Resisting Mr.Popular

The loud thump of a chart topping song blasting from the speakers, vibrated through the dimly lit, crowded house. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol and the kind of desperation Skylar found exhausting. Girls in tempting clothes and guys in varsity jackets filled the space.

Fiddling with the length of her dress, she felt like puking; she absolutely hated frat parties. The idea of getting hit on by cocky, pea-brained jocks who thought they were gods was the worst. Her roomie, April, had dragged her here, calling it an intervention. “Sky, college is not all about studying, you know,” she had said one Saturday afternoon when she'd found her in her room, buried in books. She should’ve listened to her highly effective instincts, which had predicted how horrifying this would be.

But no, she had allowed April to force her into the sluttiest outfit she had in her closet: a peach, backless dress with a plunging neckline. How is this a dress? she thought, pulling the hem of the fabric down as she got out of April's car. “Stop fidgeting! you look like a freaking baddie, Seriously, you look sexy.” April, dressed in a rhinestone cowl-neck halter crop top with a matching skirt, complimented her.

“I look like a hooker,” she whispered, brown eyes wide with panic. “This is what I’ve been saying, you need to have the whole college experience. This is what most girls wear to parties,” April replied, obviously frustrated. Just then, two tipsy blondes in skimpy dresses wobbled past them. “See?” she motioned to the girls before turning back to her.

Skylar could do this. As a law major, she was used to pressure; thriving in uncomfortable situations. Muscling up the courage, she took a deep breath. “Let’s go,” she uttered. In under seven minutes, inside the party, April ditched her after forcing a cocktail in her hands, running off to meet her new boyfriend, who was with his group of friends by the poolside, playing poker. Great.

Strolling into the kitchen, packed with people in different stages of undress, a six-foot-something guy with a purple undercut, holding a red plastic cup, stumbled into her. “Hey watch it, asshole” she spat angrily, but the idiot kept walking, not listening or too drunk to care. Rubbing the part of her arm that took the brunt of the impact, she scanned the room, trying to find the piece of shit to tell him off. But then she saw him.

Liam Westbrook.

The embodiment of everything she couldn’t stand: loud, conceited, and used to getting his way. The king of college football, the projected number one pick. His eyes studied her, she held his gaze unimpressed, she wasn’t one for staring contests, but she refused to be the first to look away. Mr.Heartthrob was watching her like she was an unexpected puzzle in the creepiest way, that made her turn back to her green, funky-smelling drink laced with heaven knows what, pretending he didn’t exist. But pretending only worked when the other person played along. She felt him before she saw him, the heat of his presence pressing into her.

“So, what’s your deal?”

The smooth, husky timbre of his voice sent a slight shiver down her spine, the kind that had probably whispered sweet nonsense to more than a hundred girls. Taking a slow sip of her drink, she met his gaze. Up close, he was even more ridiculous: a cut jawline, seaform green eyes, and a smile that was borderline murderous.

“No deal,” she said coolly.

Liam tilted his head, intrigued. “That right? 'Cause you’re the only girl at this party not trying to impress me.” She let out a short laugh. “I hate to break it to you, Westbrook, but I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Yeah? So you’re saying it’s a coincidence that you showed up at my party?”

“This is your party?” she muttered more to herself in disbelief.

“It is now,” he responded, loving every second of this.

The blatant cockiness made her roll her eyes, but she had to admit, he was good. His shameless man whoring was a thing of art. He leaned in a little closer, enough to see if she’d flinch. She didn’t, his voice only for her ears.

“Well, congratulations. You’ve got my attention.”

Skylar couldn’t believe this nightmare was happening. The Liam Westbrook was flirting with her. How dare he think she was one of those thirsty girls fawning all over him?