𝙾𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟸𝟹𝚛𝚍, 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚊𝚢
Miles POV

In true west coast fashion, someone is holding a house-party-to-end-all-house-parties the night after the big homecoming win to round out the festivities for the month.

By someone, I mean Dominic, one of the defensive linebackers on the team. Supposedly it's the football team tradition to throw a bunch of ragers every year in October, every Saturday night leading up to the game, and then having a huge final party the night after... Either to celebrate or drown their sorrows until Monday.

And in my true fashion, I had to show up and help celebrate this year's win.

Besides, Turner invited me last night while we sat together at the game, so who am I to turn a boy or free alcohol down?

It's been one hour since I showed up here with Turner, and everyone is already trashed. Including me. Somehow, a blunt found its way into one hand, and I have a cup of vodka soda in the other. Best fuckin' night ever.

Taking a drag, I exhale smoke into the night sky and weave around a pack of arguing girls. It's hard to hear what they're fighting about over the loud music. I also don't give a rat's ass. Girls always find ways to make too much drama out of little problems. I slip inside the house from the back patio door as one of the girls starts screaming at her friend. I should have given her a hit.

Those girls are old news as new bodies press up against me. The music is way louder inside, blasting from hidden speakers around the beach house, the floor shaking like a plane hitting turbulence. My ears ring as a hundred voices rise, screaming the lyrics to the party song being played.

Seriously, the entire high school and then some must be here partying tonight. Don't get me wrong; it's totally for a good reason. That game last night was a total movie. No one expected that other school to raise such a fight, like, literally.

All I have heard around here is Griffins' fight with that opposing team member. He deserves the clout. That was a serious power move, and it's too bad that he's not here tonight. Rumor has it that Greyson got so pissed at his son that he grounded Griffin until Christmas.

The other hot topic is one of my favorites: Parker.

He carried that shit single-handly. His playing was phenomenal. I felt like I was in the presence of royalty. Especially that last move--I've never seen a human run so fuckin' fast in my life. And maybe I'm still caught up on that recognition from him in the lineup, too. I might not be thinking clearly from all of this alcohol, yet I can still picture his face crystal clear, especially that smile. God, that smile.

My heart aches with longing. It's too bad that he didn't show up here, not that I expected him to. A small part of me hoped for it. Maybe I want to finish what we started last weekend.

"Yo, watch your gay ass!" Some girl curses at me as I bump her shoulder in passing. I look this basic bitch over slowly, letting my eyes catch on her white tube top and skinny jeans as I exhale more smoke.

"Watch your boyfriend, girl. If you're not careful with your attitude, he might come looking for this gay ass tonight," I snap right back.

Her eyes flash dangerously and I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to take those fake hoops out for a fight. She decides against it because she lets out a humph before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

"God damn," I grumble and keep walking, slugging down the rest of my drink. Remember what I said earlier about these chicks causing drama? Point proven.

I smash the smoldering end of the blunt in the bottom of my empty cup as I slip in between moving bodies. I should look for a garbage can, but then again, maybe not. My cup ends up on the floor somewhere.

Stumbling through the crowd, I hunt for another cooler. My eyesight almost fails me a few times, making me blink vigorously as the room spins. I'm forced to pause my pursuit and grab onto the bodies around me to keep from crumpling to the ground. There's so much commotion that the people I touch don't flinch. I have to force my knees to work. Shit, what was packed into that paper? My hands hit a wall, and I laugh at the irony of all this.

Who am I to give my mom shit about drugs, then I'm the one out here partying like this? I giggle again but pause when I don't remember what's so funny.

I think I need a drink.

Before I can track down my craving, a loud cheer sounds near the front of the house. Some people in the crowd run over to the noise to join in the celebration. I'm curious, but first... there's an open path to the beer cooler on the far wall. Yep. Night made. I'm set.

It doesn't take long for me to get two drinks in my hands and take my black ass back in the crowd, dancing to the music, all of the commotion from a moment earlier forgotten. This beat is too good, and I can't keep my feet still as I raise one hand in the air, using the other hand to knock back the beer.

All too soon, one of the cups is empty, so I toss it into the crowd again. It bounces off some boy's head, making his hand fly to the back of his skull as he whips around, searching the dance floor. I wince and quickly turn around, sipping at my other cup as alcohol sloshes onto the floor. My bad.

