14. Alex
Chapter 14
Alex
I was finishing up in my bathroom, carefully adjusting the last touches of my makeup, when a knock echoed through my dorm room.
I frowned slightly, still trying to perfect the way my eyeliner flicked.
“Aubrey, can you get that?” I called out.
I went to add one final sweep of eyeliner, but my hand slipped, the tip of the pencil smudging on my eyelid.
“Shit,” I muttered, grabbing a cotton swab to try to fix the mess.
I sighed and gave my eyelid another swipe, nailing it.
Thank you, golden eagle at the gate!
Aubrey’s voice came through the main room, muffled but unmistakable.
“It’s for you!”
Leaving the bathroom, I shot Aubrey a quick, confused look as I passed her, noticing the amused smirk on her face.
I couldn’t help but shake my head as I walked toward the door, prepared to comment on how weird she was being all of a sudden.
But the words died on my tongue the moment I opened the door.
There, standing casually in dark jeans and a tight, black shirt that hugged his toned frame, was none other than Bishop Ashbourne.
Of course, he had to look this good.
His messy hair, the confident stance, and the way his lips curled up in that infuriatingly perfect smirk.
I could feel a rush of heat crawl up my neck.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound as unaffected as possible, but even to me, my voice came off a little breathier than I intended.
Bishop’s smirk only deepened as he slowly pushed himself off the doorframe, looking at me with unmistakable arrogance.
“You should know I’m not a fan of doors being slammed in my face, troublemaker,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet.
Before I could respond, we both heard a faint “sorry” from somewhere in my room, followed by the sound of Aubrey’s muffled footsteps.
I looked back at Bishop, still a little flustered, but refusing to let him see it.
“Okay, but seriously, why are you here?” I asked again, my arms instinctively crossing over my chest.
Bishop didn’t answer right away.
Instead, his gaze slowly dragged over me, lingering on my every curve.
“Damn,” he muttered, his voice rough with that irritating, confident edge.
“You look fucking hot.”
Before I could process his words, Aubrey’s voice rang out from somewhere in my room.
“Told you, you looked good!” she shouted, openly eavesdropping.
I rolled my eyes, shooting a glare in her direction.
“Thanks, Aubrey,” I muttered, before turning back to Bishop, trying to ignore the heat rushing to my cheeks.
He was still smirking, clearly enjoying every second of my reaction.
I let out an exaggerated sigh, my tone flat.
“Bishop Ashbourne, what do you want?”
His eyes gleamed with amusement, unbothered.
“I like the way you say my name,” he said, his voice dropping slightly.
“Say it again.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch, and my breath caught in my throat.
A strange warmth settled in my chest, and I cursed myself for feeling it.
The way he said it, that cocky grin on his lips, made something twist deep inside me.
But I quickly shook it off, fighting the wayward thoughts trying to take over.
Focus, Alex. Focus .
This was Bishop, after all.
The same guy who had been tormenting me since I set foot at Altair.
The one who’d tricked me into walking into the natatorium not that long ago.
I could still remember the cold, eerie silence as the door slammed shut, trapping me inside.
The isolation had gnawed at me—no one stopped to save me, not even when I pounded on the glass, yelling for help.
That was Bishop for you.
Leading a twisted game where I was always the prize.
I felt the anger rise, sharp and hot, pushing back the confusing warmth that had no business being there.
There was no room for weakness.
Not now. Not with him.
I straightened up, my voice sharp as I regained control.
“Why are you here?” I demand, my tone challenging.
Bishop didn’t seem in any rush to answer.
Instead, his gaze wandered over me again, not hiding his blatant admiration.
“I’m here to pick you up,” he said, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
“Pick me up?” I repeated, still a little lost at how things were suddenly taking such an odd turn.
“Yeah,” he said casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You owe me. For yesterday, remember?” He pauses, giving me a look that made my insides tighten.
“I told you I’d pick you up.”
A memory from yesterday in our Oceanic Reflection class hit me—our one-sided conversation where he claimed I owed him.
