bad at // l o v e.

beautiful stranger // chapter four

Writer's note; Trigger warnings include issues such as hearing voices, sexual situations, mentions of suicide, anxiety, depression.
This chapter went a different direction than I had first intended so I hope you still like it. Also, this chapter doesn't have a lot of Jenn and Colson but this insta post I made is just too damn cute. <3 Let's get on with it already!

 "Who says she decided to leave?"

The smoke had begun to snake into his lungs when he registered what he thought to be- flirting? He couldn't seem to wrap his head around it, though he had been sensing something between them. He felt so childish feeling 'sparks fly' and butterflies in the stomach, so he would continue to drift in denial and attempt not to fall victim to things like that. Instead, he offered her a smirk.

"Oh you made her do that?" He nodded towards Jennifer who now had her arms slung over the much taller rapper's shoulders. 'Speaking of sparks...' "Are you guys telepathic or some shit?" He joked, slowly allowing the smoke to crawl from between his chapped lips.

He leaned forward to pass the blunt her way, though if he had known what was to be said next- he probably would've gone another round to try to be cool.

"Maybe . . ." As her fingers grazed his, taking the blunt in between her own pale digits, "Or maybe . . ." He watched her, seemingly in slow motion. The way her thick extended lashes brushed the place where he only knew eye bags to be. On her though, it was just normal. She didn't look sick and sleep deprived, she looked like she had hardened her sleepless nights into pouring her feelings out on paper. Or maybe he was just really fuckin' high? "She just knows when people should make a move already?"

The words seemed to chime around in his skull before he actually was able to recept what she had said. He tried to distract himself by focusing on the hit that streamed out from between her lips. He couldn't decide what he liked more; the smoke or her songs coming out of her mouth. He finally ripped his stare away, feeling as if he had been staring for too long before he met hers. She looked confident and intimidating. The media had made this girl out to look like a broken-hearted musician with mental issues and a penchant for the paparazzi catching her at the wrong time. Yet he had seen her pulling out one of the most unique performances he had ever seen on the show earlier that night and now she had that Basic Instinct Bad Bitch energy. Damn, he really was that high.

"Oh yeah?" He asked, trying to pull himself from his own head and into this moment. 'Come on, don't fuck this up! Just act like you're . . . Deniro or Pacino! And not in an impression kinda way. Seriously Pete, don't- DON'T DO A DENIRO ACCENT!!!' He shook his head, only allowing himself to let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, "Your friend's pretty smart then because I've been waiting all night to do just that."

Success. He had managed to get something slick out and not in a Goodfella's kinda way. He tried not to let his eyes nervously scan her reaction, but that meant keeping a focus on her glossy, hazel, hues. He saw her push herself to her feet, the blunt sticking out of the corner of her mouth. The only time he was able to peel his gaze from her face was when he had to look down the stretch of tan legs that stretched themselves out to stand up. He stayed stiff in his seat, leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest. He imagined that he was playing off cool pretty well, but he was honestly just trying to keep from bouncing his knee or chewing on the inside of his lip. There was always an interesting tug back and forth between playing it off cool or being himself. More times than not, he stuck with playing confident.