The song fades out and changes into No Guidance by Chris Brown. It's a cheesy choice, except it seems to be a crowd favorite with the white folks because they suddenly flock to the floor. It's not my vibe, so I'm quick to escape before anyone can knock the drink out of my hands. Sipping from the cup as I stagger, I briefly shut my eyes at the sharp kick. There's a certain bliss that comes with the shock of drinking.

Sometimes it's nice to be distracted by what's happening outside these four walls. For one night, I don't have to focus on my mom, family, or finances. The only thing I have to think about right now is the weed, the alcohol, the entertainment that comes with being wasted, and the boys. I open my eyes again, and it's like fate directs exactly where I look.

The boys. Parker.

There he is, standing by the far wall.

My brain hurts. I thought he wouldn't be coming tonight. I'm probably looking at a figment of my imagination, some hologram from being this high.

Whoever he was talking to is walking away, leaving Parker to look up, his eyes connecting with mine.

I grin as we hold eye contact over the expanse of this crowded room, my face probably saying what words can't. My smile turns mischievous as I dare this hologrammed-Parker to look away first. He must be thinking along the same line because he smirks as he shoves away from the wall, breaking eye contact to step around a passing clique that cuts between our lines of sight.

I shake my head as I turn my back and bring the cup to my lips again. There's no way that Parker would've shown up tonight, and trust, I've certainly been looking. Unless that's what all of that celebration was about earlier.

"Hey man, you look like shit."

I freeze. His words tranquilize me. This high is so uber-realistic that that voice even fucking sounds like his.

Slowly, I turn around, my eyebrows raised as I check him out. His skin isn't transparent, so he must be real.

It's obvious that Parker is chewing his cheek in an effort not to smile. His lips twitch, and his eyebrows mirror mine. Shifting his weight between his feet, Parker gently crunches his plastic water bottle. The sound of the crackling plastic tears me out of my daydream of running my fingertips over this boy's perfect facial structure.

"For real?" I finally sputter once my brain catches up. "That shit hurts, dude. I thought I looked pretty fuckin' good tonight."

And that's the truth, too. Earlier this evening, I was crossing my fingers that Parker would show up to this party. Hence why I dressed up in my Saturday night best: AKA a patterned button-down shirt, jeans, and old Nikes that correspond with my shirt. Hell, I showered and gelled my hair so the curls would come out soft, glossy, and kinky. It also took me ten minutes to layer the right necklaces and chains around my neck. I'll be damned if Parker roasts my fit.

Parker snorts. "Not like that. You look higher than a damn kite, plus your eyes are red. That's why you look like shit."

"Oh." I rake my mind for something to add to my lame reply, but I have nothing to say. At least, none of the things I want to reply with are appropriate for a straight-proclaiming boy. But man, this kid is plain old beautiful. He surpasses cute, hot, eye-candy. The only words I can think of are alluring, dazzling, and out of my league.

"You know, I've been doing some thinking..." Parker starts and then pauses for dramatic effect.

I give a lop-sided grin and tilt my head as words come tumbling out before I can process them.

"Hopefully about me, maybe shirtless? That offer is definitely on the table."

Parker barks a laugh, his cheeks twinging pink under the disco lights as he glances around to make sure no one heard that. I catch his gaze drop down to my abdomen. Or it's the lights playing tricks.

"Uh, no, can I please finish? I've been thinking you need a hobby or maybe some new friends."

"Ouch!" I mock a gasp, holding my fingertips to my heart. "I have hobbies! I'm guessing that my lifestyle doesn't appeal to you?"

Parker shrugs and sips from his water bottle, taking the chance to look down as he screws the cap back on. "If you want an honest answer, then hell no. I understand why you do this, but... I dunno. This doesn't seem like living to me." He pauses for a moment before looking up at me again. "Have you always gone to parties like this, a couple of times a month?"

The corners of my mouth tug up at the worry and care radiating off him. He sure gets bold late at night with the endless questions and prodding. "You probably don't want me to answer that. I'm afraid that you'll ship me off to AA."

"Don't give me any ideas." Hm, he doesn't find my witty response as funny as I do. "Have you been able to make any more friends while being here, other than my cousins and the football team?"

More questions. He never gets like this when I'm sober... at least, not that I can remember. "I mean... yeah?"

"Who?"

I take a second and think, running my brain into overdrive. "You know... Turner, Hugo, Felix..." I rattle off some more names. My list mainly consists of jocks and random nerds that I've befriended in random classes. Halfway through my slow listing, Parker waves his hand, bringing my hearty chart to a halt.