For what, I was still unsure, but it didn’t really matter.
He was so stubborn, always expecting things to go his way and never bothering to consider anyone else’s perspective.
I snapped out of the memory quickly, glaring at him as I crossed my arms tighter.
“Can’t,” I clip out, unaffected.
“I have other plans.”
Bishop’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second.
I caught the slight tension in his jaw and the brief flicker of his gaze.
“Other plans?” he repeated, a quiet edge in his voice.
I stepped back, opening the door wider, letting him see more of the room.
“Yeah,” I said, reaching for my jacket.
“Aubrey and I are heading out to a party.”
At that, Bishop’s posture eased slightly.
It wasn’t much, but his shoulders dropped just enough to show he wasn’t about to push.
It was probably the closest thing to relaxing he’d ever do.
Before he could say anything else, Aubrey suddenly appeared behind me, practically bursting out of my room with her usual explosion of energy.
“Ready to go to Christopher’s?” she asked, her tone light, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
Bishop’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between us.
“Christopher’s? To his parent’s house?”
Aubrey grinned, tapping him on the shoulder as she breezed past him.
“Yep, that’s the one. Glad you know where it is. You can drive.”
To my surprise, he didn’t refuse.
He simply gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and walked toward the door without another word, as if the entire situation was just another task to manage, another thing to control.
As I glanced at Aubrey, she shot me a look that clearly said, That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, but…
let’s go with it. She shrugged, an almost imperceptible grin playing on her lips, as though she were amused by Bishop’s sudden compliance.
I followed behind them, locking up my room, wondering if I had just agreed to something I’d regret later.
For now, it felt like a small win—one that came with a side of Bishop I wasn’t used to seeing.
“Thanks for the ride,” Aubrey says, yanking me out of Bishop’s car before we’ve even fully come to a stop.
Without sparing him a second glance, we head straight for the house.
We arrive to a party already in full swing.
The music blares, vibrating through my bones.
It only grows louder as we approach the door, the bass making everything else feel secondary.
As we get close, a student steps in our way, blocking our path.
“Take your pick, ladies,” he says, his voice a little too chipper, like he’s been doing this all night.
He gestures to three bowls filled with different-colored wristbands.
“Green is for those who are single and looking to mingle, yellow means things are complicated, and red indicates you’re already taken.”
Aubrey gives him a quick nod.
“It’s a stoplight party,” she explains.
“It makes it obvious who’s available, who’s off-limits, and who’s somewhere in between.”
I reach for a green wristband, sliding the smooth cloth over my wrist, and Aubrey does the same.
We both look at Ophelia as she comes up behind us, snatching a yellow wristband and quickly putting it on without saying a word.
She doesn’t make eye contact, just heads deeper inside, clearly too focused on herself to care about anyone else.
I exchange a glance with Aubrey, but she just shrugs.
“Guess that’s her vibe tonight,” she mutters, and we decide not to question it.
We were here to have fun, after all.
The bass reverberates through my chest as we step inside, the energy of the party immediately engulfing us.
The music pulses, and the lights flash in a chaotic dance across the faces of people who are already lost in the rhythm.
The air is thick with the familiar scents of perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and it’s almost overwhelming.
Aubrey’s hand slips into mine, guiding me through the throng of bodies as we search for familiar faces in the crowd.
“There’s Christopher! We should go over and wish him a happy birthday,” I shout over the music, spotting our host near a makeshift bar in the corner of the living room.
He catches sight of us and waves enthusiastically, his broad smile visible even in the dim light.
“Ladies! You made it!” he exclaims, pulling us into a group hug.
“You both look great.”
Despite the lack of lighting, I notice Aubrey’s cheeks turning a light shade of pink at the compliment.
Christopher’s gaze lingers on her for a fraction longer than it should, and I give her a sly smirk.
“Drinks?” Christopher offers.
“Absolutely,” I reply, grateful for the offer.
The heat from all the bodies packed into the house is already making me feel parched.
Christopher turns to the bar, expertly mixing cocktails with a flourish.
