Yannik
I can already feel his lips.
I've never kissed a guy with a lip piercing beforeâhe'll be the first. And he'll sure beâhe's looking at me with mischief in his eyes, a small, flirtatious smile dancing at the corner of his lips.
I'm about to leave the drink I was making just to go over there and talk to him when a six-foot-five figure blocks my view.
Couldn't go unnoticed at the party he threw, right?
"What's up, Cormac?" I smile, peeling myself off the counter, trying to sneak a glance at the grunge blond guy standing in the kitchen doorway. "All thisâ" I motion vaguely at the air, meaning the party itself. "Dope."
"Thanks." He forces a smile, but everything in his face screams nervous energy. "I'm glad you're here."
He takes a small step toward meâhesitant, timidâand this time, I don't try to avoid him. It feels wrong to pull away when he's looking at me with so much worry in his honey eyes.
It's loud in here. The music, the chatterâso much that my ears start buzzing. But when Cormac licks his lips, the crowd suddenly stops mattering.
"You look good tonight."
"I always look good."
I smirk as his eyes flicker over my golden halter top, but instead of lingering on my cleavage, they go back to my face.
"You really do," Cormac murmurs. He's so close I can smell the faint trace of whiskey beneath the sweet cider of his cologne. "Can we talk?"
Shit. I see where this is going.
"Cormac..." I start, but the words don't come, becauseâtechnicallyâI'm the one in the wrong here.
"You don't have to speak if you don't want to, but I need you to listen, Yan." He's not harsh. He's soft. Sincere.
His eyes stay locked on mine, searching for anything I won't say out loud. He keeps fidgeting, thumb running over the ring on his finger, like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.
"I know you don't do these things," he says carefully, like I'll bolt if he raises his voice. "But I also know we have something we can't ignore."
I know he wants me to remember every part of summer. Every day we spent with the guys from the team. Every night he was next to me when I was high, too much of a gentleman to kiss a girl out of her mind. Every single time our flirty conversations led to me ditching him.
I was never ready to take what was already mine because I always wanted more. This is what Savannah taught meâtake as much as you can.
Take it all before the vessel shatters.
"Maybe you're keeping your distance because you want me to take the hint," Cormac rubs his forearm, watching me carefully, gauging my reaction after every word. "But even if that's true, I'd rather hear it from you. Tell me what you think about me. About...us."
My eyebrows tense slightly as I try to string together a decent reply. He looks so fragile, so exposed, that every word crossing my mind feels like it could shatter him.
And I don't want toânot because I haven't taken what's mine yet.
Because Cormac isn't a bad guy. He's a good guy constantly making bad decisions.
"Listen, Cormacâ" I start, but the flicker of fear in his eyes is faster than my words.
"Don't say anything now. Just think about it," he interrupts, almost pleading, and I bite my tongue. He nods toward the doorframe, taking a small step back. "I'll be around."
Déjà vu.
As Cormac slowly walks out of the kitchen, the look in his eyes feels familiar.
Of course it does.
I see it every time I break someone's heart.
And no matter how little I want to, I will hurt Cormacâbecause it's what I always do.
He knew what he was signing up for. He knew everything about me. I doubt the football team hasn't talked about me at least once.
He knows every rumorâsome true, some falseâand even with all that, he's still willing to accept it.
So stupid.
I pour some juice into my vodka, and once the taste of spicy pineapple hits my tongue, I finally decide to leave the kitchen.
The party is at its peak. My favorite partâthe stage where people are drunk enough to let loose, dance, and play stupid games, but not yet wasted enough to start puking everywhere.
The lights are low, colors flashing over the crowd as I make my way toward the living room, careful to keep my drink covered so it won't spill if someone bumps into me.
And even though I never really liked Cormac, I feel bad for him.
I know he's candid. I know he tears himself apart with insecurity because the thing he fears most is losing.
He doesn't want to feel like he's losing this game.
But from the moment he saw me, he already lost.
I sip my drink, catching familiar eyes on me. Same half-smile as before, same messy blond hair and lip piercing. And I can't hold back the smirk tugging at my lips as this grunge boy steps toward me.
Number ninety-six.
His piercing doesn't change muchâexcept for the way it clacks against both our teeth when our lips collide. The bathroom feels too small, our bodies knocking into things with every step until he finally pins me against the sink.
Zander Graves.
Zander Graves.
Zander Graves.
His name spins in my head, looping over and over, waiting for the moment I write it down in my phone so I can catch up on it later, when I'm alone in my room.
But for now, none of that matters.
Only the way he tastes like beer as he bites my lip. The way his hands trace every inch of my body.
