Fifty Million Followers [BOYXBOY]

16.

We haven't reached the front door and there's people sprawled everywhere. Cars are parked but there are girls in bikini's lounging on top of them with doors open and even one of them is rocking. Others behind us are running in between the gates before they close again, clearly gate crashing, and bottles and cups line the drive like a red carpet.

"Should we even bother knocking?" Demitri walks in front of us, taking big strides and knocks anyway, like they'd be able to hear us from the insane volume inside and out here. I hear a splash in the distance; of course this house has a pool.

I'm completely sober that it's a little embarrassing, not that I need alcohol to have a good time, but in this case, I feel like I'll need to be off my face to enjoy the company of these twats. I've seen their Twitter and Instagram accounts; utter bellends.

Surprisingly, the door opens, and a guy leans on the door frame, cigarette between lips with red rims around his eyes and he's topless. Parker Watts is for Dawn Senate what Oliver Godfrey is for us; he's the eye candy, with a sharp nose and freckles than run along the bridge of it and an even sharper jaw line. His grey jogging bottoms hang low and his teeth are a blazing white when he grins at the sight of us.

Parker, just like the rest of the band, while trying to be pop-punk will never shake off their reputation as red-blooded Americans. They all have unnatural looking teeth, Caucasian but slightly tanned skin and stupid names; Parker, Aspen, Kashton, and Asher. They were born to be in a manufactured rebellious band with a team writes their songs for them and probably has a backing track for their musical instruments. They were brought up with privilege and red plastic cups and summer houses in the Hamptons.

Looking at him, I suddenly feel grubby, with my slightly crooked teeth and my Northern English accent and my bitten nails. I'm rough, raw, and I've been told that's what people like about me; that something like this could happen to anyone, you don't have to look and sound like Dawn Senate to be invited to the party.

But, let me tell you, it helped.

"Who the fuck are you?" Parker raises his eyebrow at us, stopping from letting us in.

"Luke invited us." Demitri's accent is even more out of place than mine, the Irish countryside oozing out of from his lips like he owns the place. I love it, I love him, and I hope this fucking place doesn't change him, even though I see him change almost hourly these days.

"Sorry dude; can't understand a word you're saying." Parker gives us a cocky grin and then abruptly slams the door in our faces.

"Feckin' Americans!" Demitri screams, kicking the door with his foot and pushes me forward. "You try, Luke said they're baking cookies and eating them off girls in there!"

"Ew." Candice mumbles, "No one wants to hear their brother say that." She turns to me, giving me a little rub on the shoulder for support. I sigh in frustration, and bang on the door just as a Fatboy Slim songs starts playing inside.

Parker swings the door open again, but this time his grin shows genuine warmth and friendliness. "I'm just screwing around! I don't live under a rock; I know exactly who you are! You guys are the shit! We got the mystery," His finger glides over to Demi, "the eye-candy," He looks to Oliver, giving him a wink, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth and chucking it into a bush to our side. And then, he looks to me, his eyes boring into me, his finger moving to just below my chin. "And then we have the talent."

He's read about us on the internet, but he doesn't know us at all.

I smack his finger out the way and charge past him and into the foyer. He stumbles into the door frame and laughs before grabbing a random beer bottle left next to the house phone and takes a swig.