“Two of my special concoctions, coming right up,” he announces with a wink.
As we wait, I scan the room, taking in the scene.
The party is in full swing, with people dancing, laughing, and shouting over the music.
In one corner, I spot a group playing an animated game of beer pong.
Near the sliding glass doors leading to the shore, a cluster of partygoers are passing around what looks suspiciously like a joint.
I wouldn’t be surprised if Christopher was also providing those in addition to the drinks.
He hands us our drinks—a fruity concoction in vibrant blue that smells strongly of rum.
I take a tentative sip and am pleasantly surprised by the sweet, tropical flavor that masks the potent alcohol beneath.
“This is delicious,” Aubrey says, her eyes widening as she takes a sip, and I can’t help but notice the suspiciously vibrant blue color of the drink looks like the exact shade of her large, bright eyes.
She holds it up to the light, inspecting it before taking another sip.
“What’s in it?”
Christopher grins mischievously.
“That’s my secret, Ree Ree. But I promise it’ll make for a fun night.”
Ree Ree?
He had a cute nickname for her?
I blink, a little caught off guard by the familiarity between them.
Aubrey catches my look, giving me a pointed glance that silently says, Don’t ask .
I take another sip of my drink, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through my chest, but my mind keeps wandering back to the color—so perfectly matching the shade of Aubrey’s eyes.
Was that intentional?
I glance over at Christopher, but he’s looking at Aubrey, a playful gleam in his eyes, like he knows something I don’t.
Aubrey, completely unaware of my thoughts, tugs me by the hand.
“Come on,” she says, giving me a grin.
“Let’s dance!”
She pulls me to the center of the room where bodies are pressed together, moving in rhythm to the pulsing beat.
The alcohol begins to warm my insides, and I feel myself loosening up as we join the crowd.
Aubrey and I move, our bodies swaying in sync.
The music seeps into my veins, the rhythm guiding my movements as if I’m under a spell.
The room spins around us, a blur of faces and flashing lights.
I lose track of time, caught up in the music and the intoxicating presence of Aubrey.
We pause only to sip our drinks, the sweet concoction making my head buzz pleasantly.
“Having fun?” Aubrey shouts over the music, her lips close to my ear.
I nod, unable to keep the grin off my face.
“This is amazing!”
As we dance, I notice a few admiring glances thrown our way.
Aubrey, oblivious to the attention, continues to move with abandon, her eyes closed and a serene smile on her face.
I can’t help but be drawn to her carefree energy.
The pulse of the music surrounds me, but suddenly, I feel a presence behind me—someone slipping through the crowd with a quiet confidence.
Before I can even fully register the sensation, a pair of hands land on my waist, pulling me backward into a firm chest. The shock of it nearly knocks the air out of me, and I freeze.
I lean back instinctively, but only for a second.
The arms tighten around my waist, and I feel the warmth of someone’s breath against my neck.
A strange flutter stirs somewhere deep in my chest—something small, faint—but it’s enough to make me freeze.
I quickly try to dismiss it, knowing exactly who it is now.
“Sylvester?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.
His grip doesn’t loosen, his fingers pressing into the curve of my waist, a little too familiar, a little too…
comfortable.
“Hey, Alex,” he purrs, his voice smooth and far too playful.
“I saw you out here and thought we could share a dance.”
My heart skips a beat, but not in the way I want it to.
Irritation rises as my thoughts instantly race to my shadow and how he’d shown up looking far too handsome at my dorm room earlier.
I should pull away, tell Sylvester off, but before I can, someone interrupts.
“I have to pee!”
I spin around to see Aubrey, her eyes wide, a little dazed, but the urgency in her voice is enough to snap me out of my thoughts.
I can’t help but laugh, even as she grabs my wrist, practically dragging me away from him.
“Come on, Alex!” she insists, pulling me through the crowd.
“Bathroom, now!”
I glance over my shoulder one last time, catching Sylvester’s grin.
He looks as carefree as ever, like nothing could ruffle him.
