Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

20. Make Terrible Choices!

Darien Grace

"You want another?" Greg shouted, struggling to be heard over the music filling the bar. It was one of the DC guy's twenty-first birthday's tonight and Greg had invited Jas and I to crash. It didn't matter that neither of us were legal yet; I'd had a fake since freshman year of high school. One of my ex's dads had worked in the local DPS and he'd gotten his hands on one of the machines. The kid made bank. I'd been his first so there would always be some sort of lingering appreciation there. Last year, I'd called him up and gotten him to make Jas and I new ones. He came up and stayed with us for a week and made over five grand. We ended up having to kick him out; he didn't ever want to leave.

"Make it a triple, pretty boy," I grinned, stretching to peck him on the cheek.

God damn, I'd forgotten how tall he was. I was in six inch heels and I still had to reach to kiss him.

"Jas?" He laughed, rolling his eyes, his arm wrapping around my waist, his hand casually slipping lower and lower on my hip.

"You heard the woman, two triples," We'd been at the bars for over an hour and the room was beginning to shift. Neither of us had brought cash. We didn't need it. That whole "cover" bullshit was for the guys and the un-fuckables. We had walked in and within five minutes we'd each been handed three shots; that was the beauty of a bombshell and a couple choice strips of fabric.

"Try not to cause too much trouble," he laughed, shaking his head before heading towards the bar.

"Never!" Jas yelled after him, slinging her arm around my neck, her eyes glued to his ass, "Why on earth did you quit fucking him?"

"What's the point of a buffet if you always eat the same damn thing?"

"No one ever said that you had to swallow."

"It's common courtesy," I shrugged, eyes scanning the dance floor. I was already covered in a layer of sweat. It was hot as fuck in here and I'd been dancing for the greater part of an hour.

"Ren Grace, being polite? Better get this shit on tape. It won't happen again," Jef's deep voice echoed in my ear. I cringed away when his hot breath fanned across my neck. His hands slid around my waist, his meaty fingers digging into my hip bones.

"Might as well because you're never getting any first hand experience, Jef." I pushed him away with my elbow, pointedly glaring at him. Sober, he knew better than to touch me; drunk, well there was no telling what he was capable of.

"Dance with me, Dari," he growled, locking his giant hand around my wrist and yanking me forward. I stumbled, falling into him. Damn heels.

"It's Ren and not a chance in hell, Jef, just give up already," I hissed, yanking my wrist free and shoving him backward as hard as I could. He didn't budge.

"That's what you think." There was a dangerous undertone in his voice that chilled me to the bone. I was brave, but I wasn't stupid. I knew better than to push guys when they were drunk. Alcohol fucks with judgement and Jef tended to be a violent drunk.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Jas and I both visibly relaxed at the sound of Greg's voice. Averaging a solid six feet, five inches he was massive. Add in his athletic build and you had a combination for instant intimidation. Jef tensed, obviously part of him was sober enough to realize that there was no way in hell he'd win a fight against his fraternity president.

"Jef was just asking us to let you know that he's leaving." The challenge in my voice was obvious and for once he seemed smart enough to realize when he'd been beaten.