Bad Boy, Good Boy (boyxboy)

9 - bad and worse

A/N: So, I'm bringing in a new character. What do you think? 

Of course, of course, please vote and comment so I know you're there. 

(PS: do you like the new cover? Like, is it bearable?)

Chapter 9 – Bad and worse

I run my fingers through my hair and exhale.

It seems like I have to stay away from the drinks and the fun, for Sam. As much I'd like to play beer pong, or just get wasted in general, I can't let my best friend end up somewhere with a headache. At the end of the night, I'll drive her back to her place and I'll make sure she has all the water and aspirins she needs, and maybe even more than she needs.

But my mind is consumed by other things.

Now that I can't distract myself with looking after Sam, I have to concentrate on making a move or just staying near my crush without being noticed (and mostly not noticed by my former classmates).

I decide to go back into the house and at least drink some water before all the fun and games go down, and by that I mean my master plan of being invisible. Turns out I do get to be a superhero tonight, just not the kind I thought, certainly not superman. I'm just going to be invisible.

The sleeping and mumbling guy has switched seats but is still passed out. He certainly knows how to be invisible. I should learn something from him.

After taking some sips of the ice-cold water, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and try to get past all the people dancing without having to be dragged in the crowd. I finally make it out the front door and stumble on the lawn.

It's difficult to figure out what my next move should be. But I don't have to wait long as two guys with wooden sticks as swords come out of the woods rushing towards me, chasing each other like mad ninjas, and one of them runs into me. Because I'm sober, I don't fall on my face like he does, but that doesn't matter to him – he gets up, grins as he looks at me and then he's off again. I don't see the third guy, so when he pushes me, I trip on the freaking wooden stick and it scratches my knee.

I fall on my butt and am about to lash out, when someone offers me a hand. "Jerks," he mutters and smiles. The night has fallen darker and it's difficult to identify my saviour at first, but then it hits me like a wall. That, ladies and gentlemen, is my crush.

"Are you okay?" he asks and a realisation smirk spreads on his lips. "I know you, don't I?"

I sigh and look down at my knee. There a cut in my jeans and my knee is scratched, bleeding slightly. "Yeah, I'm the creep that watches you boys play while I smoke," I say and he laughs. Holy fuck, he's cute. He's cute in every way. If I could, I'd steal his voice and his laugh like the evil squid from The Little Mermaid, and trap it inside an infinitely lasting cigarette, so I could smoke it.

"Yeah, I almost didn't even recognize you," he says. "You're so out of character here."

"Without proper make-up, it just doesn't feel right," I reply and brush dirt off my clothes. Those little shits with wooden sticks, what are they, in freaking Star Wars? Are they trying to help Frodo destroy the ring? Are they pretending those sticks are wands? Fuckers.

He stares at me and I lift my eyebrow. "Sarcasm looks good on you," he then says, and I can't help but smile. But I know that smile comes off a bit sarcastic. I'm programmed that way. Years of practice and self-defence mechanisms won't allow me to be truthful anymore.

You'd look better on me, I think and instantly regret it. I can't fantasize too much.

"What's your name, cigarette boy?"