Page 4 of Shattered Dreams
Why am I even here?
It’s Saturday night.
I've got a paper due on Monday, two unread books stacked beside my laptop, and at least three essays I still need to skim before I even start writing. But somehow, Kieron convinced me. Well—wore me down until "just one drink" turned into me standing here, wedged between a half-empty keg and a guy shouting about beer pong like it's the Olympics.
The music pulses through my skull. The air smells like stale beer, sweat, and alarmingly, sex.
Kieron catches my eye, raising his cup in mock triumph. "See?" he mouths. "It’s not so bad. This is part of college, love. Partying with your friends."
I shake my head. "You owe me coffee and annotated poetry tomorrow."
He grins, then jerks his chin toward the kitchen. "Look at that tosser," he says under his breath, his British accent curling around the words.
I follow his gaze to see Roman Muller, leaning against the counter like he owns it, one arm slung around a blonde's shoulders while his lips are pressed against a brunette's mouth. The blonde giggles, sliding her hand down his chest while the brunette tugs him closer. He pulls away with a cocky grin, wipes his mouth, then tilts his head back for another swig of beer as a third girl whispers something in his ear.
I snort. "Wow."
Kieron rolls his eyes, disgust curling his lips. "Typical bloody jock. He thinks he's some king."
"To the women throwing themselves at him, he is."
"He's a walking cliché," Kieron mutters. "Athletes here...they have it all handed to them. And they still want more."
I can't argue with that. I sip my soda, watching Roman soak in the attention like he was born for it. Yet when he glances up—through all the chaos, the girls, the music—he looks straight at me.
Our eyes lock, and it’s like the world crashes to a halt.
His grin deepens.
My stomach flips, and I avert my eyes, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. The only men I'm interested in are fictional.
Kieron groans beside me. "Oh, for fucks sake."
"What?"
"He's looking at you." Kieron frowns. "Great. That's all we need." He drains the rest of his cup with a sigh. "I'm going to the loo. Don't let him talk to you, yeah?"
"I'm not interested in anyone, you know that," I say without thinking.
But Kieron just shakes his head as he disappears into the crowd. "He'll try anyway."
I roll my eyes, turning back toward the kitchen?—
And find Roman Muller walking straight toward me.
Oh no.
He cuts through the crowd like he's done it a hundred times before, girls calling after him, guys slapping his shoulder, people shifting aside without him asking. Like the whole room knows he always gets what he wants.
And tonight, for whatever reason, that's apparently me.
I straighten, grip my cup tighter, suddenly aware of how my sweater clings to my arms, how my hair falls loose from the clip at my neck. My skin prickles as he approaches, his gaze never leaving mine, like I'm the only thing he sees in this crowd of bodies and noise.
He stops just in front of me, close enough I catch the faint mix of beer and aftershave, sweat and something else underneath, something almost...magnetic.
"Hi," he greets, voice low and lazy.
Up close, he's frustratingly handsome. His jaw is sharper than it has any right to be, lips still wet from the last girl's kiss, dark hair falling just messily enough to seem intentional. And those eyes? Emerald green and filled with sin before they flick down over me, then back up, lazily.