It’s enough to make me roll my eyes, but also…
there’s that flutter in my chest again.
I ignore it, focusing on Aubrey, who’s leading me toward the bathroom with a determined grip.
We burst through the door, the sudden quiet a stark contrast to the pulsing beat outside.
Aubrey immediately heads for the single toilet behind the second door inside the room, leaving me alone with my reflection in the mirror.
My cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with a mix of excitement and bewilderment.
What just happened out there?
“Oh my god!” Aubrey’s high-pitched voice echoes from the stall.
“I just remembered! I forgot to put on underwear.”
We both pause for a few seconds before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, hers muffled by the closed door.
I manage to catch my breath long enough to say, “Well, at least you can’t say the night’s been boring.”
Aubrey’s voice comes back, dripping with sarcasm.
“Yeah, because nothing says ‘good time’ like a spontaneous, panty-less adventure.”
I can’t help but grin, despite still trying to make sense of everything that happened this evening.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, a mix of emotions twisting in my chest. The heat from the dance floor is still on my skin, and yet, I feel unsettled.
The memory of Sylvester’s touch lingers, but then Bishop’s face flashes in my mind, and I can almost feel the weight of his gaze on me again.
I don’t want to be tangled up with someone like Sylvester…
but is it so wrong to wonder what it would be like to just not think for once?
I look away from the mirror, my heart a little heavier than it should be.
Aubrey’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as she emerges from the toilet room, her tone bright.
“Okay, I’m officially empty and relieved. Let’s get back to that dance floor!”
I chuckle, shaking my head.
“Actually, how about we grab some more drinks instead? I think I could use something strong.”
Aubrey grins.
“Yes! Let’s go! My brain’s already forgetting, but I want to make sure my liver doesn’t.”
I glance over at her, forcing a smile, but still feeling that strange mix of confusion and curiosity swirling inside me.
“I like your thinking.”
But as we step out into the hall, my thoughts swirl again.
I’m not sure if I’m chasing a distraction, or if it’s something deeper I’m avoiding.
Either way, I push it all away for now and head back toward the bar.
I’m not sure how I got here, but at some point, I find myself back in the bathroom.
I giggle, trying to make my way to the toilet, but as I approach, I trip over something.
Toilet paper. It’s fallen off the roll, and unspooled across the floor like a crime scene.
“Oops,” I mumble to myself, bending down to gather up the mess.
This is going to be fine.
I can fix this. I’m definitely capable of fixing this.
I try to roll the toilet paper back onto the holder, but instead, I just end up pushing it around in a tangled mess like I’m trying to untangle some kind of awful knot.
I twist it, wind it, and end up with a ball of toilet paper that looks questionable, at best.
“There, good as new!” I say with an overly proud grin, standing up like I’ve just accomplished some monumental task.
It’s probably not perfect, but who’s going to notice?
The toilet paper’s back on the roll, and that’s what matters, right?
I stand up straight, blinking a little.
Something’s missing.
Oh, right—I didn’t come in here to fix toilet paper.
I came in here because Aubrey needed something.
I glance around, confused for a second.
The hand towel! I spot it, hanging by the sink, with cute kittens playing with yarn on it.
Kittens. My brain immediately short circuits, and I stumble over to the towel, my hands reaching out to pet the adorable little creatures.
Kittens are just so…
fluffy. So, so fluffy.
I start absentmindedly stroking the embroidered kittens, feeling like I’m bonding with them on a spiritual level.
They’re just so soft and white.
Just like Victoria’s hair, actually.
Wait. Victoria! I saw her earlier!
She was at the party.
I was going to go say hi, but Aubrey stopped me.
She said Victoria seemed busy.
The memory slowly sinks in like a lightbulb flickering on.
Oh, right ! She was making out with her girlfriend.
Aubrey and I had both burst into giggles, and then I wandered off…
to fix toilet paper.
Wait… Where is Aubrey?
Why am I alone in the bathroom with a hand towel and a mess of toilet paper?
In the midst of my deep pondering, I accidentally bump into someone.
