𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐲'𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞

01 | 𝑇𝑜 𝐸𝑎𝑐ℎ 𝐻𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑤𝑛

The beginning began way before this.

In fact, my developing love for the golden boy who dwelled on top of football medals and teacher's praise began when I was old enough to appreciate such captivating beauty. His honey-saturated blond hair, forest green eyes, and contagious smile were dream-worthy. He, himself, was the epitome of what people dream about. Loving Sullivan Corbett was a passion, a hobby, and a motivation to better myself. All that I ever wanted was to gain his approval, to gain his appreciation, and more importantly, to get him to notice me. 

Maybe next time though, this day, however, I was burning in the dissatisfaction of inevitable avoidance.

He wasn't looking at me, barely even deviated away from Kayla Ashby who stood by my side. I assumed it was her clothes which gifted her his flirtatious attitude. Sullivan possibly wasn't into the whole pink sundress and pastel appearance that described me. Maybe he was into Kayla's dark vampire-looking clothes, therefore, prior to his house party I borrowed some. My caramel hair was down to my waist and I wore a black cropped top and mini skirt---hated every minute of it because black isn't my color, makes me look paler than I actually am (and that's saying something). 

He threaded his fingers through his luscious blond wave, gripping a sweating beer bottle in the other. The dribbles of condensation fell to his hardwood floors while a sea of people circulated. Their statue figures added residency to the stuffy and humid atmosphere. While I could've been lusting over the way his sky blue cotton shirt tightened his flexing biceps or how his green eyes sparkled with a hint of intoxicity, I instead, narrowed in on the unveiled mountainside beyond the windows descending his crescent shaped hallway.

That was until I heard his laughter ringing up to my ears beneath electroying currents of bass music. He rolled his emerald green eyes, throwing up his beer and downing a good portion. "Very funny," he said distantly. "Did you just get here?"

Kayla squinted, a playful grin toying with the curvature of her lips. "Need a play-by-play?"

"Precisely." He shared a quick laugh, silencing himself at hearing his name be called into the crowd. "Gotta go. See ya round, Kay--you too, Mia!" He waved a quick goodbye before dashing down the halls, squirming his way through in a swift blur of motion.

I know what you're asking. Who's Mia? Well... spoiler alert, it's not me. Mia is what Sullivan, my long-time crush, thinks my name is. 

"Why don't you ever correct him?" Kayla argued, uncrossing her arms as we walked into the living room, our heels mutely clapped atop dark gray tile. My hand brushed over the oak wooden door frame as we passed, a blush soon creeping onto my cheeks, fading as quick as it came.

"Because," I started matter of factly, "I would feel awkward correcting him now. Besides, he'd be embarrassed. Liv's called me Mia for so long, to be exact, four years and I don't want to make him feel bad." My voice transpired to sympathy, a glaze of hope in my smile as I spoke.

Yes, I know, I'm stupid for liking a guy who doesn't know my name.

She shook her head rigidly, blonde curls swaying over her mouth in a heat of disregarding me. "No one calls Sullivan that," she addressed, referring to my nickname, Liv, for him, mumbling incoherently at the end, "And he's a big boy, he can handle it."

"To each her own." There was no denying how irrational I was, but the name 'Mia' slipped off his tongue so casually. The way his smile upturned on his lips, and how cruel I would be to get rid of that? Besides, the mistake had the possibility of becoming an inside joke we'd tell our kids in the future. 

She flung a hand to the mini bar aside the kitchen, grabbing my wrist and hurrying me to the granite counter. The opposing wall of the kitchen exposed Wyoming mountain slopes through floor to ceiling windows. Its exhibition of nightfall pressing closely to the glass panels, making the orange glowing bulbs surrounding Sullivan's house, as well as the chandeliers to pursue much-needed light forth. The window and door frames were built with furnished oak, as glossy as the gray tiles on the floor, but people were clustered so much so in the large, open space, that it was impossible to admire anything but the cobblestone fireplace from afar.