I can't help but notice the way the cigarette scent cuts through his musky cologne, sweet notes tangled with something harsher.
It reminds me of something.
Of someone.
My room smelled like him for days. My bed smelled like him. Every night, as I fell asleep, I felt him next to meâsmelling like someone who might hook me more than anybody else.
Shit.
Does Zander know these lips he's kissing so eagerly were wrapped around QB's dick just a few days ago?
Does he taste him on my tongue? Feel his kisses lingering on my skin as he mouths his way down to my neck?
Does he know I'm imagining someone else while he's the one between my legs, his boner pressing against my inner thigh, his hands ghosting over my body?
"My friends are probably looking for me," I say as I feel Zander getting pushy.
They're probably not.
I feel hot, my body burning with anticipationâjust not for Zander.
"I'm sure they can wait," he snickers, fingers eagerly unbuttoning my jeans.
"No they can't," I exhale, grabbing his wrists. But all he does is press his lips harder against mine, his body pressing against mine.
And I want to want him.
I want to keep my mind on him. To make it all about him for a moment. To let him fuck the name Santiago Jones out of my head.
But I can't.
Because I don't just let people have me. I choose them.
And I chose Tiago.
"Get off me," I push Zander away, just enough to slip off the sink.
In the same second, I'm back against it.
"Come on, I know you want it," he murmurs, his voice low, husky with arousal. His handsâshaky but determinedâkeep trying to slide my jeans down.
"I said get off me. Are you fucking deaf?"
This time, I don't hold back. The force of my shove sends Zander stumbling backward. He looks at me, dazed, like he never saw this coming.
Like I didn't warn him.
"Fucking idiot," I mumble, unlocking the door.
"Oh, fuck you, Moore!" Zander's voice blends into the noise of the party, a pathetic attempt to save face. "Don't act like you're not fucking the whole school, you whore!"
His words cut off with a punchâprecise, clean.
The ache in my knuckles soothes me, along with the pained groan that escapes his lips.
Even though he's covering his face, shielding himself from me, I still raise both middle fingers in his direction. Then, just to make sure everyone watching gets the message, I flip the crowd off, spinning on my heels and storming out of the hallway.
The weight of their stares follows me as I push through the crowd, people whispering, piecing together the scene.
I take deep breaths, buttoning up my jeans, muttering curses under my breath.
Fuck. Will I ever get through a party without punching someone?
Feels like a curse at this point.
"Hey, doll!" It looks like the whole football team gathered together to play. TJ is waving at me so intensely it feels wrong to ignore, so I approach the table, ready to handle a bunch of tipsy guys.
"We're playing King's Cup, wanna join?" asks TJ, already making a spot for me on the couch. I sink into the spot, accepting the cup Sam hands me.
"Not my favorite game," I mumble, my eyes already fixed on the guy sitting on the couch in front of me.
I don't need to be a genius to know he's confused. His eyes gleam with a mix of hate and attraction as he scans my outfit, probably thinking I won't notice.
Doesn't he know I notice everything?
"Draw the card, Cap."
Shit.
Cormac is sitting on the floor, at the side of the coffee table with the big cup and cards around it. Once our gazes entwine, he looks away, his lips pressed together. His jaw tightens like he's holding something back, and I catch the slight twitch in his fingers as he reaches for the deck.
He draws the card, and I need to pay attention, but my mind is somewhere far away, focused on avoiding any eye contact with any of the men who give me problems.
Cormac looks hurt. Not openly, but something about him feels odd. The way he talks, moves, tenses his jaw.
The way he avoids looking at me.
I can't imagine our conversation. No matter how hard I try, I'm unable to glue together two decent sentences. Maybe because I'm not the type to talk about things.
I'm more about smashing and breaking everything I see.
I can't handle feelings, maybe that's why I never had any.
Round by round, I do everything I can to come up with an idea. I lose a couple of times as my mind keeps spinning back to the talk that will definitely happen.
I know Cormac. He never pushes me, but he will eventually come up with the same conversation once he realizes I'm avoiding it.
I need to do something about it.
About us.
About what can't be us.
Cormac is drawing a card again, and as he speaks, his honey eyes finally lift to me.
"Two."
He puts away the card and slowly moves a shot toward me. I arch an eyebrow, and a nod from him confirmsâhe chooses me to drink.
The shot tastes just like the situation. Bitter, spicy, and absolutely disgusting. Clean vodka pours down my throat, and I can't avoid wrinkling my nose as I put the empty shot down.
"You're on fire today, doll!" TJ cheers me up, recalling all the shots I had before, to the point where I'm already starting to feel dizzy. I try to smile back, but the feeling of a stare on me won't let go.
I don't even need to look to know who it is.