Still stroking the towel like it’s a pet, I mumble without looking, “Bathroom’s free.”
College parties are so much fun.
So, so much fun .
Then I hear that voice.
Smooth, with an arrogant tone that I know all too well.
“Well, well, look at you, troublemaker. Only you could make fixing a mess and holding a hand towel look so…cute.”
I jerk my head up, startled.
There, leaning in the doorway like he owns the place, is Bishop.
His arms are casually crossed, and that smirk is plastered across his face.
I frown, irritation flaring up as I stop petting the towel.
But as I look at him, it feels like there are more of him.
Multiple Bishops, all standing there, their expressions identical, but somehow each just a little bit more…
attractive .
Wait.
How is that even possible?
They all have that same coy grin.
It’s not fair. They’re all too perfect.
Seriously, how does one person look so good in every direction?
“You know, you’re awfully cocky for someone who’s not in focus right now,” I say, my words slurring slightly, my gaze flicking between the Bishops— Why are there so many of them?
He raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re wearing glasses,” he points out, his voice smooth.
“You don’t usually wear glasses.”
I quickly reach up to my face, trying to find them, but the world’s spinning too much, and I end up swatting at the air like an idiot.
Finally, I yank them off, and just like that, the extra Bishops vanish, leaving only two of him standing in front of me.
I blink rapidly, focusing on the real Bishop, who’s still standing there with that cocky expression.
It’s hard to ignore how ridiculously attractive he looks, even in this messed-up moment.
“Better?” he asks, his voice warm and teasing.
I scowl, trying to push away the all-too-familiar flutter in my chest, even if it’s starting to get on my nerves.
“Stop it,” I mutter, my words unsteady.
“You’re confusing me.”
Bishop’s smile fades just a little, and I notice the way his eyes soften—just for a second.
Then he sighs, his usual confident mask slipping slightly.
“If only you knew how true that statement is for me too, Prescott.”
The words hang there for a moment, too heavy, too real, and my brain’s too foggy to fully process what he’s said.
But I feel something in his tone, something…
vulnerable?
“I don’t think you know half the trouble you’ve caused me since you first showed up at Altair,” he adds quietly, almost to himself.
I blink slowly, trying to make sense of it, but the alcohol fuzzes up my brain.
And instead of responding to the strange weight in his words, I just stare at him with a drunken grin.
“Well, someone continues to think way too highly of himself,” I slur, taking a step closer, trying to look more serious.
“You know, you’re basically a human selfie. Always trying to look perfect. I think the mirror’s getting jealous of you.”
I stumble slightly as I say it, and giggle at my own joke.
But in the back of my mind, something feels off, like I almost should have said something else, something more meaningful.
But whatever. Bishop’s always being way too smug.
I tilt my head at him, then glance back at the eyeglasses in my hands.
I hold them up between us, my fingers lightly brushing his chest as I squint at them.
“Plum isn’t really my color, you know,” I say, my words dragging more than usual.
Bishop raises an eyebrow, amused but clearly not taking me too seriously.
“Oh? And what is your color, then?”
Without waiting for his answer, I slide the glasses onto his face and push them above his nose, my hands a little more forceful than I intended.
He doesn’t resist. In fact, he just lets me do it, and there’s something oddly trusting about that.
For a moment, I freeze, my fingers lingering on the glasses resting on his face.
It’s close—too close, maybe.
My breath catches, and there’s that familiar feeling stirring in my chest again.
His eyes are so green—and the glasses, surprisingly, seem to make them even more striking.
I blink a few times, my drunken thoughts tangled together.
Then, his hand rests gently on top of mine, where my fingers have settled on the glasses, as if holding them in place.
It’s a small gesture, but it feels heavy somehow, and I can’t look away from his gaze.
There’s an undeniable tension between us, but it’s not just physical.
It’s something deeper, something I don’t have words for, especially not with my head spinning.
I manage to step back a little, suddenly aware of how close we are.
I clear my throat and force a grin.
“You know, the glasses—actually, they kind of work on you,” I say, my voice a little unsteady.
