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Goddamn. She’s a fucking vision.
If only this guy's hands weren’t running up and down her body. I’ve got to get a grip before I fucking walk over and kill the guy.
“Hey there,” a blonde girl says, pulling me from Marley.
I barely glance at her and just nod in response.
She huffs in distaste, and I watch her adjust her top, trying to put her tits out as best as she can.
“Look, I’m not usually such an asshole, but I’m not interested,” I lie.
I usually am an asshole, and this chick is interrupting me.
“Wow, rude,” she says, before stomping off.
That’s when Marley spots me. She freezes in the middle of the floor, her eyes locking with mine. Dumbass doesn’t even notice she isn’t dancing anymore. He continues to grind against her.
I watch her spin around, whisper something in his ear, and then walk in the opposite direction of me. I take that as a cue to follow her, so I do.
I move in and out of the crowd, before following her down a dark hallway and into a room on the left. It’s pitch black, but I can hear her breathing when I close the door, drowning out all the noise from the other room.
“Marley?” I whisper into the dark.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Clark?” she hisses.
“Where are you? I can’t see shit,” I say, ignoring her question.
“Stay away,” she warns.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Nothing good ever comes from the two of us being alone. What are you even doing here?” she asks, again.
“I came with Mitch. If you didn’t want to be alone with me, why did you basically ask me to follow you?” I ask, still trying to find her in the dark room.
“I didn’t ask you shit. I could feel you staring at me. I needed some air,” she says.
I think she’s fucking delusional.
I finally find her. She’s put herself in a corner of the room. That was her first mistake. Now she has nowhere to go.
“Clark,” she pleads.
“Did you miss me?” I whisper against her ear.
I can hear her sharp intake of breath.
“Fuck you,” she whispers back.
God, what I would do to fucking touch her.
“We both would enjoy that,” I say, this time brushing my lips against hers.
“Justin is my boyfriend,” she says, as if I give a shit.
“I don’t care.”
“I do. I’m not like that,” she insists, putting her hands on my chest.
