†𝖜𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖉 ∞ ongoing

chapter 12 ∞ d.d.

Nova

"Jesus fuck you really don't have self-control, do you?"

Jackson takes the Tito's bottle away from me after I down my fifth shot. Technically third since the first two earlier. My head feels dizzy but I can see straight, it's just that my vision's a little bit blurry. I've been told I don't have a filter when I drink. So I've been trying to keep my mouth shut because Jack has been the only one with me. I haven't been able to find any of my other friends and he keeps assuring me that I'll be fine.

Not to mention the fact he's taken five additional shots as well. So we're both not in the right mindset. Yet he's doing a fantastic job hiding it. He just looks a little dazed and his cheeks are flushed. They're the same color as his lips. They look like soft cushions—

"Can't believe you use white claw as a chaser. Why not juice? You can barely handle it." He states, crumpling up the beer can in his hand and throwing it into the garbage can across the counter.

"I can handle it asshole. Go away. I can't fucking stand you anymore." I giggle as I rest my cheek in my hand that lays on my elbow. I lose balance of my weight and nearly smack my forehead into the marble.

"You're drunk as hell."

I wave away his comment with my hand and this time actually hit my head on the countertop. I squeal and dramatically scream as I rub my forehead with my palm, "OW! Fucking hell, shit that hurt so bad."

"I think I like this version of you better." Jack laughs, messing with the cap of an alcoholic beverage between his fingers.

Trying to wipe the heat from my head with the back of my hand, I sit down on the island chair.

"I don't like any version of you." I slur, trying to read the ingredient list of a Malibu bottle, "You're a bitch, go fuck another of of your side hoes."

"Let's go upstairs then." He says, smirking. I can't keep my eyes off of his face anymore he looks hot and flustered from the alcohol tainting his cheeks.

I chuckle and lay my head down on the cold counter, facing him, "You're funny to think you can ever get me in bed."

His eyes have this mischievous spark in them, practically radiating desire and playfulness. It's similar to the normal look he wears during school. It just seems more provocative because he's a little drunk.

Then something about what he said strikes me, "SIDE HOE?! I'm not your fucking side hoe. I don't fall to my knees and ask to suck your dick every time you glance in my direction."

"Funny how that's the first thing you think about when you mention side hoe." Jack points out and takes a second to just stare back at me, "I wouldn't fuck you if I had to."

I shrug my shoulders and snort, "The feeling's mutual. I don't willingly have sex with guys with small dicks." I reply and show my thumb and pointer finger to him. Pressing them together before there's a small inch of air between them.

Squinting his eyebrows he gives me a puzzled, yet relaxed look, "What makes you think my dick is small? You're obsessed with trying to make me feel less masculine—"

"Hold out your hand asshat." I hold out my own in the air and he looks so confused. His cocky, arrogant side seems to have taken a plunge after a certain number of drinks. He's almost sweet now.

Nonetheless, he takes his hand and raises it to the air so it touches the palm of mine. And his fingers basically cover the entirety of my fingertips. His hand is huge. I swallow a lump to the back of my throat. Suddenly it feels oh so lonely.