Emerson Castell loves facts.
Enjoying the how and why of everything, she never fails to let her obsession seep into every aspect of her life, including her relationships - or lack thereof.
Leo Caruso is no stranger to a busy social life, but after...
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Friday night Santiago forced me to be social.
Apparently, in small towns there were special, well-known places where all the teenagers hung out on Friday nights. Santiago brought me to a clearing in the woods where a bonfire burned and people lay on the ground or in beach chairs they'd brought with them. Half of them looked drunk and delirious already, and it was only nine p.m.
"Ooh, who is this?" A high-pitched voice asked when Santiago and I joined everyone else. Despite the fact it was a cool early October night, she was dressed in shorts that would probably be a great length on a four year old.
"This is Leo," Santiago answered her with a smile, then walked over to a group of guys—some of which I recognized from our school and others I didn't—and gave them the bro handshake. Micro-shorts walked in front of me and placed a hand on my shoulder, her eyes raking up and down my face. I took that opportunity to get a good look at her, seeing that she was well-endowed at both the top and bottom. In that moment, a guy appeared behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, beginning to kiss her cheek and then her lips. She squealed and acted like I didn't exist.
Good riddance.
"Want one?" Someone offered a beer to me and I took it, even though I knew I wouldn't drink it.
I never drank mostly it for aesthetic reasons, oddly fearful of getting the giant belly and swollen face on older male alcoholics.
I was also embarrassed that I thought everything besides wine tasted like shit.
I sat down in a random chair, not even caring if someone was about to sit on it, and kept my eyes focused on the blazing fire. I imagined that was what my headaches would look like if they were an animate object: powerful, painful, and slowly dwindling.
Santiago had already rounded off his second beer and now was making out with a girl named Kiana. She seemed popular since her name floated around the conversation more than once. Santiago was an interesting person. He got along well with all the popular kids and the snobs, yet I never saw him hanging out with them often. He mostly spent his time with me and some of the other guys on the team.
He was like a chameleon, in the best way possible.
"Just be careful there," he told her, removing his mouth from hers, when her hand clasped his arms. I could see a trail of bruises there, which I hadn't noticed before. Her hands slipped to his waist instead, and at the point I wondered how far they'd take it openly in public.
"You're not gay."
My head snapped up and I met the unforgettable blue eyes of Neve, minus the spider lashes today.
"My boyfriend back in New York says otherwise," I deadpanned with a shrug. She raised a brow and placed her hands on her hips.
"Really," she said, in front of me now. She smelled like vanilla and oranges, and I wrinkled my nose. This girl needed tips from Emerson when it came to perfume. "What kind of gay guy stares at a girl's boobs the way you do?"
