six
Leo's POV
I don't want to be here.
I told myself that ten minutes ago when Mateo dragged me out of my apartment with the promise of "one beer and then we dip."
It's loud.
Crowded.
Sweaty.
Full of drunk freshmen who yell too much.
I hate parties.
I hate chaos.
I hate when people stare.
But I walk inside anyway.
Mostly because I didn't feel like being alone tonight.
Mostly because it's the first week back.
Mostly because I needed to get her out of my head.
And then I see her.
And everything else disappears.
She's in the middle of the living room, dancing with her friend — Zaria, I think. Caleb's girlfriend. The girl who always looks like she's about to expose someone's entire life story.
But Aaliyah—
God.
Her outfit.
Her hair.
Her smile.
The way she moves like she's sunlight walking around in denim and cotton.
She's laughing, head tilted back, curls bouncing, hips swaying to the beat like she doesn't even realize people are watching her.
People are watching her.
Every guy in this room who's breathing is watching her.
My jaw tenses immediately.
I feel it.
A slow, hot curl in my stomach.
Something territorial.
Something I shouldn't feel for someone I barely know.
But I do.
Her skirt is... small.
Her top is... small.
Her body is... distracting.
No—"distracting" isn't the word.
She's devastating.
I wasn't prepared for this.
I force myself to look away, grab a beer from the counter, pretend to listen to Mateo talk about something irrelevant—
But my eyes go back to her like they're not mine to command anymore.
She looks different from when I saw her this morning in the hallway.
More alive.
More free.
More... dangerous.
She's smiling at Zaria, spinning her, laughing, then swaying her hips with the rhythm in this loose, effortless way that makes my chest tight.
Someone walks past me and mutters, "Damn—who is THAT?"
My fists curl.
Keep walking.
Another guy nudges his friend, nodding toward her. "Bro, I'm about to shoot my shot."
I take a deep breath and try to swallow down the feeling rising in me.
But I can't stop watching her.
Because every time she turns, her eyes skim the room like she's looking for someone.
For a second, I wonder if she's looking for me.
Stupid.
Wishful thinking.
I move without thinking.
Through the crowd.
Through the heat.
Through the noise.
Straight to her.
But before I get to her, I stop.
Because she's still dancing.
And she looks—
God.
The way her hips roll.
The way her waist curves.
The way her chest rises and falls with each breath.
The way her thighs move under that tiny-ass skirt.
I'm trying not to stare.
I'm trying so fucking hard not to stare.
But she's magnetic.
And my eyes are weak.
Zaria notices me first.
Her eyes widen.
She grabs Aaliyah's wrist, whispers something that makes her freeze.
Aaliyah turns—
And the second she looks at me?
Everything inside me shifts.
She looks... surprised.
Nervous.
Pretty.
Glowing.
And I?
I'm gone.
Fully gone.
She looks like that and I'm supposed to act normal?
I walk toward her.
She bites her lip.
My pulse stutters.
I stop in front of her, close enough to smell her perfume — warm vanilla, something sweet, something feminine.
Close enough to see the gloss on her lips.
Close enough to see the shimmer on her chest where the light hits her skin.
Close enough to touch her.
I don't.
Because if I touch her, I'm not letting go.
"You made it," I say, voice lower than I mean it to be.
She blinks. "You're... here?"
Cute.
She's cute.
"I am," I say.
I can't stop looking at her.
At her legs.
At the soft curve of her waist.
At the way she shifts under my stare like she can feel me looking.
"You look..."
My voice catches.
Fuck.
Why is this hard?
"You look good," I finish quietly.
She smiles — small, shy. "So do you."
My heart does something embarrassing.
I look away before it shows on my face.
But another guy across the room is staring at her like she's a meal.
And something ugly twists in me.
"Stay near your friends tonight," I murmur.
She tilts her head. "Why?"
I glance toward the guy.
Her eyes follow mine.
I look back at her.
My voice drops. "Because guys here don't know how to act."
She swallows.
I watch her throat move.
Her lips part slightly.
Her breath catches.
Yeah.
I have to walk away.
If I don't, I'm going to say something stupid.
Or do something worse.
"I'll see you around," I say.
I turn.
I walk.
I force my body away from her.
My chest aches.
My jaw is tight.
My hands are fists.
My mind is a mess.
But right before I blend back into the crowd...
I look over my shoulder.
She's still watching me.
Eyes wide.
Cheeks warm.
Body soft and glowing under the lights.
And I know—
I know—
I'm screwed.
So screwed.
Because I don't even know her—
And I still want to drag her away from every guy in this house.
I still want to pull her close.
I still want to hear her say my name without shouting over music.
I still want her.
Badly.
Too badly.
And I don't lose control.