RYAN
I blink, glancing around as I wonder how I ended up at the current party.
Sat next to Mia on the couch, I peer up at the crowd in the living room in front of me, finding Bailey dancing with Chase. Standing at least a foot taller than her, he dips his chin to the crook of her neck as he mutters something into her ear, causing her to blush.
Wiping the sleep away from the corner of my eyes, I replay the day's events. The last thing I remember is clearing out of the frat house and hitting up the party at Chase's. But as I study the room we're sitting in, I realize we are somewhere entirely foreign.
"You fell asleep," Mia hands me a water bottle.
"Thanks," My voice hoarse as I clear my throat. All the alcohol drained from my system, leaving me thoroughly exhausted. Chugging down the entire bottle, I quench my cottonmouth. "What time is it?"
"Around 8," she leans back.
"Damn," I mumble, leaning onto her shoulder.
She chuckles, taking a sip from her cup, "Yeah, that last game of king's cup with Noah and Garrett did not end well for you." I remember that game, the one where they made me chug white rum, tequila, and a concoction of drinks from the centre cup when I pulled the last king.
It's no wonder events leading up to this moment are foggy.
"Assholes," I mutter, referring to Noah and Garrett Riggs—another one of Chase's hockey teammates—as Mia and I laugh.
"Chase and Bailey wanted to head to Vice in about an hour. Are you still up for that, or do you want to head home?" She nudges her shoulder, forcing me to sit up. I'm not going to lie; heading home and slipping into bed sounds fantastic. Fatigue is still very much etched deep in my bones. But it's also 8 o'clock on a Saturday. It's our last Homecoming, and I don't want to waste it away sleeping at home.
I sigh, "We can go, but I might want to head home first to freshen up."
"Sounds good," Mia nods. I refrain from drinking more and stick to the water so that I can last a few more hours before passing out.
Garrett joins us as we head to our apartment, which happens to be on our way to Vice from the party. Fixing up my makeup, I change out of the UNC crop top and into a lace top; I also swap my shorts for a buttoned skirt which is more appropriate for Vice, a popular student club located in the heart of downtown Cardill.
Grabbing my water bottle, I slip into some shoes again and head downstairs to see that I was the last one down this time. Mia's wearing a plum wrap dress and sneakers—explaining that she won't be able to handle heels with the amount of alcohol in her system and dancing.
Bailey—clings onto Chase's sides—wears a silk singlet that she loosely tucked into her high-waisted shorts.
"Ready?" Chase asks when he spots me. I nod, slipping my phone into my pocket. It takes the five of us all of 15 minutes to stumble there and another 20 minutes of waiting before we actually get into the club. We're consumed by darkness as we head downstairs, the only light source being the black lights and the neon signs on the walls.
Heat washes over me as I stumble past dancing bodies and loose limbs, immediately feeling sticky and slick—grateful that I tied my hair up for the night. Chase and Bailey break off, disappearing into the crowd to dance, while Mia and Garrett head to the bar to grab a drink. Though I've stopped drinking, I tag along with Mia, seeing as I don't want to third wheel the couple for the night.
I love the club atmosphere—the music is ostentatious as it pounds in your ears, drowning out everything in your mind.
Though I love dancing, I won't say I'm the greatest at it; I love making a fool of myself. In this dark setting, where everyone is either too drunk to notice or caught up with their own situation, it's the perfect chance to dance my ass off without worrying about anyone judging me.
After some time, sweat dripping down my back, and my legs ache, but in the best way possible, I turn to Mia. "I'm going to get a drink," I yell into her ear. It's been a while since I deigned myself with a drink. Though I'm still lethargic and will probably pass out any second, I decide one glass wouldn't hurt.
She nods, opting to stay back with Garrett—since we've been here several times over the years, we've come to trust the place to get drinks and go to the bathroom alone.
I weave through the crowd towards the bar, making a quick apology to a guy I bump into before tugging down my skirt. I grab the bartender's attention, "Can I get a whiskey sour, please?"
A pair of toned arms covered in black ink cages me to the bar. "Add jack and coke to that as well," a deep raspy voice hollers from over my head, feeling his soft exhales brush against the top of my head.
Turning around, I spot Carsen Blake, his massive form towering over me. My eyes widen, grazing over his prominent features. The first thing I notice is his sharp jawline covered by a decent scruff—a phantom itch spreads across my clammy palms as I imagine running my hands across his face. A straight nose with a long bridge leads to a pair of thick eyebrows that reside over intense grey eyes. His sun-kissed skin stretches across his high cheekbones, his dark curls tousled, falling over his forehead as a crooked smirk tips the corners of his lips, revealing a pair of tantalizing dimples.
"Collins," he acknowledges, "Looking beautiful as always."
A shiver runs down my spine.
My gaze continually roams over each of his features, each looking like they were hand sculpted. Carsen and I aren't friends; we barely know each other from when my brother, Ethan, was QB for the UNC varsity D1 football team, and Carsen and I were first-year students. But that didn't stop me from having the biggest crush on him, though I grew out of that rather quickly for several reasons.
Carsen was never the reason for it; he was a genuine guy. As a freshman, barely making it to first-string, he stayed clear of me to respect Ethan, and when we did see each other, he was always civil and respectful. Once Ethan graduated the following year, we never found a reason to see each other as much. We ran in the same circles and occasionally bumped into each other at parties, but it was never anything more.
So, colour me surprised to find him willingly coming up to me to strike a conversation when we never so much as said hi in the last two years.
"Carsen," I tilt my head to study him. He really has grown and matured over the years. Rather than being the kid fresh out of high school with an innocent look in his eyes, now he looks tough, a little rough around the edges, with skin covered in beautiful tattoos. "To what do I owe the pleasure," I ask with a smirk. Why am I flirting with him?
His smirk turns to a smug grin, and I can already tell he thinks he has this in the bag.
But there's a reason I've avoided anything related to football in the past year, especially football players, and I wasn't going to change that for one night with Carsen. No matter the rumours regarding his stellar ability in bed. It's been a while for me, a little over a year since my ex-boyfriend broke my heart and left me, a year since I wanted to even entertain a man in my bed. And while I may have moved on, it won't start with Carsen Blake, of all people.
"It's been a while. I thought we could catch up," he leans closer, and I can smell his cologne, the delicious smell of musk and spice filling my nose. I want to lean in closer, but I stop myself. I can't fall for his charms, I tell myself.
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I open my mouth to answer him with a surprisingly steady tone, "Nothing to catch up on, so I think I'm good."
My answer doesn't deter him. But before he could respond, the bartender places our drinks on the bar. I turn, still caged by his arms as I pick up the plastic cup, but before I can pay, Carsen places a 20 on the bar, paying for the both of us.
Just as I turn to scold him, he steps closer, pushing me up against the bar. His entire body presses up against mine, and a shiver runs through me, and I have no doubt he can sense it. I feel every ridge of his chiselled chest from under his thin shirt against the soft skin of my back.
"Still don't think we have anything to catch up on?" Smugness oozes in his tone. I bite my lip to stop myself from doing what exactly, I don't know. For once, I don't have anything to say back. This is a bad idea; I'm already drained and exhausted from drinking the entire day. I need to leave and get away from him before I regret any decisions I make. But he feels so good, and it's been a while since I felt anyone this close to me.
I have needs.
My head lulls to the side from exhaustion, from the heat radiating from him or simply because I knew he would take advantage? I don't know, but I don't regret it when he immediately bends forward, pressing his soft lips to my warm neck—the stubble on his jaw tickles my skin, just as I imagined it would.
"One dance, Collins, that's it, just one dance."