"Are you fucking demented?" That was the first thing my best friend Layne said when I called and told her the oh so harrowing story about Landon Crane seeing me in my underwear and then inviting me to the Harrington Holiday bash. I expected her to console me, possibly even bring me over some cookies to take away the trauma of having arguably the one of the best looking guys at school see me looking like a mess, but no. Her hatred of everything Harrington made it impossible for her to have a shred of empathy.

"Yes," I sighed deeply, glancing at the clock again. The party was in a few hours, and I hadn't accomplished much to make myself ready besides making a "get pumped" mix. "I am. I don't know how you didn't notice, seeing as you've known me for so long."

"That's not funny," she huffed on the other line of the phone, turning down whatever underground anarchist music she was into at the moment. "You know how I feel about the Harringtons and their whole stupid company."

This mix was doing nothing for me. "They're not that bad," I tried to reason with her, as I dug through my closet looking for something nice to wear.

Her stony silence was her answer. "Okay, they're that bad," I corrected myself, "but Landon seems okay." I would've finished with "and he wants me there", but Layne would've definitely went off on listing every rumor about him. For somebody who prides herself on truth seeking, she could gossip with the best of them.

"Landon seems okay for a Harrington," she replied, "but that's like saying a murderer seems okay because he kills his victims with a spoon instead of a machete."

"Well when I see Landon off somebody with a spoon, I'll be sure to tell you," I responded dryly. Shit. I had about two hours left to get ready. Judging by my current state of appearance (bushy hair, splotchy skin, under eye circles), I would need a bonafide miracle.

"Oh, look, Landon's coming at me with a soup spoon! And with no crackers, the horror!" I chuckled at my own lame joke, but Layne was still going off about how the Harringtons would be the death of Westchester. "Bye, Layne. See you at my funeral!" I shut off my phone before hearing her response. Sometimes its hard to be friends with Layne, she's got a lot of expectations, misplaced anger, and far too much time on her hands.

On my way to the bathroom, I caught another look at my face. Ouch. I was going to need a lot more time than I thought.

In case you're wondering, I did remember to wear pants. Nice ones even, the navy blue, slim fitted pinstripe ones that my mother forced me to buy from Bergdorfs. With a cream colored blouse and matching towering heels, I thought I looked pretty decent. Hell, even my hair managed to look...well, manageable. And for me, this was not only a miracle. This was like luck and miracles had a baby who then mated with awesome.

However, the moment I walked into the Harrington Holiday Extravaganza in the ballroom of the Fitzwilliam Hotel, it hit me that every single girl in the room looked great. Times ten. Seriously, it was as if all the females invited to this party had a secret conference of sorts, deciding how amazing they needed to look on a scale of one to ten. And they had chosen five thousand.

It was eerie to see the people from my school look so good. I mean, a good majority the so called A-list was ridiculously good-looking to begin with, and something about the lights and music and champagne only amplified it. I'd bet my left kidney that Kristen and Derrick Harrington planned this on purpose, overachievers.

Trying to keep my cool, I strolled to the back of the room, near the bar. Not that I drank or anything, but giving my feet a well deserved break (high heels, man, torture) sounded heavenly. The bartender coolly handed me a glass filled with sparkling water. Having perfected a nonchalant slouch and indifferent facial expression—all to hide how nervous I was—all there was left to do was people watch. Specifically person watch. Even more specifically Landon Crane watch.

The event was in full swing, and I had to hand it to Kristen and Derrick, they sure knew how to throw a party. Massie Block and her designer cronies were, as usual, fawned over by the soccer boys. Womanizing Griffin Hastings looked like he was about to score with a particularly leggy waitress. Hell, even the elusive Alicia Rivera showed up on the arm of her British boyfriend. Apparently she left school for a few weeks and came back with him and a bunch of art deals; clearly I need to be taking vacation tips from her.

It was like anyone who was anyone was there. Except for the one person I actually wanted to see.

"Stalk, much?" A deep voice whispered in my ear, causing me to choke on my sparkling water. Any normal person would have apologized and made sure I wasn't about to die, but Landon Crane just chuckled like I had said something funny.

"I wasn't stalking anyone," I sputtered out, willing myself not to blush, "I was merely studying the crowd."

"Ah, so you're an educated stalker? Nice," he said with a grin before giving me the once over. "I see you remembered your pants."