“Makes your green eyes pop.”
Bishop’s grin spreads a little wider.
“Yeah? Well, green’s actually become my favorite color recently.”
I snort, blinking up at him, confused by the sudden shift in his tone.
“Recently? How do you just…suddenly change your favorite color? Like, what, one day you woke up and decided it was green?”
He chuckles softly, leaning in a little, his gaze flicking to the soft strands of my blonde hair that fall around my face.
“Yeah, guess it happens when you see something that makes it stand out.”
I blink a few times, still processing Bishop’s words, but the sensation of his hand on mine is making it harder to focus.
But then, I suddenly remember something.
Excitedly, I point at my wrist. “Like my wristband,” I say brightly, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
“See, it’s green! Means I’m single!”
Bishop’s smirk falters for just a moment, his brows pinching slightly, but I don’t catch it.
Instead, I’m too focused on the wristband and the green color on my arm.
I glance at him, then back at the empty space on his wrist. Wait—he doesn’t have one.
I squint at him, noticing the lack of a wristband.
“Wow, no wristband? You Legacies really do think you’re above everything, huh? Couldn’t even follow one simple rule,” I grumble.
He chuckles, his voice laced with that cocky edge I’ve come to expect from him.
“Why follow the rules when you can make your own?”
I stare, still slightly fuzzy from the alcohol, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity.
“Well, even Ophelia followed the rules. She wore a yellow wristband,” I say matter-of-factly.
Proud of myself for remembering.
At the mention of Ophelia, I notice Bishop’s expression flicker, just for a second.
His smile fades, and his jaw tightens slightly.
He sighs, his voice a little colder now.
“Is that really what you want to talk about?”
I pause, not realizing I’ve said something that’s clearly got under his skin.
“No! I don’t— that’s not what I meant—” I wave my hands in the air like I’m dismissing it entirely.
“I just— Wait, what color would you have picked?” I ask innocently, leaning toward him with wide eyes.
“Like, based on the party thing, you know. Green, yellow, or red?”
He raises an eyebrow at me, clearly intrigued by my question, but there’s a slight edge to his voice as he responds.
“You want to know what I would’ve chosen? Based on the rules of the party?”
I nod, all too serious in my drunken state.
“Yeah! You know, like green means single, yellow means it’s complicated, and red means you’re taken. Which one would you go for?”
Bishop’s gaze sharpens, like he’s weighing me, his lips curling into another small smirk.
“What color do you think I should choose?”
I squint up at him, trying to piece it together.
“Well…I mean, I’m guessing you’re single , right?” I pause, as if considering the possibility.
“So…green? I’d say green.”
Bishop leans back a little, clearly amused by my assumption.
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, you did just say that green’s your new favorite color.” I pause for effect, then add, “I mean, that’s kind of a giveaway.”
Bishop’s chin dips slightly, a flicker of annoyance that he quickly masks with his signature cocky grin.
“Is that so?”
I tilt my head to the side.
“You know, it’s not a big leap. And you even mentioned it, like…two minutes ago.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s something in his eyes that shifts—like he’s trying to figure me out.
“You think I’m that transparent, huh?” His voice drops a bit, a quiet challenge in his words.
“I’m just saying. You’re pretty green to me.” I laugh at my own joke, probably too hard.
Bishop smiles again, the playful edge still there, but now there’s something else beneath it.
“Bold of you to make assumptions about me. Maybe I’d pick yellow.”
“Yellow? But that’s for complicated people!” I frown, trying to process it.
“Why would you pick yellow? Are you complicated?”
He shrugs, a nonchalant expression taking over.
“Maybe I like to keep things interesting. Keep people guessing.”
I squint up at him, drunk and confused.
“Interesting? You think being complicated is interesting? Well, maybe I’m just too simple for you.” I wave a hand around, like it’s the biggest revelation of the night.
Bishop grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.
“Simple? You, Prescott, are the furthest thing from simple,” he says, voice soft and teasing.
“You’re a troublemaker. The least uncomplicated person I know.”
