Inside Grayson Foster's Bedroom

08: Party Catastrophe [Pt. 2]

As I follow Quintin through the rowdy teens, I'm careful not to trip. With arms flailing and people throwing it back, I find myself getting shoved and kicked more than I'd like. I focus on where I'm stepping, and as I do, I realize that the carpeting changes color. We'eve entered a new room.

It's a lot smaller than the main living area, but it still has a couch and a few recliners. From this distance, the blaring music is barely audible. As I look around, I take note in how vacant the room is. Despite being so far away from the main party, you can still see the moving bodies through the doorways that led us here.

Every now and again, a lone wolf strolls through, looking for their friend or the bathroom.

Quintin falls into the couch cushion, his blond curls bouncing with the springs.

"Before I sit," I joke with him. "You still have time to ditch me. In fact, I'll close my eyes."

With a goofy smile, I place my hands over my eyelids. 

To my surprise, I feel a tug on the front of my dress. When I drop my hands, Quintin's eyes are focused on the shimmer of the red fabric, his fingers gripping the cloth. He gives it another tug, and my legs begin to stumble forward.

Unable to resist gravity, I plop down in the seat next to him.

"Not a chance." He grins, releasing my dress. I swallow hard, my mouth dry and my mind racing against my heart.

Well, that was very forward...

A shy laugh pushes past my lips, and I begin to fiddle with the rim of my dress that sits just beyond my thighs. Subconsciously, I think I'm trying to make it cover more skin.

Quintin's thigh presses against my own, our bodies close. My low eyes travel from my fidgeting fingers to his dark, Nike sweat pants.

Just like Grayson... always managing to pull off relaxed clothing, despite the occasion.

"So," I clear my throat, pushing that small incident out of my mind. "How are your classes here? Aside from Austin, have you made any close friends?"

Quintin's eyes peel away from my moving fingers, and looks at me directly. I'm revealed that he's not staring at my legs anymore. "They're good, but I'm still going through the process of dropping and picking up the appropriate classes for me."

I nod, understanding the process.

"I've met some cool guys," he continues, his eyes tracing my face. "And a pretty cool girl."

He succeeds at making me smile. I ask something that's been on my mind. "You look really athletic, is there a sport you're going to be trying out for?"

"At my old school I was the quarterback for our football team," his eyes lazily travel across the empty room. "We were undefeated."

"Oh," I'm quick to talk. "That position is definitely occupied right now."

By Grayson.

Quintin meets my gaze, his arm draping across the back of the couch, right behind my neck. "Is he any good?"

I speak honestly. "Yeah, he is."

Grayson made it on the varsity team his sophomore year of high school— which consists primarily of upperclassmen. When he tried out, the coach replaced the previous quarterback, who was a senior, with Grayson. 

Despite not going to the football games, I still know the scores and hear the gossip.

"Well, it's called tryouts for a reason." He mentions. "No harm in giving it a shot."