The Bad Boy and Me

chapter 2

I take it back. I regret wearing my sneakers. At least, I should've chosen different sneakers. These were my good ones. They're white, for fucks sake. I should've known better.
The second we stepped in the door, there were already footprints of someone's shoes imprinted on mine from stepping on me.
"I'll have to clean these later. Thanks for that." I mutter to myself as Casey grips onto my arm and pulls me through the crowd. It's a big house, but there's so many people here I can barely see where we're going. I'm just letting her pull my along. I'm hoping she's dragging me to the kitchen where I can finish what's left of the tequila in the bottle with enough elbow room to not spill it all over me.
As if she read my mind, or just knows her shit, we enter this huge kitchen with only a few people in it.
I get caught up in how nice the kitchen is- because holy shit. The marble countertops, the island, the swinging lights. Hell, even the fridge seemed really expensive.
I started wondering whose house we were even in, and why I hadn't thought to ask her before we came.
"Casey, whose house is this? Who sent you the address?" I question as I walk around the island.
She shrugs her shoulders messily. "I don't know who lives here but I do know that I got the address from my sorority group chat. So i'm guessing a frat guy? I'm not really sure."
She shrugs again and hands me the bottle. I finish the last of it. "A frat party? You brought me to a fuckin frat house?"
I almost told her it was lame and I wanted to go, but the cleanliness of the kitchen had me convinced it wasn't a frat house. If anything, a single guy who happens to be in a frat owns the place. Usually frat houses are trashed.
She rolls her eyes at me. "Stop being like that. Loosen up and have some fun please. I'm already starting to feel the tequila and I want to enjoy this."
She goes to grab a bottle of vodka from the counter top, making both me and her a drink of pineapple juice and vodka. I sip on it slowly and I look at her and waggle my eyebrows. "You gonna go get your man or what?" She immediately blushes.

The only reason she brought me to this stupid party was because she knew her crush Mark was going to be here. She's been lusting over him since last semester when we saw him in the caf on campus studying one day. She wouldn't shut up about the studious hot guy who could take her any day to Sunday. I dared her to get his number, and after a good 20 minutes of me nagging her and blackmailing her, she got up and asked him for it. He was super nice about it and they've been texting a little ever since, which she sends me screenshot of every single time he responds, but he hasn't flirted much so she's taking matters into her own hands.

So tonight is Mission Impossible. Actually, tonight is Mission Go Find Lusty Hot Dude, Score Some, And Then Dip For Some Tacos, but whatever.
Support, remember? I chide myself. I'm wingwoman tonight. No wallflower until I have taught my little baby bird how to flap her wings.
I down half my drink and grin at Casey. "Let's go find that motherfucker, shall we?" She laughs and follows behind me as I lead her back to the living room.

"Seriously Vi, you need to learn how to stop cussing." She lectures me. I think she's trying to be super mature, but she's almost drunk now, so she's giggling as she says it. "You do it too often."
I roll my eyes and look back at her. "Case, we have talked about this. It's not gonna happen." My dad cursed like a sailor in front of me, so when I was going into high school, I already had a really bad habit of entering a curse word into a sentence. My friends back home would tease me about it and tell me I should get the "Filthiest Mouth" superlative. I thought it was funny but oddly too sexual and tried to stop cursing. No such luck. It is what it is.

I should've stopped walking forward when I was looking at Casey, but I'm an idiot and think I can multitask. So i'm not surprised when I bump right into someone, knocking my drink onto my white tank top. Fuck. Me. Of course I wore white today. And of COURSE, like the stupid bitch I am, decided to skip out on the bra because I didn't want the straps to show.
And I also don't need one because I have barely any chest.
I look down at myself and freeze.
"Fuuuuuckkkkkkk me." I whine. You could visibly see my nipples through my shirt. It was so see through you could even see the outline of my nipple piercings. I cover my chest with my arms and look up, about to tell off the motherfucker who wasn't watching where they were going, even though I knew it was 100% my fault, but I stopped dead in my tracks.
The person who stood before me was none other than Ryder Knight. The quarterback of the football team. The man every girl swoons for. The man every guy would give their first born up to be. He was a fucking legend on campus- had practically a perfect record last season. There's rumors spreading that he's for sure going to go pro, which I'm sure are true because holy fuck look at him. He has an almost perfect season, and he looks like he's been chiseled by the gods? Ryder has a perfect body- I would have to be blind not to notice the chest and arms on him.