I tried to distract myself from the ever-present embarrassment of Underweargate by looking him over and thinking of a response. "I see you didn't," I blurted out with a strange mix between a guffaw and a cough.

And that was true. Landon Crane was not wearing pants. Forgoing the obvious male fashion code of dress pants and a nice shirt, he chose to wear an incredibly tacky sweater with a zigzag pattern and a plaid kilt. That's right, a kilt. As in, the stereotypical Scottish highlands, where-are-my-bag-pipes kilt.

I guess my blatant staring was a cue for him to shrug and say, "What can I say? You've inspired me, Dylan Marvil. Who the hell needs pants?" It looked like he was pained trying to keep a straight face.

I was not so easily amused. "Ha-ha, Landon. Real funny. Left me in stitches," I deadpanned, smoothing out my blouse for any wrinkles.

"That was the plan, Red," he replied. A few people turned around to gape at his get-up, but I'd bet they were more curious as to how he could still manage to look good and why he was talking to the crazy redhead.

Suddenly, somebody came to their senses and played some more upbeat music rather than the pretentious classical music the Harringtons put on to seem more cultured. The floor of the ballroom was taken over by hordes of my schoolmates, dancing like there was no tomorrow and their parents weren't getting drunk with their business partners across the room. Before I knew it, Landon tapped me on my arm with a wicked smile and said the few words that, had it been anyone else, I would've dreaded:

"Wanna dance?"

I learned quickly that Landon had a very different definition of dancing and that he took it very seriously. Most of the people on the dance floor simply moved to the music in a way that matched the song, I usually just awkwardly shuffle around and pretend like I know what I'm doing.

"The most important thing I can teach you," Landon began with an authoritative voice, dragging me to middle of the dance floor, "is to become one with the melody."

I stifled a laugh. "Are you serious?" Feeling a bit strange just standing in the middle of the dancing and jumping crowd, I busted out my signature half-assed foot shuffle to keep in time with the rhythm.

"Dead serious." He nodded, then watched me attempt to dance for a moment. "You have much to learn, young grasshopper."

With that, Landon became my own personal dance teacher for that night. For somebody with a "mysterious" background, he was surprisingly relaxed. More than once, a few people from the A-list would see how talkative he was and try to capitalize on that rare occurrence, but he would quickly return back to his cooler demeanor, until returning back to me.

I never expected him to have the dance skills he did. Especially while wearing a kilt, even though he notified me that he decided to ignore tradition and wear shorts underneath, to my relief. Regardless, Landon led me through a strange tango, an energetic foxtrot, and a surprisingly fun attempt at fist pumping. Not that I was any good at it, but he didn't seem to care as he spun me and around and laughed heartily. Somewhere along the lines, I stopped caring too.

"Fifteen minutes to midnight!" Somebody yelled over the music, leading to an ensuing cheer from everyone Had time really gone by that fast? It felt like just minutes ago I was searching the crowd for him, and now I was in the middle of it with him. Strange, the way things work out.

Landon and I walked back to the bar and past the clusters of underage kids trying to bribe the bartenders for martinis or shots of vodka. There were a few whispers of "there's Landon" or "why is he wearing a skirt?", but it was like the music in the background to me: there, but not really.

We sat down on the stools, just aimlessly chatting and watching the scene unfold out in front of us. I was halfway through a story about how my mom once sold my favorite pair of rollerskates to the neighbors before she was famous when Landon interrupted and randomly exclaimed, "The roof!"

I furrowed my eyebrows, mildly annoyed by the interference. The story had a really good ending involving me and a pair on nunchucks. "What?"

"We should go on the roof," he said simply, with the excitement of a kid. "You can finish your story there," he added after seeing my bitter facial expression. "I want you to see something."

I exhaled reluctantly. "Fine," I agreed, "but I've got to go to the bathroom. I'll meet you there."

"Cool," Landon responded as he stood up from seat, "just take the elevator straight up there, don't piss off security, take the left hand door and you're golden."

Before I could question his odd directions (what do you mean don't piss off security? how does he know that?), he was already walking the other way, whistling a tune under his breath that I somehow could hear over the pounding music.

The ladies room of the Fitzwilliam Hotel was just as fancy as I predicted. Nice wallpaper, functioning soap dispensers, couches, and even a lady to hand you a fresh wash towel. Needless to say, it was a pretty pleasant experience.

