Breaking The Ice Between Us

I lifted my beer to my lips, ready to take a slow sip, when James elbowed me in the ribs. 

Hard.

I barely stopped myself from spilling the damn drink all over my lap. "What the hell, man?" I muttered, scowling at him.

"That's him," he muttered, nodding toward the far end of the bar. "The pretty boy everybody's been talking about."

I paused, my beer hovering midway to my mouth. That got my attention.

Everybody had been running their mouths about some new student—whispers about how he didn’t talk to anyone, how he always sat alone, how he looked like he belonged on a damn magazine cover instead of walking these shitty college halls like the rest of us. I hadn’t seen him yet, but curiosity had been gnawing at me. Now, I finally had the chance.

Following James’s gaze, I spotted him instantly.

And Damn. 

The rumors weren’t exaggerating. 

He was pretty. No, scratch that—he was fucking beautiful. The kind of good looks that made people stare without realizing they were staring. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, effortlessly messy but in a way that seemed intentional. His long lashes cast soft shadows on his cheeks as he stared down at his drink, uninterested in the world around him.

"What’s his name?" I asked, still watching him.

James scoffed. "Who the hell knows? Kid doesn’t talk to anybody. Rude motherfucker."

I snorted. Just because the guy didn’t speak to them didn’t mean he wouldn’t speak to me.

I wasn’t just anybody.

So, I drained the rest of my beer, set the empty bottle down with a soft clink, and pushed myself to my feet.

James gave me a look. "Don’t embarrass yourself, Captain."

"Fuck off."

I wasn’t about to embarrass myself. I was gonna do what nobody else had managed to do—get the so-called pretty boy to talk.

I crossed the bar, taking my time. The place wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t exactly quiet either. Laughter and conversation buzzed around us, the scent of beer and cheap cologne thick in the air. But as I approached his table, all of that faded into the background.

Up close, he was even better-looking.

His skin was smooth, his posture relaxed, one long-fingered hand wrapped loosely around his glass. 

I stopped in front of him.

"Hey."

Nothing.

He didn't even spare me a glance. Just kept drinking like I wasn’t standing right there.

My eyebrow twitched.

I leaned in a little. "Hey. You deaf, or just an asshole?"

Still nothing.

James and the others chuckled from behind me, and my irritation flared hotter.

I didn’t like being ignored, and I sure as hell didn’t like being laughed at.

So, I slammed my palm down on the table.

Hard.

The sudden impact made his drink tip over, spilling across the wooden surface. The glass wobbled before rolling onto its side, sending a slow stream of liquid toward the edge.

And just like that, the bar fell silent.

All eyes were on us.

Greg—because, yeah, I’d decided I was gonna call him something, even if I had to make up the name myself—finally lifted his gaze.

And fuck.

His eyes were even more pretty up close. A piercing, ice-cold green that seemed to look straight through me. 

"Hey, chill, man. Don’t mind him.” One of my friends tried to defuse the situation but I barely heard him. 

My attention was locked on Greg.

"What’s your fucking name?" I asked, voice steady.

For a second, he just stared at me.

Then, in a slow motion, he reached for a napkin and wiped the spill off his hand. "Andrew Parker."

Andrew Parker.

I scoffed. "Yeah? You lose your damn head or something? Think you’re special just ’cause you’re pretty?"

Andrew tilted his head slightly, studying me like I was some kind of mildly interesting specimen under a microscope. Then—

He scoffed.

The motherfucker fucking scoffed.

My fingers curled into fists.

James clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Dude, he told you his name. Let’s just go."

I clenched my jaw so hard it felt like my teeth were gonna crack.

I didn’t even know what pissed me off more—the fact that he barely acknowledged me or the way he just sat there, completely unfazed, like I was nothing but background noise.

Fuck this.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the bar, shoving past a couple of drunk assholes near the entrance. The cool night air hit me as I stepped outside, but it didn’t do shit to cool my temper.

I needed to get the hell out of here.

My car was parked at the far end of the lot, away from the clusters of other vehicles. I stalked toward it, my boots scraping against the gravel. My hands were still clenched, and my breathing was just a little too sharp.

Goddamn it.

I yanked open the driver’s side door, slid in, and slammed it shut behind me. The silence inside the car was immediate, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket as I jammed the key into the ignition and twisted.

The engine rumbled to life, but I didn’t pull out of the lot just yet. Instead, I sat there, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white.

That whole interaction replayed in my head like a bad fucking movie.

I walked up to him. I gave him the courtesy of my attention. And how did he respond? By brushing me off like I was some random nobody. And that—that—was the part I couldn’t let go of.

Because, see, I wasn’t just some dude you ignored. 

I wasn’t some background extra in someone else’s life—I was the goddamn main character.

And Andrew Parker?

He had just looked me in the eye, sized me up, and decided I wasn’t worth his time.

That cocky little—

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel.

The horn blared, loud and sharp in the quiet parking lot.

I ran a hand through my hair, yanked my seatbelt on, and finally put the car into reverse. The tires crunched against the gravel as I backed out of my spot, pulling onto the road leading away from the bar.

The town wasn’t big. A few bars, a couple of shitty diners, some run-down convenience stores, and a college that somehow made the place seem more alive than it really was. The roads were mostly empty this late, the occasional streetlamp flickering as I sped past.

My phone buzzed in the cupholder beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I glanced down.

James.

I sighed and picked it up, answering without bothering to put it on speaker.

"What?"

"You good, man?" James asked, amusement clear in his voice. "You stormed out of there like you were about to throw hands."

I exhaled through my nose, keeping my eyes on the road. "I’m fine."

James snickered. "Sure you are. You should’ve seen your face when Pretty Boy ignored you. Shit was hilarious."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut the hell up."

"Nah, man, I get it," James continued, still laughing. "You’re not used to people brushing you off like that. It’s gotta sting a little."

I gritted my teeth. "I said I’m fine."

"Uh-huh."

I could hear the smirk in his voice.

Fucking bastard.

I pressed harder on the gas, the car picking up speed as I reached the outskirts of town.

James hummed. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, he’s probably just a stuck-up asshole. Not worth your time."

I didn’t answer.

Because the thing was…

I wasn’t so sure about that.