𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 is your average do-good lawyer on the rise to fame as a representative of young victims. Except her motivations aren't all that innocent. Rayne's only goal is to run from her past, to leave confrontation for the courtroom, no...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
RUEBEN STARED AT HIS DRINK, EXAMINING his reflection as the color of the lights turned him pink, blue, purple, and green within a matter of five revolving seconds. Sweat coated his upper brow, begging droplets to swim down the current of its crookedness due to the heat inside this club.
His irritation transcended as he attempted to shift to a more comfortable standing position and failed miserably. Hands and limbs covered in perspiration touched him non-consensually with off-putting dance moves; half the population displayed a lack of awareness of their surroundings.
Passing a hand through his hair to keep it from sticking to his forehead, he forced his body around a group of women to his left and made his way back to where his roommates were settled. For some reason, upon noticing his bad mood, dumb and dumber came up with the wise idea of going to a club downtown on a fucking Thursday.
Like being in a crowded room with overly erotic humans was his ideal way of getting his mind off his shit-bucket of a life—spare me.
He brought his cup to his lips and parked his feet next to his friends; somehow, Mason managed to snag a bar stool and was duly spinning circles around the squeaky thing. Isaac was to his left, pressing his half-finished Truly to his forehead—seems he wasn't the only one overheating.
"I love this place!" Mason giddily shouted, "Everyone is so beautiful!"
"I wonder what Blake would say if she could hear you right now," Isaac rolled his eyes.
"She'd agree with me because there's a huge difference between appreciating attractiveness and actually being attracted to someone."
"Wrong," he slapped him upside the head, "You'd be in permanent dog-house territory."
"Oh, like what you're in now for dropping Taryn in the middle of sex?"
"You little—!"
Mason's chuckle was drowned out by the sound of his struggling as Isaac wrapped his arms around his shoulders and locked him in, rubbing his knuckles on his head. If they weren't in the setting they were in right now, Rueben would have died from cringe—the secondhand embarrassment around the two of them was unreal.
He shot him an annoyed glare but he was too busy pulling the hair tie out of his bun and letting his hair fall, having been messed up from Isaac's antics. He sipped his drink lightly, watching, as he shook his head and let the black strands smack the top of his ears with length; he usually wore it up because it was getting long again, but if he was being honest, he preferred it down.
"You need to get laid," Mason yawned, finishing his up-do.
"And you need to work on your game so the whole household can stop hearing how unsatisfied you leave your girlfriend."
