"Hey, hot stuff,"you heard a voice from behind you while you danced on the dance floor of your best friend's party. You turned around, your eyes meeting the town's 'bad boy'; Bradley Simpson.
The dude was known for drinking a smoking a ton of weed and getting into fights with people, while always biting his signature toothpick. He always seemed to have that damn thing in his mouth at all times and quite honestly, you had no idea why girls found that attractive. You could understand why they would love his chocolate brown curls, his flawless face or his toned body, but that piece of wood in his mouth was pointless.
"No,"you replied, turning back around to shake your hips at the music.
"Why not, babes? I'm sure you'll like what I can give you,"he flirted, slightly slurring his words. You turned around once again, not intimidated by his muscly posture at all, and glared at him.
"Look, mate, I genuinely couldn't give two shits about your dick, alright? So you and your disgusting, cliche pick up lines better leave,"you snapped, almost screaming at him.
Bradley wasn't used to rejection–sure, a couple of girls, here and there, would reject him but overall, females were all over him, so this was very weird for him. He rolled his eyes at you, trying to not show that your comment really hurt his ego and moved to another girl.
However, later that night, everything seemed to go wrong. You couldn't find any of your close friends, someone spilt a drink down your nude dress and your heels were starting to hurt your feet a lot. You found yourself outside, sitting down on the grass of your friend's giant backyard.
Bradley was inside, making out with girls or dancing, until he decided that he needed a breather. So that's why he found himself outside, with that toothpick between his lips as he stumbled towards where you were. He was not quite drunk yet, he still had control of his words and actions, it was just his slur and weird walking that made hin seem way more drunk that he actually was.
He plopped down next to you, only noticing your body when his shoulder brushed against yours. You gave him a look, rolling your eyes and trying to get up but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back down.
"Don't leave, I will. You were here first,"he sighed and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm his spinning head.
Your eyes pierced through the side of his head, observing him as you could quite clearly tell that a million things were running through his head.
And indeed, too many thought and worried were running around his mind. How he actually hated being the center of attention wherever he went, how he hated the reputation he had, how much he actually despised his 'bad boy' lifestyle and most importantly, how he couldn't stop thinking about you. He didn't like you but you had definitely drawn Bradley Simpson's interest.
"You can stay if you want,"you replied, surprising him. His eyes fell on you, one eyebrow raised at how casual you sounded in contrast to your harsh and blunt self back at the dance floor and how you didn't tell him to get the fuck away.
"Okay,"the conversation, if you could call it that, fell short as you two stared into space.
"I didn't mean to offend you back there,"he apologized after some minutes of silence.
"Well, you did,"you stated tiredly, "But I guess it's fine. That's how you are."
"That's how I have to be,"he mumbled to himself but you heard.
"No, you don't have to be a certain way. You choose to be a certain way,"you explained but he just shook your head.
"Not true. Situations make you act a type of way and then you just have to keep that image up, or else you'll be left all alone again,"he pushed his hand through his curls.
"Maybe it's better to be alone, rather than having to pretend you're someone you're not."
"This is not a heart to heart,"he snorted, "You have your opinions and I have mine."
"No need to come at me, jeez. And yes, this is definitely not a heart to heart. I'd rather drink seven bottles of vodka than open up to you,"you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Why are you being such a bitch? You don't even know me?"he questioned, sounding quite offended. His anger was only rising and if you weren't a girl you would be probably bleeding by now.
"I know you,"you retorted but he shook his head, moving away from you to get a better look at your face.
"No, you don't. You know what everyone says about me. None of the assholes that spread rumors about me actually know what's going on in my life. Maybe you and all the airheads out there, should actually care about getting to know people and not believing everything some dipshits say,"it was his turn to snap now and it scared you a bit. The way his voice got raspier and deeper and the way he roared every word made your heart beat faster.
You were left speechless, which was unusual. Not a snarky comment or remark; absolutely nothing. You could only stare at the boy in front of you, recognizing the pain that flashed behind his eyes.
"I–I'm sorry,"you whispered, looking at your lap.
"No, I get it,"he sighed, looking away from you. His anger vanished when he saw your sweaty palms and the fear that was written across your features, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you."
"I was being a bitch. It's just that everything is going wrong today and I really don't wanna be here but I can't find anyone to drive me home,"you complained.
"Do you live far?"
"No. Five minutes tops,"you answered.
"I'll walk you,"he offered.
"You are drunk,"you pointed out and looked away from his intense stare.
"Tipsy,"he corrected, "And I can still walk you to your house."
"I'm not going to sleep with you,"you blurted out, regretting it when you saw his eyes roll.
"I wasn't planning on doing that either. Just take the fucking offer and let me walk you home,"he grumbled.
"Okay,"you agreed.
"Okay."
_______________________
this will have a part two obviously
and i just wanted to say that i will not be able to update everyday. it's too stressful and i really dont have any time
to do that and riley will probably
kill me if i stress myself to post so yeah...
hope you liked this<3
-sofia
