create opportunities and nurture the talents of your students.’

Claire Anne High, like a lot of private schools of its kind, believed in fancy events and affiliations that promote and strengthen its position as both advanced and elitist. In this case, that meant showing the works of some of her artistically gifted students alongside the works of locally renowned pros at the most acclaimed art gallery in town under the guise of a charity event. To be fair though, some of the students’ works were really good and with the hefty fees our parents paid the school, it was safe to say this was covered as well.

Masked Idiot must not have properly done his homework on this one because, opening night or not, he definitely was not going to escape me here.

“Hey!” I yanked him back, planting myself in his path.

His eyes widened, settling on me.

“Avyanna,” he breathed.

“Avyanna?” I hissed. “Really? Avyanna? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Hi?” He frowned.

“Hi?” I scoffed. “Hi?”

He tilted his head, wordlessly asking what my problem was.

I rolled my eyes heavenward and let out a sarcastic bark of laughter. His eyes narrowed, darting left then right before settling back on me. Confusion filled his gaze.

“Hi?” I repeated, my annoyance coming to a head. “Are you crazy? Where the hell have you been, you psycho!”

“I wa--”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I cut him off, eyes flashing with anger.

“Well, I--”

“Why the hell have you been avoiding me?”

“Are yo--”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” My face distorted distastefully. “What the hell were you trying to do just now? Run away? Again?”

He pursed his lips and released his breath in a huff. “Are you going to let me answer?”

I bared my teeth and took threatening step forward. My expression made it clear it was not a good time to get cheeky. He took a step back, putting his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

“Calm down,” he said.

My eyes narrowed, anger sparking in their depths.

“Sorry,” he quickly added.

Mildly abated, I folded my arms across my torso and ordered, “Explain yourself.”

“Well, I...” he trailed off.

“You...?” I prompted, tightly gripping my opposing arms to keep from giving into the urge to smack him. “What? Spit it out.”

“You know what?” He flared up suddenly. “This is all your fault so drop the act.”

“Excuse me?” My tone was low, levelled and venomous.