⎨COMING SOON⎬
Tyson Hart. USC's infamous mid-fielder and renowned ladies' man. He revels in the praise and attention given by strangers, for no feeling equates to the wanting of others. Endless effort, and recognition from the people he craves most...
A distinct smell I can only describe as putrid permeates the air. Ideally, I would like to believe that is something more pleasant, but I know that odor is the inside of someone's stomach.
The thirty-minute drive did nothing but reinforce the notion that this is perhaps, maybe, a bad idea. Did that make me turn around? Nope, nor did the anxiety attack I had in the car mere moments ago. If anything, it emphasized the underlying issue I need to face head-on if I want to fit in next year.
From the last time I stood in front of this house, not much has changed sans the drunk teenagers loitering around the perimeter. The pounding music that I can feel reverberating through my body gives the illusion that the house—and all its structure—is moving to the rhythm.
Wind sweeps through the blades of grass, and the gust brings goosebumps to the surface of my bare legs. I didn't even attempt to give myself any means of acceptable clothing tonight.
With that thought, I take step after step, leading to the front door. It gives way when a couple, one that seems obviously head over heels, barrels through the door, not even giving enough time to separate for a breath of air.
The inside of the house is only marginally warmer than the air outside, though it does offer some reprieve. Swarms of people are dancing in the living room, drunkenly moving their bodies just slightly off rhythm. In the foyer, I have a clear view of the entire living room and even can see through to the open kitchen. My anxiety spikes, my fingers immediately moving to fidget with my ring.
Everything in my body yells at me to escape and find solitude in the comfort of my car, but I need to get over this hurdle. If I can barely make it past the front door, how am I going to fare next year?
I scan over the crowds, trying to spot the one person I know. It is a pitiful attempt, especially when everyone's faces begin to blur together and become one. There is one person that seems to stand out, though.
Standing above a dining room table is a noticeably tall and brawny man. His back is facing toward me, but I can see the dirty blonde strands of hair swaying in the same rhythm as his hips and his arms—also noticeably muscular, too—flail out to each side. As if sensing my gaze, his entire body swivels. His attention feels like being hit by a tonne of bricks and I attempt to not shrink underneath the weight of it. The unknown man's body stops moving, but his stare never strays from mine. My hands clam up and I wonder if everybody else in the room has stopped to stare at me at this moment.
I am the first to look away, searching to see if any other faces have paused too. They haven't. Except I catch one very familiar and very annoyed expression shoving through the mounds of people crammed into the living room. I take a deep breath and wipe my suddenly clammy hands on my minuscule skirt as he crosses the room.
He reaches me in very few strides, his stature towering over me. "What the fuck are you doing here, Lilly?" he says through his teeth, jaw clenching as he awaits an answer.
I shrug indifferently, dismissing the unfamiliar feeling of the eyes of strangers crawling over my body. "Just thought I would give my favorite brother a visit. Y'know, I'm hurt you didn't invite me." I am not. This is my worse nightmare. The wave of nausea attests to that. But I would rather fake it through my best attempt at sarcasm. Fake it till you make it.
Aidan lets out a sound that I can only describe as wolf-like. "And there is probably a reason I didn't invite you."
"And what's that?" I counter, raising a single brow at him and crossing my arms over my chest, feigning indifference.
"This is a college party. This isn't your scene and you're too young for parties like this." Very obvious points. It is a college party. I hate these sorts of things and would never dream of doing this on the regular.
"Isn't that sad?" I paint a very fake, exaggerated frown on my face. "Too bad I'm going to be at all the college parties next year when I'm at USC." Here's to hoping I can get further than the front door.
A disbelieving laugh falls free from his lips. "You wish. I won't even let you within ten feet of any college party."
I roll my eyes, still playing into the act that I am here for a night out and not escaping the disaster that is my home life. "Oh c'mon. Loosen up, Aidan. Stop being so overprotective. I'm eighteen and I came here tonight to have a good time."
At that precise moment, the same blonde that was dancing on the dining table saunters up to us. He lazily throws a hand across Aidan's shoulder, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. The expression attracts my attention to his heart-shaped lips, not too thin but not too full either. His stare caresses my body, lingering on my exposed shoulder and the lacey pink bralette strap peeking out, and the length of my too-pale legs. Once again, I abstain from fidgeting and shrinking underneath it.
"Aidan... why don't you introduce me to your friend over here?" the blonde guy drawls, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth, that annoying smirk still tugging at each side. His voice is deeper than I expected and slightly husky and sends a shiver rushing down my spine.
An eternity seems to pass with our eyes locked on each other. His navy blue irises caught on mine like they are trying to commit something to memory. My hands fall to my sides, my fingers instantly moving to tear at the skin on the side of my fingernails.
"Fat chance in hell. She was actually just leaving," Aidan interrupts, thankfully, dragging those navy eyes away from mine. He shrugs the blonde dude's arm off of him, giving me a gentle shove toward the front door, politely opening it. A gust of frigid air envelops us, and I release a phony groan of annoyance. I just hope Aidan can hear my artificial irritation, too.
Aidan shuts the front door and leads me a few feet toward his car. He opens the passenger door, gesturing suggestively with his hand. I relent and he rounds the car, sitting in the driver's seat moments later. A heavy silence surrounds us, willing one of us to break it, but I can't let myself do it, not until I think for a little bit. One thought, in particular, brings me to a grinding halt, however.
I clear my throat except no sound comes out and shut my eyes. "Don't take my home," I murmur, hoping he can sense the desperate plea in my tone.
"I wasn't planning on it," he admits, jangling his keys about before the car growls to life.
An image of that blonde guy painted so vividly in my mind it is hard to dismiss. "I'm kind of pissed. He was hot, just so you know," I attempt to joke, but the level of truth in that sentence makes it come across as sincere.
"Well, keep dreaming. He's my roommate and there is no chance he will get to you."
"Just because he is your roommate means nothing."
"Yeah, it does. You are off-limits to all my friends and teammates. I don't make the rules, it's just bro code," he counters, his tone giving away his utmost displeasure that he has to be having this conversation with me.
"You are no fun," I joke with an exaggerated frown, knowing it'll piss my overprotective brother off even more. "Rules are supposed to be broken."
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