one-night stands, rogue models, rockstars that could give harry styles a run for his money and endless tabloids.
where aurora goes, trouble follows. or in her case, rhys astre.
♡
word of advice (or warning): if you're a sucker for happy endings, pl...
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Aurora Braelynn hated beer with a passion.
She'd despised it with every atom within her ever since she'd taken her first horrific sip, a few years back.
But tonight, it seemed to hate her back.
'Jesus fucking christ,' she hissed through her teeth, glaring down at her white top and watching as the sticky, wet cloth now clung lazily to her like a second skin, clearly showcasing everything underneath. Instead of white, it was now an ugly, blotchy brown.
It was her favorite shirt too; a cloth of light, shimmering material that made her seem like she glowed every time she moved, billowy sleeves keeping her endlessly entertained.
Now it looked more like a misused rag.
Breathing deeply through her nose to calm herself and avoid the impending shit storm, she instead shifted her stormy eyes to the culprit who'd caused the ruination of her night, focusing her rage on him instead.
On any other night, at any other party, one look at the boy in front of her would have her stomach dropping and her smile transforming to a sultry, flirtatious trap. Today however, she was a little too sober, a little too awake. So as she took in the sharp ridges on his breathtaking face, the loose black curls drooping to his forehead, the crooked, dimpled, apologetic smile, she only grew angrier.
The rage in her chest was only just rearing its ugly head when someone suddenly slipped between her and the beer-dropping little shit, forcing her to take a startled step back. She knew who it was immediately, his broad back and messy dark hair giving him away easily. At least Wesley's intrusion gave her a chance to close her eyes and count to ten. Causing a scene wouldn't bring her Gucci shirt back.
Instead, she slipped it over her shoulders and dropped it where she stood, cringing at the feel of the harsh wind against her bare skin and watching her shirt crumple against the rocky ground in regret. By the time she turned back to the guys next to her, both Wesley and the stranger were staring at her. She hid her smirk behind a scowl.
Around them, the party still thrummed, oblivious to the storm brewing in their midst. The neon lights flashing across the sky were bright enough to garner the attention of ships miles away, out at sea; the water itself calmly watching their reveling.
Ignoring Wesley's pointed looks to leave without making a scene and the 'cool it' he hissed at her under his breath, she turned to the guy and let her face transform to the kind of anger that she'd been told made her look unearthly. The kind that had even the worst of the fucking worst dropping to their knees for her before she'd even opened her mouth.
'Does being fucking blind run in the family or is it a trait adopted by you only?'
Her harsh demand, dripping with a poisonous kind of patience, drew a cringe from Wesley who turned to watch the stranger's response, already having expected and miserably tried to bring a stop to whatever damage she planned to now do. He shot her a glare and she parried it with a sickly sweet smile thrown his way.