Until it became awkward.

Innocently washing my hands and subsequently wondering why Landon wanted to go to the roof—and I won't lie, Layne's spoon murderer theory came back to me—I barely noticed when the party's perfect hostess walked in. Sometimes you build up such an image of somebody else in your head that you can't help but be disappointed when you really see them, but let me tell you, Kristen Harrington was just as flawless as I thought. Pin straight blond hair, icy blue eyes, and unnaturally clear skin—she was a walking magazine cover.

I tried not to stare, but she just sort of radiates this weird glow that makes you need to stare. Unfortunately, I focused way too intently on my hands to cover it up.

As expected, Kristen touched up her perfect visage with a bit more gloss and mascara and I smoothed my frizzing hair into a bun on the top of my head. So much for manageable.

And then something strange happened. "I've never seen him like this, you know," Kristen said, while applying another coat of mascara.

Idiot like I am, it took me a few moments to realize that there was nobody else in the bathroom and therefore she must have been talking to me. "What?" I replied lamely.

"Landon," she clarified coolly, "he's never like this." It hit me that I never actually heard Kristen speak. Her voice was nothing like I expected, sort of low and boyish for somebody as overtly feminine as her.

"Like how?" I couldn't help but ask, trying to ignore the frenzy of emotions I could feel in the pit of my stomach.

"I can't really explain it," she mused, "but he would never be caught dead at something like this." She paused before looking me over and putting her makeup back in her clutch. "At least before he met you."

With that, she gave me a seemingly unreadable expression that I could decipher quickly: "so don't mess this up, okay?" and she walked right out the bathroom, just as sudden as she came in. Maybe she and her step-brother were more alike than I thought.

Glancing at my watch, I realized that there was only five minutes until midnight and somebody was waiting for me up on the roof.

"What took you so long?" Landon asked when I finally made it up to the rooftop and with three minutes to spare. Granted, I was extremely out of breath, but I had not pissed off any security personnel. Which should, in the grand scheme of my life until this point, earn me some kind of medal.

I sat down on the ledge of the roof next to him, secretly stalling. I don't think Kristen would've appreciated me divulging our semi-conversation to Landon, especially since it was about him, "Elevator issues," I answered quickly. "What did you want me to see?"

He grinned mischievously. "Gotta wait it out, Red. It's coming." The thrill of sitting so close to him made me almost forget how mind-numbingly cold it was. It was snowing lightly, and each snowflake that landed on my bare arms made me want to hit myself for not bringing a coat.

Landon didn't seem so bothered by the weather at all. "Kilt keeping you warm?" I teased, trying hard not to overtly shiver.

He was so intent on watching the city skyline—and I didn't notice how amazing of a view we had—that it took him a few seconds to answer me. "Of course, that's the power of the kilt. Along with being ridiculously sexy, it's also incredibly warm."

"You should really go into advertising."

Even from the roof top, I could hear the countdown to midnight beginning from the ballroom. Shouts of "59, 58, 57..." rang out, and for a select group of people who prided themselves on keeping a level head, they were awfully excited. And then a realization hit me with the force of a thousand bricks.

Landon wanted to kiss me. At midnight. Which is why he wanted me on the roof.

Shit. No wonder I was perpetually in singledom, I was too oblivious to romance. Even the really obvious shows of romance, such as a guy inviting you to a party and then wants to be with you alone at the stroke of midnight.

"20, 19, 18..." The countdown was louder, and there was only seconds until I, Dylan Marvil the Queen of the Pantsless, would kiss Landon Crane, King of Mystery and Kilts. I must say, it had a nice ring to it.

"Watch out, now, it's almost here," Landon whispered, keeping his gaze on the cloudy sky. There were patches of black in between the gray, sprinkled with stars. I followed his lead and watched the sky, though I could hardly stand still from the anticipation of the kiss. My lips were numb from the cold and slightly chapped, I hoped that wouldn't put him off.

"5! 4!" I could feel the shock waves in my system pounding, and it quickly became harder to breathe properly from the anticipation.

"3! 2!" Landon grabbed my arm, still focused on the sky. This is it, I thought, he's going to kiss me...

"1! Happy New Year!" And then, in a turn of events, many things happened at the same time. An enormous roar of cheers erupted from the ballroom and the hotel surroundings, while the skies erupted with a dazzling array of fireworks. A swirl of reds, golds, and greens lit up the sky, temporarily adding color to the pale snowflakes as they fell back to earth.