I blink at him, something heavy suddenly sinking in.
A little too much reality for me to process in this foggy state.
I look down, the weight of his words hitting me in a strange, unexpected way.
Bishop notices the shift in my expression, his teasing grin fading slightly as he tugs off the glasses.
“What’s wrong?”
I snort, my head spinning slightly as I try to brush it off.
“Nothing. Just…my mom would probably disagree with you,” I say, a sharp edge to my voice, more disgusted with the thought than she deserves.
“What do you mean?”
I shrug, my words slurring as I fight through the fog, but the ache in my chest feels clear.
“I used to play the piano…or, well, they used to say I was kind of a piano prodigy. The papers, the critics, the college that gave me a full ride…they all thought that. They were all so impressed .” I bite my lip, the words tasting bitter, but I push forward.
“But it wasn’t for me, you know? It was always for her. What she wanted. Her expectations, her dreams—not mine.”
I wince, my voice a little quieter now, the drunken bravado slipping away as the weight of it presses down on me.
“I guess I’m just not as complicated as you think I am. Or maybe I’m not complicated enough for anyone to actually see me.” I try to laugh it off, but it catches in my throat.
“Just…not enough, I guess.”
I pause, the alcohol fogging my thoughts, and then the words spill out before I can stop them.
“And whenever I didn’t play well enough, my mom would…y’know, she’d…restrict my food. Like, if I didn’t hit the right notes, she’d make me skip meals. She said it was discipline .” I shrug, like it’s nothing, but I can feel the old bitterness creeping back in.
“But it wasn’t about playing well for me, it was just about playing well for her . She didn’t care how it made me feel.”
Bishop’s expression shifts slightly, his eyes tightening as he sizes me up, but his tone remains flat, almost detached.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
I stall, a little caught off guard, but it doesn’t really hit me what I’ve just said.
I try to brush it off.
“Huh?”
“How much have you had to drink?” he repeats.
I tilt my head, trying to count.
One finger goes up. “One…” I pause, scrunching my face in thought.
“No, wait. Two…” I hold up two fingers, nodding like it’s the most solid answer in the world.
My shadow looks at me, clearly trying to suppress his annoyance, but there’s also a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Only two, huh?” He chuckles to himself, but there’s an edge to it.
“Are you sure about that?”
I nod proudly.
“Yup. Only two. Definitely two.” I’m so proud of myself for remembering that much.
But then something else hits me, and I squint at him.
“Hey, have you tried Christopher’s blue drinks? They’re…they’re weirdly good. I don’t know what’s in them, but they—”
Suddenly, it clicks in my brain.
Aubrey. I came in here for a reason.
A towel!
“That’s it!” I exclaim, blinking rapidly.
“I forgot! Aubrey wanted to go swimming. I was coming to grab her a towel!” I throw a hand up in the air, not waiting for anyone to respond, and stumble out of the hallway before I even register that Bishop is following me, his footsteps close behind.
I march through the house, my thoughts still foggy, but as I step outside into the night air, the sound of the water crashing in the distance greets me.
The house is loud with guests, but I can still make out the rhythmic waves in the distance, the moonlight glinting off the water, casting an ethereal glow across the pool.
Aubrey’s silhouette comes into view, standing near the pool and chatting with someone.
I feel a burst of excitement, too much excitement, and I start to rush toward her.
Bad idea.
I almost trip over my own feet, the ground beneath me seeming to shift, and the edge of the pool suddenly seems a lot closer than it should be.
One wrong step, and I feel myself tipping forward toward the water.
Shit.
Before I can even process it, a strong, unyielding hand wraps around my arm, pulling me back with a force that feels almost too sharp.
My heart slams against my chest, and for a moment, I’m breathless.
My body is pressed up against his.
Bishop’s grip on me is steady, almost like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go.
My chest rises and falls quicker than it should, my head swimming in the haze of alcohol and the near-fall.
But now, I’m standing, uncomfortably close to him, caught between a rush of relief and confusion.
