6
OLIAS
"Shit, you look… sexy," Jasmine Miller's scratchy voice breaks the silence in my room as I fold in the collar of my black button-up shirt.
My eyes drop, and I shut my closet door, which holds a mirror on the inside, to look at Jasmine. Her blond hair falls over the thin laced bra she wears and black leather leggings that disappear under black boots. It's October, and this chick is nearly half-naked. At least she has enough sense in her head to put on a jacket.
"Move," I order, wanting her to get the hell out of my door frame so I can get this night over with.
Instead, she walks inside the room and a long sigh leaves me as her hands wrap around my neck, cranking my head down to her.
Her lips graze mine, and the sudden urge to throw up itches at the back of my throat.
"Kiss me," she whispers, her eyes trained on my lips.
I would've.
I would've tackled you and fucked you right here on my bedroom floor. But things changed. The urge to fuck is still there, but not with her. That time of my life needs to be over.
My head falls to Jasmine's neck, and she tilts her head, expecting me to suck on her skin. Instead, my lips graze her ear, "I'm going to ask you nicely one more time to get the fuck out my way."
She scoffs, rolls her eyes, and shoves me back a step with her hands. Flipping her blond locks, she glares at me. "What the fucks wrong with you?" she hisses.
It's probably the first time a guy has turned her down. She has everything to attract the horny male species I'm a part of. Hips, curves, ass, and a somewhat okay face (with makeup on). Except for one thing. A god-damn personality. Her insides couldn't be more fucking ugly.
"What? Offended, I don't want to fuck your ass?" I laugh bitterly, sidestepping her. She gets back in my face, and I exhale hard.
"You weren't saying that when you were buried in me a few months ago. Did you forget? The way I rode you almost every week? You were obsessed ."
I stare at her, bored. Just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach. Why, though? I don't even understand the change myself. I was obsessed, and I didn't care. Now, I care.
"Get out of my way," I shove her with my shoulders, noting that she wouldn't listen. She shifts to the side as I pull my door open.
"It's that bitch. Isn't it? I heard Michael say you had someone here last week and all about how she was hot and shit. She was wearing your clothes. Sleeping in your bed?"
Clarity Red.
When I close my eyes, memories of Clarity that I tried to throw away every day this past week start to flood my head. She seemed to be everywhere after she left: her Frosted Flakes in my kitchen and her flowery scent in my plaid pants and jacket. In my room, I continue to keep it clean after the effort she put into cleaning it.
Knowing that I wouldn't see her again, blocking memories of her out was the only way I could try and stop thinking about her. It worked for a while.
A while as in a few hours. Until now, that is.
I turn to face Jasmine closely with a glare. "Her name is Clarity. The only bitch here is you."Seconds pass, our gazes throwing daggers at one another before I leave my room.
Michael better pay up for dragging me to this shitty party. The only reason I'm going is 'cause he needs a DD, and I don't plan on drinking tonight. It’ll be filled with old college students I haven't seen since I dropped out, people who all know who I am—or was. No one knows this version of me, only the party-driven Ollie .
I leave my apartment, Jasmine following behind, keeping her distance. Michael's car is parked on the sidewalk in front of the building; he and Kyle Santos sit in the front while Tanner Rivers sings along to the blasting music.
Not a fucking chance I'm getting in that car. Fuck being DD.
"I'm meeting you guys there," I tell Jasmine, who is stepping out of my building.
"Why? There's space."
"Because then I can leave whenever I want." I pull out my keys and walk down the block to where my car is parked when I hear my name being called. My heart stops.
Am I imagining shit now? Because that couldn't be her. It's been a week since I heard her voice, but it's all that ever played in my head.
"Olias!" I hear again, and at that, I snap my head to look down the dim-lit street to see Clarity quickly walking towards me. She waves her hand high, a big smile on my face that immediately diminishes my scowl.
She wears a long, beige trench coat, her brown hair going wild in the wind. My eyes stay glued to her as she walks up and hugs me.
Her arms wrap around both of my hands, preventing me from hugging her back, and I laugh with her.
"Did you miss me?" She says, letting go of me.
Yes.
I scan her face, specifically the red lipstick dressing her naturally plump lips. Red looks good on her. Too fucking good.
"What are you doing here?" I ask instead of answering her question.
"Aren't you going to a party? You look pimped out for one, so I assume you are."
"Pimped out?" I grin. Does she really think I look pimped out?
