❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
Perhaps the only happily ever after is to survive to tell the story. —Kat Howard, Roses and Rot.
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My hair is blonde, I'm slightly tipsy and despite the fact that I'm making out with one of the youngest, sought after fashion designers in the country in his fancy Beverly Hills apartment, I can't stop thinking about the rude, sarcastic guy with extremely blue eyes and arms bedazzled with ink.
With a slight sigh, I push myself away from Beau Eli's very talented lips. "This isn't working."
Beau raises an eyebrow and makes a move by leaning in again. "What do you mean?"
I counter his move by standing up, stepping away from the couch and adjusting my clothes. "I mean...you're not him."
I could bite my tongue for being treacherous. I didn't mean to say that at all; I meant to lie. I wanted to concoct some story about me being scared. Telling him that I'm not ready—some bullshit about how he should wait till after tomorrow before we make it to the bedroom.
Beau also stands and his height is suddenly staggering. At this point, everything is staggering. I think I may have taken a bit too much champagne. "Did you get taller?"
He frowns in reply. "What do you mean I'm not him?"
"...What it means," I sigh and yeah, I think I may be drunk right now because there's no way in hell that I'm about to be blunt and honest to an almost A-list celebrity. "I came over here because tomorrow is my birthday and nothing feels right anymore. My ex step sister turned best friend isn't talking to me anymore which also kind of makes her my ex best friend now, the guy I like isn't mine anymore and fuck, I'm blonde."
It's almost like I'm not in charge of my body anymore. Did Beau put something in my drink? Also, why does he have a blurry face? "So, I was fucking depressed at home and I haven't felt that way in a long while and I don't like feeling that way because I tend to do stupid shit whenever I'm feeling that way. So I tried watching new shows but nothing really captured my attention and then the WiFi actually died on me so I called up this girl—Imogen—and she said she can't hang out with me because she's watching Riverdale and then here I am, with you. And I just realized that you're hot and whatever but I don't like you the way I like him and the thought of fucking you makes me feel out of it because he never once had sex with me and I don't even know why I'm here."
I groan and quickly snatch up my purse. "I'll be going now."
A hand snags my wrist before I can even take a step away. "You can leave when you can talk without slurring," Beau rasps and I cringe because, true. I'm stupid enough to speed by red lights but driving while drunk when tomorrow is my birthday and the world has a twisted sense of humor? I'm not that stupid.
For a moment, I can't move. I don't know what to do.
I make a move to move backwards but I stumble and land on the couch. "Fuck, I'm drunk."
