Closing Arguments

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"Hunter?"

"Not even close. But he's in the hallway if you're pining after him. I'm sure he'll ignore blonde bimbo three if you head over quick." The dark-haired boy mused with a frankness that felt familiar. But rubbed me the wrong way no less. I faced him now and if he hadn't been so infuriatingly dismissive, I'd have been enchanted. His snug black tee and matching dark jeans made any exposed skin, forearms, face, neck, beam in the faintly lit kitchen. His face angular and harsh as he spoke, matching his words and his looming figure.

"Clearly that's why I asked, I'll rush over now." I said with bitterness, my eyes tracing the shape of the smug boy in front of me like an Etch-a-Sketch. "It was my best guess at whose hands were on me without invitation, but thanks for the three second character assessment."

"Without invitation? Do you send out save the dates too?" He titled his head to meet my withering look of annoyance. But he was a head or so taller than me, so looking unfazed became even harder when my neck was at an upward tilt. "Look, Hunter's girl I just wanted a drink. You were in my way. Off you go."

"I'm not Hunter's girl to start, not that I owe you an explanation. And excuse me for doing the very same thing. Making a drink that is, not feeling girls up in the kitchen. Now move, I need to get ice so I can pretend we never met." The black-shirted, sculpted figure smirked and stepped forward rather than back. Making himself even more of an obstacle to my exit and my drink.

"Is that one of those invitations you mentioned? If I was feeling you in the kitchen, make no mistake you'd be feeling me right back. No accidental grazes. No feather-light touches to reach the ice tray." He looks me up and down as he says it. Measuring up my flight or fight response I supposed. But I wasn't scared, if anything I was pissed. "And if that's how Dixon touches you, I'd ask for a refund. Or move on to the next jersey."

"Wow, you're such a great judge of character. I'm a jersey chaser now apparently too. Just let me get my drink and I'll get out of your way. Dick." I stepped back and away from the handsome but infuriating figure. How'd he get his hair to stay like that in this heat? Stop it. It doesn't matter, he's shown his reductive, presumptuous colours.

"Who said anything about character? I'm talking about motives. You came here for one reason. And hey that's fine, just own it. I don't have to be on the team to know your type." Pouring whiskey into his iced glass with the same smoothness of his voice as he shared his withering take my way.

I was fuming. Boiling over. Never had someone assumed so ill of me without repent. And I hated that it was from, easily, the hottest guy here tonight. Hell, on campus.

"Is this the part where I say, I'm not like other girls? I came here with my housemates you presumptuous ass. And like every other time I come to this party-mansion, I'll be leaving sans football boy or otherwise. So fuck you. You don't know me. And you certainly don't know my motives."

"So Hunter's been using that girl in the hallway for the last hour to make you jealous for no reason then, huh?" Taking a sip as he softened his gaze slightly. Not enough to make it pleasant, but enough to lower my guard a little.

"What are you talking about?" I said exasperated.

"You heard me. The boy's been working damn hard to catch your attention tonight." A flit of his eyebrows as he said it matter of factly.

"Well, it's futile. But thanks for the heads up." I said, not at all thankful. "Now are you done with the dirty little slut chat?"

"Hey Jersey Girl, I mean no harm. Some girl called out Hunter's name and I got my back up. Forget it." He tousled the back of his hair looking uncomfortable at making the apology.