She nods and laughs. Fuck, her smile is like gold. I didn't realize how much I needed to see that smile again until now, like relapsing on a drug. The party is the last thing on my mind right now. Right now, I want to take her upstairs. Right now , I want my lips to scale every part of her—
That’s not me anymore.
She has a boyfriend.
"Who's this?" Jasmine says, slithering her arm around my waist. She knows I don't like people hugging me. Well…No one besides Clarity, I guess.
“I'm Clarity," Clarity's eyes drop to Jasmine's arm around me, and I don't miss her flash of a frown before a grin hides it. I immediately slide Jasmine's hand off, and she rolls her eyes.
"How come I can't hug you, but she can?" Jasmine questions.
I shrug. "It's different with her."
Jasmine inhales, turning to Clarity, and offers her hand. "The McDonalds girl I met the other day, right?"
Clarity's lips smash together into an awkward smile, her cheeks reddening, and her eyes darting briefly at me as she nods. "Yep, that's me,” she nearly whispers, shaking Jasmine's hand.
Jasmine turns to me. "Did you know she works at McDonalds?" she snorts.
I shake my head. "No, but what exactly is wrong with working there?"I get what game she’s playing at. Classic Jasmine.
Their eyes fall on me, a light shining in Clarity's and flames burning in Jasmine's.
"Oh, nothing," Jasmine dismisses. "Absolutely nothing ."
Jasmine glances at me and then grills Clarity for a second before turning around and walking towards Michael’s honking car. Her steps are filled with annoyance, and I chuckle, shaking my head.
I walk towards Clarity, gently placing a hand on her back, and walk her along with me to my car.
"I don't think she likes me very much," Clarity's voice falters.
I open my passenger door and look at her and the frown on her face. How can anyone not like her? I stare, her eyes trained on Michael's car that Jasmine climbs in before they drive off, the music slowly drowning away with distance. She bites at her lip, frowning. Why does she care so much about what Jasmine thinks of her, anyway?
I lift my hand towards her, brush back a brown strand of hair from her face, and pin it behind her ear. Her eyes dart up to me as I hoped they would. That's the most I've ever touched her face. I shouldn't have done it, but she’s too pretty to hide behind her hair.
"She's just jealous; don't pay her any mind," I assure her. Her eyes follow my hand as I drop it from her ear and land it on her shoulder.
" Her? Jealous? Of what?"
I tilt my head. Does she not know how she looks? Standing beside Jasmine, Clarity makes her look like a decorated trash can.
"What else? Of you," I answer as if it were common knowledge—because it is.
Her brows pinch together as I motion her to get in the car. As she sits inside, she softly utters, "Me?" And I close the door behind her.
Yes, you .
Irritation fills my veins as I enter the car and start the engine. A girl like her shouldn't deserve to feel self-conscious. What the fuck is her boyfriend good for if he isn't consistently telling her she's the sexiest person in the room?
"Seat belt on," I kindly order. She follows it.
As I drive to the party, I turn my head to see Clarity pulling her long coat off, revealing her outfit for the night. The neck of her black body-con dress runs low, showing her breast line. My eyes dart to the road.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I hit a speed bump, and Clarity squeals, her chest bouncing and her hand shooting out to grip my thigh. Fucking hell. My breath gets heavier, my throat burning, and the crotch of my jeans becoming tighter than a fucking speedo. What's wrong with me? I never get turned on this easily.
She laughs. "Olias! Jesus, I almost bounced through the roof." I don't look at her. She has no idea of the situation I'm in right now.
Her hand still grips my thigh, and fuck , it's taking everything in me not to stop this car and take her in my back seat.
I clear my throat. "Clarity," her name comes out rough and uneven.
"Yeah?" she hums in question.
"Your hand," I say briefly, turning a corner.
She softly gasps in realization and unclasps her hand off my thigh. "Oh, sorry. Did I hurt you? My grip can be super strong sometimes."
She asked if she had hurt me.
"I'm far from hurt, Clare. No apology needed." I lift my hips off my seat, adjusting to my new growth. When I need to stand up, I'm fucked.
"So why do you look like you're in pain?"
I turn to face her as I reach a red light. The middle part splits her hair in two, the rest of the thick strands ending in wavy layers. They fall past her collarbones, and my eyes trail down her frame lazily to those thighs that I knew she was hiding in my plaid pants a week ago.
"I’m not. You must be imagining shit," I joke, swallowing, looking back at the green light and driving. If you only knew the thoughts about you, I keep out of my head.
She’s my friend. A Friend . A normal friend that I don't have sex with, I mentally note. Meaning, a friend that I can't think about kissing or having thoughts of her sleeping over, and definitely not fucking. She also isn't available.