The worst part was, however, that I actually leaned in to Landon with my lips have pursed and ready for the first kiss of the year. Until, sadly, I realized that Landon wasn't leaning back. Or even looking in my direction.

"Look, Red!" he called out loudly with glee, pointing at the fireworks, "we've got the best view in the city!"

My lips deflated along with my heart. Of course. He didn't want to kiss me, he wanted to see some damn fireworks on top of the roof. I doubt that the phrase "hey, I'm gonna kiss Dylan" even registered in his head.

If I could have pushed him off the roof and not be tried for murder, I would have. Oh believe me, I would have.

So for the remainder of the fireworks display, I sat sullenly while Landon watched with amazement. A part of me was amazed by the fireworks too, but that part was quickly beaten up by the part that was bitter about not being kissed. Extreme black coffee level bitter.

Eventually, Landon turned back to me, with an exhilarated smile on his face. "Damn, remind me again why buying fireworks is illegal in this state?"

"Because they can hurt people. A lot." And take them to rooftops on New Year's and then not kiss them.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he replied as he stretched his arms and yawned. He glanced at his watch. "Wow, can't believe it's a new year already."

I tried to smirk. "You have three hundred and sixty five days to get used to it." It didn't really work.

"That's not really long when you think about it," he pointed out before standing up. "Ah, we should probably get back to the party. I have a feeling that a lot of people are drunk to the point of hilarity by now."

"Can't miss that." And so we walked back through the door on the left, pass security without pissing them off, and into the elevator to join the crowds once more. Sure, I could've been a lot more upbeat and maybe attempt to steal the security man's hat or badge, but I didn't have the heart. Disappointment was easily the worst feeling.

The ride back down to the elevator was a long one, even if I finished telling my rollerskate story. The awesome nun-chuck ending couldn't even lift my non-kissed spirits. Not that Landon noticed, he had on that constant half-grin of his, but this time he looked like he just didn't want to laugh.

"I think I should head home soon, my mom's probably gonna get worried," I said with a slight sigh, knowing full well my mom was partying in the Hamptons with a few of her celebrity colleagues.

Landon snorted. "On New Year's? Come on, stay out a little. The year is young," he coerced with a posh voice.

"Nah," I declined, "I'm a little tired anyway." I couldn't help laugh a little as I added, "And I'm all danced out."

The elevator door pinged and we were one floor away from the ballroom. Landon exhaled sharply and mussed his hair a bit. "If you say so," he said, "but hey Red?"

"Yeah?" I answered, gathering my car keys from my purse as I felt the jolt of the elevator descend one more floor.

And then between the elevator door opening with the sounds of the crowds rushing in and me trying to keep my balance, Landon lightly cupped my face with his hands and kissed me. A real kiss, not the kind you save for people you only half-like and think, "what the hell? It's the holidays." But the oh-goodness-I-take-back-everything-about-pushing-you-off-the-roof and clearly-I-was-too-busy-focusing-on-your-kilt-to-realize-how-great-your-lips-are type of kiss, for the people that truly matter. At least, that's what I got out of it.

But when he pulled away from me with a brilliant smile, I couldn't help but think that maybe, he felt the same way. "Goodnight," Landon said to finish everything off, turning away and walking back into the party that had stopped for a brief moment in time to watch the most unlikely pair.

Oxygen managed to find it's way back into my body, allowing my brain to fully register just how tingly my lips still were. The elevator door closed once more as it moved toward the parking lot, but I wasn't overcome with an immediate need to find Landon and maybe stay out and dance on the rooftop. My mother had once told me that's best to leave the night on a high note, and I would be embarking on the highest note possible.

After all, the year was young.

author's note: oh, I know what you're thinking: it's not new years! it's january 23rd! way to update on time!

I know. Exams started to kick my butt this year, so let's start an angry mob with pitchforks and torches and go to my school. Or build a time machine so I could go back in time and post this when it's, you know, actually the holidays.

I hope you guys enjoyed this story, be sure to tell me what you think! Thanks for all the lovely reviews on this and my other stories as well! :)

xo,

Ren

PS: did you notice the not-so sneaky shout out to "it takes a thief?" ~*im sew clevr*~