His grip lingers on my arm, his thumb grazing just slightly over the fabric of my sleeve.
It’s like the world has paused for a moment, the noise of the party far away, just the two of us under the stark, cold light of the moon.
And then his voice cuts through the silence.
His words are laced with sarcasm, but underneath, there’s something else—something I can’t quite place.
“I could let you fall right here, you know,” he says, his usual smirk playing at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
There’s something deeper in the way he looks at me, something almost regretful, like he’s holding himself back from saying something else.
Something real.
I blink up at him, disoriented.
The air between us is charged in a way I can’t explain.
My breath catches again, a mix of dizziness and something else unfamiliar stirring in my chest. “You grabbed me,” I blurt out, my voice soft but shaky, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected warmth of his touch.
He doesn’t pull away, but his chuckle is almost bitter, like he’s trying to mask something—some frustration he won’t admit.
“Yeah, well, don’t go giving me credit for your lack of coordination,” he mutters, his gaze lingering on me a little longer than it should.
For a moment, we both just stand there, caught in the charged silence.
His hand is still on my arm, holding me steady, but it feels heavier than it should be.
Why does it feel like this?
My mind is fuzzy, the alcohol making it hard to think clearly, but there’s a weight to this moment.
A part of me knows I should pull away, but the part of me that’s still spinning from everything—the near-fall, his touch, his gaze—can’t make myself move.
And then, just as quickly as I feel the pull toward him, I feel the tension break as Aubrey’s footsteps approach, and she rushes up to us, her face a mixture of concern and confusion.
When she reaches us, her eyes dart between me and Bishop, like she’s trying to piece something together.
She glances at him and then at me, her voice cutting through the tension.
“Alex? Are you—”
She pauses, the words catching in her throat as her gaze lingers on Bishop.
The moment between us feels like it’s too heavy, too close.
Then, just like that, my shadow steps back, letting go of my arm.
He doesn’t even glance at me again.
Without a word, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving only a faint trace of his presence behind.
I stand there, feeling a strange weight in the air, but before I can fully process it, Aubrey’s already bustling around me.
“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight. Let’s get you out of here before you end up swimming after all,” she says, a forced smile on her face.
I blink, confused and a little off-balance.
“What…what just happened?” I mumble to myself, still lost in the lingering tension.
Before Aubrey can reply, a familiar voice calls out, and I turn to find Sylvester approaching us with his usual easy grin.
“Hey, you two alright?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes flicking from me to where Bishop just stormed off.
Aubrey doesn’t even hesitate before brushing off the concern.
“Yeah, we were just getting ready to leave,” she says dismissively.
But as soon as Sylvester nods, Aubrey’s gaze shifts, her eyes shifting in the direction Bishop went.
“Dammit,” she mutters under her breath, loud enough for me to catch.
“Bishop was our ride.”
Sylvester glances at her, his grin turning into something more sincere.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m here. I can drive you both back to campus.”
Aubrey raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” she asks, crossing her arms.
Sylvester, still grinning, raises his hands in mock surrender.
“Nothing. Zero. Nada.” He pauses, his gaze flicking between the two of us, then shrugs.
“I’ve got to be careful. Swim team, you know? I’ve got to watch how much I consume.”
Aubrey hesitates for a moment, her eyes scanning him up and down.
“Hmm,” she mutters, clearly still unconvinced.
“Well, you are sober, I guess. But I’m holding you to it. No funny business.”
Sylvester chuckles, his grin returning.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Aubrey rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t argue.
“Fine, let’s just go.”
As Aubrey pulls me along toward Sylvester’s car, I can’t help but glance back to the spot where Bishop had been standing.
A mix of confusion, frustration, and something else I can’t quite place swirls inside me, but it’s quickly swept away by the motion of walking, and the sound of Sylvester’s jokes pulling my attention elsewhere.
Tomorrow was probably going to suck, but that was a problem for tomorrow’s Alex.
Tonight? Tonight, I just wanted my too-comfortable bed, Dolores…
and maybe some snacks.
Okay, a lot of snacks.