Mr. Bad Boy 》c.d.

09

Stacey

We walked in, Jack's hand to my lower back as we entered the open door. Music blasting and red cups thrown in almost every corner of the house. The kitchen was empty but the stairs and living room were filled with people both standing around and drinking and dancing and all of the above. It was hot, really hot.

"Does Cameron even know half the people here?" Jack wondered. I highly doubt he did, almost anyone could crash with his door wide open.

We stood leaned against one of the walls in the hallway where few people were, talking about a bunch of random stuff. School, Jack's family, his best friends, where I attended before this school, and almost everything. It almost felt weird being in this house full of loud music and sweaty bodies when we could be under the same dimmed light setting in my empty kitchen. It was nice just having someone to talk to that wasn't awkward. Everything we talked about flowed so easily.

Leaned against the wall, Jack was in front of me, a lot closer than normal and he used the loud music as an excuse but I knew that wasn't the case. I didn't call him out, yet again.

A few hours went by and I kept wondering where Cameron would be in his own house. He wasn't anywhere to be found and my whole goal was to grab his attention but here I am, having hours of conversations and a few cups of alcohol to drink while talking to Jack. Plan failed.

I tell Jack I need to use the bathroom, taking my drink with me as I wander to look about for Cameron. My cheeks are slightly red and I can feel a little buzz shooting through my body. I'm not drunk nor extremely tipsy, I feel good in a way. Happy.

Tall hair, nicely built body, the strong scent of his cologne, I see Cameron from a far down the hallway walking up the stairs and I knew I had found him. 

I decide to follow behind, watching as he gripped the railing of the stairs to support himself as he walked. I asked myself if the chances of having a half drunken conversation with him was worth it. And at the movement of my feet stepping further up the stairs, I knew even if we argued I would regret not hearing from him once. Thoughts like this running through my mind scared me. 

He enters his room, and I debate on waiting a bit to knock but I go against that feeling and knock anyway.

"This room isn't open." I hear him yell.

"Not even to me?" I laugh a little, my cheeks very warm. I probably shouldn't have drank at all, "okay, I'll leave now. . ." silently counting to three as I wait for him to open the door. And on time, he does.

"Stacey?" He frowns. "You're here?"

"Been here," I say, walking past him and into his room. I'm not sure why i'm so confident in passing him by but I am.

"I thought you didn't come?"

"Nope, been downstairs in the hall talking with a friend." I didn't mention who yet.

"Oh, who is she?"

"Who said it was a 'she'?" I smirked, sitting on his bed and crossing my legs.

"Well who were you talking to then?" He asked, almost annoyed. I didn't know whether to laugh or to smirk. 

"My friend Jack brought me. To keep me company." I shrugged, "wasn't sure what mood you'd be in when I showed up so I didn't wanna risk it."