I can have a friend of the opposite gender. I'm not that desperate for her.
***
The ride to Queens wasn't long, but it felt like hours with Clarity next to me. Besides the fact that I had my eyes glued to more than just the road, she seemed overly excited to go to this party. There wasn't a minute she didn't talk, asking me questions that were of no importance but, for some reason, to her, had all the relevance.
When we get to the house, music pours from every opening, and dozens of people scatter the yard. I already want to leave.
I spot Michael's car parked off the side of the street and park behind it. The rest of them should be inside already.
I unbuckle myself and meet Clarity outside. She keeps her coat in the car and carries her black purse off her shoulder as she walks to my side.
"That's... a lot of people," she observes.
"What? Scared?"
She shakes her head. "Never."
"YO, OLLIE! Welcome back!" Someone I recognize from college shouts across the lawn. He whistles at me, "That shit's fucking fat, you're a lucky man!"
Christ.
Annoyance quickly runs through every bone in my body at his comment about Clarity’s ass. I lift my finger at him, flipping him off, then walk more behind Clarity, putting a hand on her hip to guide her in front of me.
She doesn't even seem to have noticed him. She's too busy observing Jasmine's house we're approaching, in excitement. I can't see her face, but I know it's lit up. It's a nice house, I guess.I’d be better if the owner weren’t a bitch.
We get to the door, and I bang on it. Opening the door is a dude that Jasmine probably coerced with false promises into doing this job. He holds a bottle of vodka and raises his hand. "You gotta take a shot to enter," he slurs.
Clarity turns to me as if checking if I'm still here, then back at the guy. "A shot?"
The guy, who wears a smirk that I could gladly smack off his face, looks at Clarity. "Yeah, hot stuff. Lean your head back, and I'll pour it down your throat."
"She passes," I say. After about five minutes of Clarity's car questions, I concluded that she had never drunk a day in her life.
She turns to shoot a scowl my way, which surprises me. "You heard him, no shot, no enter."
"I heard him, but you don't even dri-"
"I want to do it, Olias," she stresses softly. "Why are you making choices for me? You aren't even my boyfriend."
A soft “ooo” from nearby guys who overheard follows. I raise my hands, pissed off.
"Fine, fuck, do whatever the hell you want." I walk past her as she leans back, letting the guy fill her mouth with Vodka. As I expect I hear a series of coughs follow afterward. It's not shocking; her throat is probably on fire right now.
Why did I bring her here? She's right; I'm not her boyfriend. I should've taken her back home as soon as I saw her today. If she's going to act like that, she could've brought her boyfriend to babysit her then.
"Hey, man! You didn't drink!" The guy at the door calls after me.
"Go fuck yourself," I mutter under my breath, continuing into the crowded living room. I also hear Clarity call my name, but I don't stop. She's so fine on her own, right? She can find her way through the party by herself then. I'll find her in a few minutes when she's crying because she's scared.
I go to the kitchen, finding my breath short as if I just ran a 5k. Fuck being sober. I need a damn drink. I grab a red solo cup when a hand wraps around my waist. My brows pinch, not expecting Clarity to do that, but I huff when I turn around to see Jasmine.
"Where's Miss Preppy?" She questions.
I pour myself a drink from the jug in the kitchen, taking the small chances of it not being spiked or some shit.
"Being independent," I answer.
Jasmine faces me as I down my drink in one gulp; the sting races down my throat and burns all too well and familiar. The heat travels down my chest, reminding me of how I used to feel in college when that burn was the only thing keeping me alive. Who was I kidding, trying to be better than who I was? I cave into the feeling, and before I can stop myself, I lean my head down to kiss Jasmine hard and long. She hitches before relaxing, opening her mouth so that my tongue can explore her for the thousandth time it feels.
What am I doing? The voice in the farthest part of my head says.
I need a distraction. That's all. I need something to distract me from what I can’t have. To distract me from her.
Jasmine's hands bury into my hair, her nails massaging my scalp as she moans in my mouth. I grip her ass, my lips trailing down her neck.
I break away, panting, "Upstairs, now . Before I change my mind." I pull her arm with me towards the kitchen exit.
"I knew you'd be back soon. She's too nice for you."
I stop, turn around to see her smirk, and my hand rests at the start of her neck, pressing into her collarbone with little force. "This isn't about her. So don't bring her up again, or this is going to end as quickly as it started."
Jasmine pouts as if she's looking at a baby. "You're hot when you're mad."