"Hey, Cormac, why don't weâ" I start, leaning toward him, almost lying on Sam's lap, but Cormac looks at Enzo, gently slapping his knee.
"Your turn, Bone!"
So I hush. I don't know why I'm even trying when I could just let go of him like I let go of everybody.
The problem is, everybody is nothing but numbers, and he's not.
Not yet. And I need to make him a number to let go.
"Five." Enzo's smile widens as he sees the card as another reason to drink. "Let's go, guys!"
Every guy throws back a shot, and I do nothing but wait as it's Tiago's turn to draw a card.
He freezes as his eyes scan the card, but then they travel to me for a brief second, enough for me to feel like he's plotting something. His fingers drum against the table, slow and measured, before he finally speaks.
"Eight," he utters.
I look at the butterflies tattooed on his forearms as he pours two shots, but then one of them slides over the table toward me.
At this point, I'm starting to think all the guys here are just trying to get me wasted.
Tiago doesn't say a word. His cyan eyes glow with silent cold as he looks at me under his black brows while bringing the shot to his lips. The way he watches, the way he waitsâit's deliberate.
I down the shot with him, my throat on fire again.
"Looks like we have mates here," giggles Enzo.
"Looks like it." I see Cormac raise his eyebrows as he leans back.
"It is like it," grumbles Tiago, his voice edged with something unreadable.
Cormac gives him a deadpan stare before calling out the next person to draw a card.
It's just a game, but it's starting to feel like it's not.
"Jack!" I hear another voice. "Never Have I Ever, guys!"
"Oh, make it a good one," TJ asks, eager to brag about something stupid.
I feel a strangling tension starting to build between Cormac and Tiago, almost entirely on Cormac's part. His knee bounces, fingers tapping against his thigh, a tick he probably thinks nobody notices. But I do.
"Alright, listen up! Never have I everâ"
I can tell what's in Cormac's head. It's so easy to get into itâguys always act like they're made of glass.
He's jealous because it's his last resort. Because he's not accepting defeat. Instead, he's excusing it with circumstances.
But there are no circumstances other than he's not the one.
Nobody will ever be the oneâthat's Savannah's curse.
"Fallen in love."
My body doesn't feel like mine when I instinctively glance at Tiago.
I don't know what I'm expecting, but my mind is eagerly waiting for him to pour a shot or stay still. He doesn't move, his eyes find mine, and I can tell he's waiting for my reaction in the same way I'm waiting for his.
He stays still. His hands don't reach for the bottle. His gaze is intertwined with mine as I don't move, my whole body under a strange pressure.
Two rules. He should stick to them.
"Do you call that a good one?" complains TJ, downing a shot.
"Wow, Cap. We're so surprised," cackles Enzo.
My stomach clenches as I see Cormac ignore Enzo's teasing. His fingers wrap around the shot glass, his throat tilts back.
He drinks.
"Dude, shut up, will you?" Sam mutters.
"Screw you, Qin, let me have fun," Enzo rolls his eyes as his drunk slurring gets messier than before. He keeps his arms crossed on his chest, letting out a dramatic sigh and resting his head on Tiago's shoulder. "Not my problem he's obsessed with a bop."
"What did you just say?" I raise my eyebrows, my body bracing. I can hear my voice sharpen as the words cling to my mind.
"Shut up, Enzo."
Tiago reacts before I do, shifting just enough to make Enzo slip from his shoulder onto the couch. All he does is start cracking up, completely ignoring the mess he's starting.
"Fucking alcoholic," Cormac mutters, but his eyes aren't on Enzo.
They are on me.
He saw I didn't drink. Isn't that a reply on its own?
TJ coughs. "Alright, so this is awkward."
Nobody is really paying attention as he draws a card.
I flip Enzo off as he sprawls across the couch, his head resting on Tiago's lap.
Jeez, he's so clingy.
"God, he's such a jerk when he drinks," Sam curls his lip, leaning closer to me. I huffâthe last thing I want is to get into a second fight in a row.
"He's always a jerk, Sam," I spit out, crossing my arms over my chest as I glance at Tiago, trying to ignore Enzo laying on him like an extra annoying cat.
"Ace."
A wide smile appears on TJ's lips as he shows the card to us.
We never do a waterfall when someone draws an Ace. Instead, we dare a random person to do something, and now everybody finally leaves the conflict behind, eagerly waiting for TJ to assign his victim.
His eyes fall on me, and by the look on his face I know something is coming.
"Let's make things easy for you two," he snickers.
I see Tiago clench his fists to the point his knuckles, still bruised after the fight I dragged him into, become pale.
"Yannik, I dare you to make out with Cormac."