001
~~SKYLAR~~
The loud thump of a chart-topping song from the speakers vibrated through the dimly lit, crowded house. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and the kind of desperation she found exhausting. Girls in tempting clothes and horny guys in varsity jackets filled the space.
Fiddling with the length of her dress, she felt like puking; she absolutely hated frat parties. The idea of getting hit on by cocky, pea-brained jocks who thought they were gods was the worst. Her roomie, April, had dragged her here, calling it an intervention. "Sky, college is not all about studying, you know," she had said one Saturday afternoon when she'd found her in her room, buried in books. She should've listened to her highly effective instincts, which had predicted how horrifying this would be.
But no, she had allowed April to force her into the sluttiest outfit she had in her closet: a peach, backless dress with a plunging neckline. How is this a dress? she thought, pulling the hem of the fabric down as she got out of April's car. "Stop fidgeting! You look like a freaking baddie. Seriously, you look sexy." April, in a rhinestone cowl-neck halter crop top and matching skirt, complemented her.
"I look like a hooker," she whispered, brown eyes wide with panic.
"This is what I've been saying, you need to have the whole college experience. This is what most girls wear to parties," April replied, obviously frustrated. Just then, two tipsy blondes in skimpy dresses wobbled past them. "See?" she motioned to the girls before returning to her.
She could do this. As a law major, she was used to pressure, thriving in uncomfortable situations. Muscling up the courage, she took a deep breath. "Let's go," she uttered.
In under seven minutes, inside the party, April ditched her after forcing a cocktail in her hands, running off to meet her new boyfriend, who was with his gang of friends by the poolside, playing poker. Great.
Strolling into the kitchen, packed with people in different stages of drunkness, a six-foot-something guy with a purple undercut, holding a red plastic cup, stumbled into her. "Hey, watch it, a**hole," she spat angrily, but the idiot kept walking, not listening or too drunk to care. Rubbing the part of her arm that took the brunt of the impact, she scanned the room, trying to find the piece of sht to tell him off. But then she saw him.
Liam Westbrook.
The embodiment of everything she couldn't stand: loud, conceited, and used to getting his way. The king of college football, the projected number one pick. His eyes studied her. She held his gaze unimpressed; she wasn't one for staring contests, but she refused to be the first to look away. Mr. Heartthrob was watching her like she was an unexpected puzzle in the creepiest way, which made her turn back to her green, funky-smelling drink laced with heaven knows what, pretending he didn't exist. Only pretending worked when the other person played along. She felt him before she saw him, the heat of his presence pressing into her.
"So, what's your deal?" The smooth, husky timbre of his voice sent a slight shiver down her spine, the kind that had probably whispered sweet nonsense to more than a hundred girls. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she met his gaze. Up close, he was even more ridiculous: a cut jawline, sea green eyes, and a smile that was borderline murderous.
"No deal," she said calmly.
He tilted his head, intrigued. "That's right? Why aren't you trying to impress me? Is this your own way of getting into my pants? It's working.”
"She let out a short laugh. "I hate to break it to you, Westbrook, but I didn't know you'd be here."
"Yeah? So you're saying it's a coincidence that you showed up at my party?"
"This is your party?" she muttered to herself in disbelief.
"It is now," he responded with a sexy smirk. The blatant cockiness made her roll her eyes, but she had to admit, he was good. His shameless manwh*ring was a thing of art. He leaned in a little closer, enough to see if she would flinch. She didn't. His voice was only for her precious ears. "Well, congratulations. You've got my attention."
She couldn't believe this nightmare was happening. The Liam Westbrook was flirting with her. How dare he think she was one of those thirsty girls fighting over him? In that moment, she missed her bed, and the scary part was that she had a paper due by 8 a.m. the next day, which she was supposed to be reviewing. "I'm pretty sure that extremely cheesy line has worked on others, but as hard as this must be for you to believe, you're not exactly my type," she answered, walking off into the crowd.