"C'mon, I know you didn't say all those people! Nearly every one of those kids is notorious for trouble," Parker scolds and furrows his eyebrows as he rests his hands on his hips. He doesn't seem mad, more like an accusatory parent.

"Woah, okay, mom. I promise not to do oxy or mix my alcohol." I raise my hands in surrender but continue to keep a hold on my cup. "Like attracts to like."

"No, stupid attracts to stupid. You're stupid."

"I think the words you're looking for are breathtaking, charming, charismatic, mesmerizing, smoking hot..." I smile devilishly.

Parker laughs, and his shoulders relax as he drops his hands down, shaking his head. "You must spend a lot of time thinking about yourself if you can rattle off those adjectives so fast."

"I don't spend time thinking about myself. There are some other people on my mind," I reply nonchalantly, letting my eyes take him in as I take another sip of my drink. Right as the alcohol runs down my throat, my gut tightens.

Oh, fuck. My body finally picked up its last straw.

Scoffing again, Parker grins as he lazily flits his eyes over my body. "Oh really? I bet you won't--are you okay?" His tone switches from flirty to concerned at the speed of light.

At first, I nod, then shake my head no.

Drinking on an empty stomach for the past few hours is the dumbest thing I've done in a while, and that's saying something. I don't need a mirror to know that all the blood suddenly leaves my face as my stomach revolts against the alcohol.

"Hold onto my drink. I'll be back." I fumble quickly, shoving my cup into Parker's hand so fast that liquid sloshes out of the side. Parker's eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something. I'm already gone.

I have enough sense left in my head to remember where the bathroom is on this floor. That doesn't mean I'm the most graceful person in the room as I smack shoulders with people, bulldozing them over. Many heads turn to scold me, but I don't stick around to hear their complaints. I don't particularly give a fuck right now as I bee-line for the bathroom.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time, shoving the door open with both hands and scaring the shit out of the couple making out on the counter. They both jump at the sudden motion of the door, and the guy snatches his hand out from underneath the girl's skirt to cuss me out. Not that I'm listening nor caring as my attention tunnel visions onto the toilet.

The point of my sudden appearance makes sense as soon as I hit my knees, unloading the contents of my stomach into the bowl in an impressive vomiting feat. Now the couple curses and complains for a different reason as they rush to vacate.

My stomach writhes and tightens, squeezing out the contents like a child rolling out a tube of toothpaste, desperately trying to void the liquids. My momma didn't raise no puking bitch, but sometimes my body doesn't follow the same sense my head has.

Coughing up the rest, I keep my eyes squeezed shut as I blindly feel for the handle. My hand connects with the cold metal, and I flush the equivalent of a bachelor party alcohol supply down into the sewer. My gut tightens again, and I dry heave for a moment, groaning as nothing comes up. So much for a fun, memorable night. Not even the high could last more than twenty minutes before getting wrecked by this bullshit.

Exhausted, I turn and flunk my ass onto the floor. I shut my eyes again against the bright fluorescent lights for a bit of relief. The light strains against my eyelids and engraves in my head, sketching out the perfect composition for a killer migraine. Not even the drugs in my blood can balance out this awful feeling.

A quiet tap on the doorframe tears me out of my self-wallowing. Slowly, I slit my eyes open and glance over where the door hangs wide open. In their haste to get out of here, the couple must have forgotten to close it behind them.

Parker stands there instead, his shoulder resting against the hinge. His knuckles stay pressed against the wooden frame as his worried eyes take in the scene.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to follow you. I... You didn't look too hot. I had a feeling that I better come and make sure you don't die from alcohol poisoning."

I nod carefully, not wanting to trigger another vomiting spell as I shut my eyes again. Even though my skull is sore from my straining brain, I still manage to sarcastically respond, "Seriously, I don't look hot anymore? Don't even look at me. This is an off day. I swear this never happens."

"Shut your damn mouth, Miles."

I grin tiredly at the sound of my name in his mouth. With how he pronunciates it, he draws it out a second longer than I'm used to hearing it spoken. I could listen to how he says it for the rest of my life.

When I don't respond, quiet, hesitant footsteps thud across the tile floor. A shadow blocks out the bright light for a moment, and I sense his presence get closer before I physically feel it.

My eyes crack open again as Parker grunts, sliding down onto the floor next to me. I glance at his hands. "You dumped my drink?"

"Christ. Yes, I fucking dumped it. One more sip and I would be bringing you to the hospital right now. Here, drink this instead." He holds out his water bottle to me, his eyes saying what his words don't.

