Fragile Little Things ✓

09 off limits

Jem

LET’S JUST GET one thing out of the way— I don’t like frat parties. Or much about the Greek lifestyle and all its Kappa shit. And if I don’t like something, I stay away. Simple as that. So it probably makes me a hypocrite to be standing here, smack bang in the middle of NYU’s College House.

Except I didn’t come for any reason other than the fact that work had been kicking my ass lately. I had the longest shift (the entire day)—and eight hours of pure sweat at Charley’s was enough to turn even a fucking hermit to the nearest place they could get a drink. Or a smoke. Whatever. I just needed a damn break.

I haven’t been able to get the hospital bill out of my mind, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to give the tracks a visit. When ma found out that I raced for money, she made me promise I’d never do something so dangerous that it was a threat to my life ever again.

But I’m now thinking I need to break that promise, because that’s the only way I’m going to be able to get 20K to settle that medical bill.

I’d been sat the bar with Mason, who was having as bad as a time as me, if not worse. He was still mourning the loss of that tiny blonde. I even had to save him from some girl, who’s currently straddling my lap, and she’s saying something, but I’m not paying attention because to be honest? I’m worried about Mason.

He didn’t talk much about girls, but when he did, it was always I need to get groceries because Ever’s at the apartment, I need to get back early because Ever’s at the apartment, I can’t stay for too long because Ever will be alone.

Her apartment had been trashed a few months ago, so he didn’t want to leave her alone at his place for too long. Clearly, the guy is ball-fucking-deep in love with her. And just his luck—she was here.

With another guy.

Asian, lean build—he’s rounding the pool table across the room as he leans down to meet Ever with her smile, and when she smiles back, I can practically feel Mason crack beside me.

“I need to get out of here,” he says.

“Mase.” I turn to him, but the girl on my lap clearly figures out I’m not completely enamoured by her, so she reaches her hand out to bring my face back to hers, and I’m pissed because I didn’t want any of this. I just want a drink.

Okay, maybe I also wanted to fuck someone.

But not the redhead on my lap. Nope. There’s a difference between hearing and listening, and I’m definitely hearing her right now.

Redhead manages to buy my attention long enough for Mason to disappear in the crowd. Great. I need to get rid of her as quickly and as easily as possible. Without seeming like a dick.

“I have gonorrhoea,” I say, offering her a smile.

And suddenly, she’s not drunk anymore. She’s making this face of pity and disgust mixed together as she’s slinking off me and I’ve never been happier to self-diagnose myself with an STD. When I glance back to the pool table, I swear I’m seeing things.

But I know I’m not that drunk and —it is her. The girl from the elevator.

Indigo. And then I’m walking to her, calling her name. She’s drunk, saying things falling so brashly out of her pretty mouth that I have no other choice but to smile. To be honest? I never talk, but this time I’m really speechless. The girl’s stunning.

Her hair is this chocolate shade of brown and it’s so curly I want to know how it would feel to run my hands through it. She’s wearing this top—damn—and she’s got the prettiest rack that kinda spills out of the top a little­ and—fuck—I’m wondering how those would feel in my hands too.