Uncontrollable (Punk Luke Hemmings)

Chapter 3

The first thing that hits me is the noise- a blend of high pitched laughter, drunken yells, and blaring music.

The boys haven't gone on yet, so I text Mikey to let him know I'm here. I don't know anybody else here well enough to justify talking to them. I already regret not bringing along my headphones.

My phone chirps a short guitar solo, letting me know Michael texted me back.

Hey babe, we're still setting up in the front room for our set. Go get a drink, we'll meet you in the kitchen in 5.

I don't even know where the kitchen is. Or the front room for that matter. This house is sprawling, filled with teenagers enjoying their Friday night.

I start wandering, taking in the tan girls with dresses so slight I wonder how they qualify as clothing. This is a high school party, unlike any I ever went to in Ireland or England. I don't fit in here with my tight jeans and long sleeve top, flag converse instead of high heels.

Yet, I'm getting my fair share of male attention. People here range from jocks to stoners to nerds to punks to normal kids. I've never seen such a diverse party, and apparently the guys here don't have a type, because as I walk down the crowded hallways, there are a few catcalls, several people whisper and I can feel their stares. I ignore it, wondering to myself why I took Ashton's advice in the first place, even though my different approach to attempting to look hot was right.

I finally find the kitchen, which, unsurprisingly, is filled with a variety of cups and alcohol. No alcohol  tonight. I was driving and felt like I needed to keep a clear head for some reason.

Spotting a bottle of lemonade on a shelf in an open cabinet, I tried to reach it, standing on my tip toes and stretching my arm as far was it went, though still falling a few inches short. My shirt was rising, but I didn't care. There weren't that many people in the kitchen, they didn't know me, it didn't matter.

I tried again, reaching as high as I could, debating whether or not to simply climb on the counter when a cold hand slid around my hips, freezing my bare skin, as another hand reached up and grabbed the bottle with ease, placing it on the counter in front of me.

I jerked back from the frigid touch, whirling around to face whoever had just grabbed the bottle for me, invading my personal space in the process.

My mouth was already open, ready to speak my mind, but the guy in front of me spoke first.

"Have you ever considered growing a few more inches? You're so tiny." For a moment, I'm not sure how to respond to the deep Australian accent, busy simply taking in his appearance.

Tall (really tall practically dwarfing me), artfully gelled back dirty blonde hair, blue eyes like the ocean. Tattoos swirling up the arms exposed by the dark Nirvana tank top (part of my mind wanted to focus on the muscles visible beneath the ink, but the rational part not driven by hormones won out), eyebrow ring in, ears pierced and gauged. Just looking at him, I could tell he wasn't a good boy. My mind catches up to the rest of me, and I've finally broken my silence, hoping my staring didn't last too long,

"Have you ever considered not touching random girls?" I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and looking up at him.

He grins, looking supremely unconcerned. "Nope. Most girls seem to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, well, I am not one of them. Don't touch me without my permission."

"Or what?" He raises the pierced eyebrow, practically asking to be hit.

"Touch me again and find out." Done with the conversation, I try to go around him, but once again, he's in my way, stepping closer to me, too close for comfort.

"But I wasn't done talking to you." He whispers.

But I'm not backing down, struck with the uncontrollable urge to stand up to this beautiful tattooed asshole who doesn't seem to get  personal space.

"Can I help you?" My fists are clenched at my sides. If I miss the boys' performance over this guy, I will be very upset.

"No." He smiles like all is right with the world. "I just like watching you get all fiesty. You're very entertaining. I like it. I like you."

I cannot believe he has the audacity to stand here in front of me and say those kinds of thing. "You don't even know one thing about me."

That infuriating grin is still on his face, which is also still way too close to me. I can feel his breath washing over my face, and although I suspected he was drunk at first, its apparent he hasn't had anything to drink by the minty scent.

"I know more than you'd think. Don't worry, Andy Clementine, you'll see it my way soon enough and realize you're mine."

I almost choke. This conversation just took a turn for the weird. I don't even bother to wonder how he knew my name, when I don't even know his.

"Excuse me? I'm completely my own." As I reply I can see Calum, Ash, and Mickey making their way towards me through the thickening crowd.

He straightens up, following my gaze. He shoots me a wicked smile, promising a million things. "I can see the bellybutton ring, Andy. Don't worry-I'll see it again."

With that, he's gone, lost in the crowd, leaving me dumbstruck as they reach me. Ashton is staring open mouthed at me, and I quickly pull my shirt down, making sure the ring isn't visible. One person saw it tonight, that was enough. I wasn't even sure why I matched my ring to my outfit, as I hadn't planned for anyone to see it anyway.

"Damn Andy. Nice to know you can take my advice once in a while." Ashton whistles, eyeing my outfit.

But Calum and Michael are watching me with a weird look.

"I didn't know you knew him." Calum says, gesturing off to wherever the guy had disappeared to.

I shook my head. "I don't know that asshole. He just came up to me and started talking and calling me his and whatnot. Weird as hell."

Michael makes a sputtering sound. "Andy, that's Luke."

(if you wanna see the outfit, see it here: http://www.polyvore.com/meeting_luke_hemmings/set?.svc=copypaste&embedder=8680831&id=100035989 )