If you don't drink this, I'll force it down your throat.

Either way, I'm not one to resist those shimmering green eyes. I take his bottle and unscrew the cap before handing it over to him. Slowly, carefully, I take a small sip and hesitate to see if I'll keep it down. I do, so I take another swig. The burning in my throat reduces to a bearable ache.

"Thank you," I mumble and try handing his bottle back.

"Please, keep it. Drink the rest of that. You need to sober up."

I sigh. He's right. I take my sweet time finishing the water before tossing the empty bottle to the side of the bathroom.

Now that we're both satisfied, I shut my eyes and carefully recline backward, our shoulders brushing as I rest my back against the cabinet behind us. The silence that settles is a gift to my throbbing head, even if all I crave is to hear him speak.

I crack my eyes open and peek over at him.

Parker sits awkwardly, his fingers fumbling and pulling at each other in his lip while a silent battle fights on his face. His legs are stretched out tensely as if he's contemplating a more comfortable way to reposition himself. Or he's thinking about getting up and getting the fuck out of Dodge, not wanting to deal with my hungover ass.

Not that I blame him. Half the time, I don't want to deal with my own ass.

My self-deprecating thought is cut off as my stomach twists up again. Squeezing my eyes shut against the onslaught, I moan and curl my body over to deal with the sudden heat flash right onto Parker's lap. He freezes underneath me. I don't really give a shit about his masculine feelings right now. If I stay sitting up for one more minute, I'll vomit all over both our legs.

Besides, the soft, steady presence of another person is comforting.

My breathing rasps as I ride out the wave of nausea. The feeling of a hand in my hair makes me jolt and nearly scares me out of my sickness. It is the lightest brush, barely a touch, but my jumpy response makes Parker yank his hand away.

"I'm so sorry, I don't--are you okay? Okay, if, okay with that?" Parker stutters nervously. If I didn't feel so awful, I would find his reaction super cute and worth teasing. Unfortunately, I don't have the energy to give him that type of heat right now.

"Yeah, it's alright, just don't stop," I murmur and relax. It takes a few seconds, but the feeling of his fingers returns to my hair. I keep my eyes shut as Parker strokes my hair, his fingertips occasionally rubbing my scalp. The feeling is obsessive. It feels so god-awfully good that if I had a choice, I would drop all the drinking substances and get my pleasure from him all night instead—especially him.

Together, we sit in peace as I let my guts settle down. Low bass reverberates through the floor, the lyrics humming muffledly down the hall, a lowly afterthought in comparison to this moment.

I smile to myself when Parker runs individual curls of mine between his fingers. Thank god I showered today. Oddly, it's always the white boys that get mystified by my hair. The texture and how curly it is seems to bewilder them.

As Parker's fingertips move from my scalp to behind my ears, I go stalk still. He rubs his fingers in little circles, probably as a soothing technique, but I can't hold back my groan; this kid is practically petting me like a cat, straight up. Not that it's any reason to complain. I'm so desperately touch-hungry for him and so drunk that I would spend the rest of my weekend in this exact position if it meant Parker wouldn't stop touching me.

Parker suddenly startles, forcing me to sit up wearily.

That was going so nicely. What happened?

As I turn to look at Parker and ask what's wrong, I catch him quickly adjusting his pockets and propping a leg up as he gets to his feet. I blink in confusion as a blush spreads over his cheeks.

"I'm too high to bother asking what just happened."

"That's fine because I don't really have an explanation. I shouldn't be..." Parker starts and then fades out, pressing his lips together. The poor guy looks so conflicted, so torn, that I want to grab him into a hug and kiss all of the worry lines on his face.

I start to stress out, too, since he is so worked up. Scowling, I reach up behind me and grab the countertop. My stomach gurgles in protest. I ignore the sick feeling as I clamor to my feet. Parker swings forward and grabs me by the arm as he helps me.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you should stay down. Moving won't be good," Parker frets, trying to keep me steady as I shake my head.

"I ain't spending the rest of my night on this bathroom floor, especially not alone. Let's go somewhere."

Parker raises his eyebrows, a look of shock crossing his face before contouring back into worry. "What? No, the only place I want to bring you is back home."

I bite my cheek for a moment and think about that. "Okay. That's better than here. Who drives?"

"You're joking, right?" Parker laughs, sliding his hand up my arm. "I drove my car here. Let's go. I'll take you home."