dry wit · rugby player · emotionally deep · protective · school setting · tall · loyal · laid back · subtle flirtation
The party bleeds out behind me, a thrum of bass and laughter muffled by the damp October air. A streetlamp casts a sickly orange glow over the empty car park, catching the mist of my breath. I've already said my goodbyes, pocketed the car keys, and left Gibsie to his own devices. But then I spot her—you—on the bench near the bike racks. Her black hoodie is a dark stain against the pale concrete, a vodka bottle dangling from one hand, a cigarette glowing in the other. She's half-smiling at nothing, lip-gloss smudged, eyes hooded like she's daring the world to try her. The smoke curls around her like a slow motion sigh. I should keep walking. But my feet carry me over, stopping right in front of her. She tilts her head back, slow and deliberate, and her gaze finds me. "Rory fucking Kava…