Page 29 of Perfect Boy

And terms.

Something Ryann doesn’t know is, I’m not going anywhere.

11

Ryann

“Ireally can’t believe our performances are just a little over a week away,” Lana says from my bed, watching me as I curl my hair. “I caught a glimpse of Sutton and Hunter’s dance. Oh. My. God. Ryann, they are probably going to win the entire thing.” She sighs, putting her hand on her cheek. “Soulmates. Total goals.”

I can’t tell her the truth. That they were fake dating, and then things turned…complicated. That’s what happens when you have sex. It makes things complicated and weird. Just take me and Watson, for example. We slept together weeks ago, and my body still tingles when he touches me during our routine. But we’ve done really good at keeping things professional and not winding up back in the supply closet again. But, holy hell, it’s been hard.

“If Princess Poppy hears you, your ass is toast,” I tease her, knowing she’s terrified of Poppy. And that Poppy hates Sutton.

Her eyes widen a smidgen before her face relaxes again. “Yeah, but I don’t really get her beef with Sutton. I mean…Sutton is really nice.” She holds her hand out, examining her nails. “Maybe Poppy secretly wants Hunter.” Her eyes flash to mine, and a smile spreads across her face. “Oh my gosh, that’s probably it. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Uh…sure,” I mutter, knowing damn well it wouldn’t matter if Poppy stripped down naked in front of Hunter because that boy is all in on Sutton Savage. It’s written all over his face.

I finish curling my hair and give it a spray to keep it in place. Tonight, Lana is dragging me out to this speed-dating event that Club 83 is putting on. I, by no means, want or need a man. Nor do I want to talk to countless random people for an hour of my life. But she begged me to go with her, and she’s one of those friends who is always there when I need her. Going is the least I can do. And besides, maybe it’ll take my mind off my dance partner. I’m not interested in completely throwing myself at random dudes just to feel something tonight. But a hot make-out session? I could get on board with that.

After giving myself a spritz of the best scent ever, Sol de Janeiro Cheirosa, I apply a little more lipstick and give myself one last look before standing and puffing my hair up a bit with my fingers. “Ready,” I chime.

She looks up from her nails, and her eyes grow wide. “Hot damn, bitch. How the hell am I supposed to get a guy tonight when you show up like that?” She sticks her lip out, pouting as she stands up. “Can’t you put a garbage bag on?”

“Not a chance, babe.” I wink. “Besides, have you looked at yourself? You’ll be swimming in a pool of dude drool, showing up like that.” I walk behind her and swat her butt. “Let’s go get this over with.”

I’m far from the prettiest girl in any room. But with my hair curled, my face done up, I feel pretty tonight.

Though I might have gone a little too extreme. After all, my eye makeup is smokier and more dramatic than usual. Add in that my forest-green dress is short and tight. Probably too short and too tight. But nights like this are meant for sexy clothes. So, here I am.

Following me out of my room, she grabs my arm and giggles. “This is going to be so fun.”

“Oh, it’ll be something all right,” I utter.

Watson

“Why is this place so fucking packed on a weeknight?” Hunter frowns as we find a parking spot outside of Club 83.

“Fuck if I know. I say we skip it and go get pizza,” I mutter, sweeping my gaze around at the dozens of cars.

“Fuck that, we’re already here. And I’m too hungry to go any farther off campus,” Link suddenly chimes in from the backseat.

I’m surprised he even heard our conversation; he’s been so obsessed with his cell phone and texting Tate since he got in with us after practice.

Turning the truck off, Hunter jerks his chin toward the building before opening his door. “Let’s roll then. If there’s any food left in there.”

We all pile out, following him toward the entrance.

He looks around the full parking lot once more. “Place is loaded to the rafters, I swear.”

When we get to the door, we all see the hot-pink paper taped to it. “Speed-dating night?” I mutter, reading the sign. “What the fuck is that?”

“Pretty sure it’s when you go around and talk to random people every few minutes until you find one that you would swipe right on if you were on Tinder.” Hunter shrugs. “Sounds fucking weird. What if you talk to someone for five minutes, and they seem cool, so you leave with them, and a few hours later, you’re tied up in their basement?” He stops, pulling the door open and glancing back at us. “And not in a good way either.”

We walk into Club 83, and it’s packed with people, shoulder to shoulder. Right away, I’m regretting not just running to the grocery store and grabbing a few steaks to cook up.

Somehow, by the grace of whatever bar god there is, we find three empty stools next to each other at the end of the U-shaped bar.

Link points toward where all the tables are perfectly set up. “Look at that dude in the floral shirt. You’re telling me he isn’t a fucking creep? He just smelled his fingers.”

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