Terms and Agreements (on hold indefinitely)

An Encounter with the Highly Well Known yet Rarely Conversed with Mr. Hot Stuff

                                                                          1

Around school, he was known by most girls as "Sex-Bomb" or "Future Baby Daddy"(gross). I, however, called him Mr. Hot Stuff because I thought it was funny, and I was making fun of the nicknames everyone else had for him. Also, I didn't actually know his real name.

Boys wanted to be him, and girls wanted to do him, but I wanted to figure out why everyone was so taken with him. Sure, he was tall, and tough-looking - and even I'll admit he was handsome - but that didn't explain why everyone stopped what they were doing every time he entered a classroom, or even the cafeteria, or why they cleared a path for him in the halls and stared at him in awe.

We never spoke, hardly acknowledged each other in class or anything else, but apparently the universe was bored and wanted a laugh, so it brought us together, under unconventional circumstances.

First things first: it was the beginning of October, and everybody was buzzing about Emerson Blakely's Halloween party. Well, more like first pre-Halloween-party-party. She throws a series of parties for Halloween, and costumes are worn to only one of them. Emerson is the head cheerleader, and yes, she's a girl, with a boy's name. Emerson is a boy's name, I'm sorry, but it is.

She's really rich and always throws massive parties for every holiday imaginable. And she's also really hot, and has had a string of so-called "boyfriends" that's twice as long as Taylor Swift's. She's one of those judgy, vindictive, preppy sluts who makes people feel inferior to her with a simple glance.

It's not that I'm not pretty or anything, because I'd like to say I am but then everyone would call me a stuck-up bitch who's full of myself (even though when boys have confidence it's okay, but whatever), but she can just suck any self-respect out of me like a dementor sucks happiness. It's ridiculous.

But forget her. It wasn't just her party everyone was excited about. It was The Event. And yeah, The Event is not a very descriptive title for an event, so I'll explain it to you. The Event is an annual thing my fellow high school students participate in where a male and female's names are drawn from two separate bowls and then the two of them are forced to do like five randomly  weird tasks together - whatever the voters decide - for five weeks. 

Yeah, I know that's insane. I had nothing to do with it, and I never vote or participate in this so-called game.

But that didn't stop them.

All the girls were hoping that their names would be picked, and that Mr. Hot Stuff would be their partner, and then the voters would make them have sex or something. Ew.

Emerson Blakely bragged about how she was sure she'd get picked and finally bag the poor guy, since he had always shut her down when she tried to flirt with him under normal conditions.

I felt a bit sorry for Mr. Hot Stuff, despite the fact that he was a complete stranger, because all these girls just wanted him for his body and he didn't get a moment away from squeals, giggles, and one time this girl flashed him in health class, ironically while we were discussing sex. Apparently she was eager to procreate. But knowing some guys, I figured he probably enjoyed all of it.

School had just let out on the Friday before the first pre-Halloween-party-party when I spoke to him for the first time. I left the building and found him leaning against my car, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, dressed all in black, and with a smirk on that face of his that other girls described as "the face of a god". But isn't God supposed to be an old guy with a beard? Well, I suppose Greek gods are included in their analysis.

"Can I help you?" I asked, holding my keys in one hand and my backpack in the other.

He straightened up and took a step toward me. Though I'm pretty tall and yet he still towered over me, I wasn't intimidated by him. He was just some guy.

"Yeah, you can," he said, smirking, taking the cigarette from his mouth. I kept my face neutral. "I need a ride home."

I rolled my eyes. "Why do you, king of the females, need a ride from me, a mere peasant? Don't you have a motorcycle or a...a batmobile or something?"

He laughed softly, the corners of his deep brown eyes crinkling in a smile, "I'm not a king, and you're not a peasant. You're Alison, right?"

"Oh my Gosh! You actually know my name?" I squealed sarcastically. I'm a bit too sarcastic sometimes, and I've probably offended quite a few people in my day. But no matter.

He rolled his eyes, still chuckling, "You're the only person here who will give me a ride without making a move on me." He dropped the cigarette on the pavement and ground it out with his boot.

"Really?" I asked skeptically. So he didn't have any friends that could take him, or someone he could call? "Why don't you just call someone to come get you?"

He sighed, running a hand through his dark brown hair, "Look, I'll pay you, if that's what you want."

"I don't want your money, I just wanted to know why -?"

"My sister borrowed my truck, and she can't get here for another hour and," he leaned down and said in a low voice, "the school is creepy after hours."

I snorted, which drew another laugh from him as he straightened again.

I pondered his request for a moment before deciding to be a good Samaritan and take him home.

"Fine," I said finally, brushing past him and tugging open the driver side door.

"Thanks," he said, and jogged around the car.

I had no clue where he lived, so he had to tell me every turn to take. At last we reached his apartment complex, which was in a kind of old and somewhat rundown part of town, he directed me to his building, and I pulled into a parking spot.

"Thanks for the ride, Alison," Mr. Hot Stuff said in a low voice, releasing his seatbelt.

I flashed him a forced smile as he opened the door and slid out if the seat. But he didn't walk away.

Instead, he turned around, and bending down, he looked at me.

"What?" I asked, annoyed.

"Come to the party with me tomorrow night," he said, staring at me intently, those brown eyes of his boring holes through me. They were so dark they were almost black, but bright all the same. How?

"What?!" Go to that party, with him?! I wasn't even gonna go to the party alone, let alone with him.

"Not like a date, just...more as a bodyguard," he added quickly. To my surprise, his cheeks were turning a pale pink. Was he embarrassed? Aw, how cute(please note the sarcasm).

"Against all the nutcases?" I asked, referring to the girls that wanted to get laid by him.

He nodded. "Well?"

I still have no idea what possessed me to give this answer: "Okay."

His eyes widened, and he started to say something, but I interrupted him.

"But I'm not riding with you, we'll meet there, and I'm bringing reliable witnesses with me. And if you do one thing I don't like, I'm gone. And you can't smoke around me."

"Okay, but my sister will have my truck-"

"Fine, I'll pick you up. But I'm driving. I have to be in control at all times," I said.

He chuckled. "Remind me to never date you."

I rolled my eyes. "Can I leave now?"

"Are you sure you want to?" He purred with a crooked grin. Most girls would have swooned, but I'm not most girls.

"Go away."

He laughed softly, stepping back and starting to close the door.

"I'll be here around seven," I told him, and with a nod and a wink, he slammed the door shut and headed toward the apartment building.