The First Rule (Book #1)

Chapter 11b: Sweet Poem O' Mine

You sit in front of Tyler and his girlfriend, who had invited one other girl to join the table. It's a full house. Dom inhales his pod while sitting next to you with his back to the table, seemingly oblivious to the other girl that's been gawking at him.. Liam and Eve on your right side can't keep their heads off each other.. and then—there's you. Caught in the aftermath of Tyler's poetic apology. Entangled in the sweet trap he set with his words.

However—finally—in between his cheerful playdate with Taylor, he realizes that the eyes that were once sparkling with thoughts of 'burgers' and a 'melody sweeter than the sugar cane' are now casting death glares at him. He sighs guiltily, hesitantly switches his attention back and forth to talking to Taylor and your—again—bad mood eating. Eventually, he seizes the opportunity to alter the conversation to include you—

"Babe, you know—Emily made one hell of a playlist. Maybe you can dance to them too."

In response, you almost spit out your food. Eve and Liam flash sly smiles while suppressing their laughter.. and Dom—who initially had his back to the table, starts turning his body to you with a curious expression. Realizing he just said something stupid, Cavill puts a finger on his forehead and averts his eyes from you.

Taylor pauses, stopping her dance routine boasting. In a brief moment you swear you could notice her rolling her eyes—but somehow, she's just so good. at faking things. Almost as impressive as her ability to use her push-up bra to show her cleavage a little too much. With that thought, you let out a little amused scoff—only to be met with her fake smile as she eyes you up and down.

"Oh really? What type of songs do you like, Emily?"

You roll your eyes internally at the nickname. It's not that you dislike your own name, it's just—you detest how it sounds coming from her mouth. With an air of nonchalance, you reply, shrugging a shoulder, "Soul, pop, rock, rhythm and blues—"

"Oh I don't listen to that type of genre, sorry,"

The Queen of River High smugly interrupts. Then, clutching Tyler's sleeves in an annoying manner, she continues, "Babe, it doesn't match with the type of dance I dance," her tone oozing brattiness all over.

Challenged, you tilt your head in curiosity and raise an eyebrow, "Oh, what kind of music do you dance to—" you pause before laying it bare on the table, darting your eyes to the nervous Tyler in front of you. Putting both of your elbows on the table, you support your square chin upon your fingers, and tilt your head slightly. Giving her a sweet sweet smile, you mimic her style of talking, and add, "Taytay?"

A subtle but unmistakable tension lingers in the air as a murderous tone in your words roams through the group, especially when it's flourished with a brand new nickname, special for her majesty in the making. Along with the others—excluding Taylor's friend who remains absorbed in enjoying the view since Dom's face is now in front of her—Tyler tightens his grip on the edge of his seat.

The girl keeps gawking, even though Dominic's attention is undeniably distracted by someone else—bringing his elbow to the table, his body tilts towards you. Running a hand through his hair, Hunt wears a slight smirk, thoroughly enjoying this side of you.

Maybe I'll treat this one as my interrogation room, huh? Ha.

A smirk surface on your lips. You witness Taylor release her grip on Tyler's sleeve with a sour expression. Noticing his girl's displeased expression, Tyler puts both hands behind his neck and leans back to face the ceiling to groan, clearly regretting the first conversation he once initiated. The room feels like it's holding its breath—but not until his girlfriend tackily barks,