Seventeen

Hey. I can do hey. Hey is what casual, platonic friends, do.

“Hey,” I reply, my eyes flitting past him and towards the back of the stage, where Keri and Ray are bound to be. “I gotta g–”

“How’s your first day going?” he asks, not-so-subtly stepping into my path and lifting an eyebrow.

“Fine,” I tell him. And fight the urge to give him a once-over. I already know he looks good.

Just because I’ve been avoiding any contact with him doesn’t mean I haven’t been watching him. Today, he looks absolutely mouthwatering in black skinny jeans and a black t-shirt–like always. His long hair is loose, strands blowing into his face every now and then. Making me want to push them away, sink my fingers at their roots, pull him–

I clear my throat and fix my gaze somewhere above his shoulder. My eyes fall on Ashton. He is standing with Jack, who’s flipping a pair of drumsticks in the air. He’s fiddling with his guitar strings–other than being the lead vocalist, he also plays the rhythm guitar. And his