Page 234 of Lilah
"Well me either," I straighten his silver chain.
"But in metaphorical terms, Iamthe party."
"Obviously," he rolls his eyes like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Which it is.
"I'm a little nervous," I admit.
"You know what not to do," he places two kisses on my cheek. My eyes widen a teeny bit. What do I not do? Was there some sort of rulebook I'm missing out on?
"Let's go home," he stands with me in his arms and sets me on my feet.
~~~
Grey lies on the bed, his shirt off, looking all wonderful and stuff, watching me walk around the room like a chicken with my head cut off.
"What do you wear to these things? Not like, fancy dresses, I know that but...do you wear like club attire," not like I've ever been to one but whatever, "or like a nicer dress?"
I look over at him. He sits there, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion with his tattooed hand slightly down the front of his pants. Why in the world?
I text Abby because obviously this man has no idea what's going on. I love him to death.
"Why is your hand there?" I point to his hand.
"Because," he answers simply.
"So name off these things that I should know not to do," I suggest and his eyebrows furrow a lot further than before.
"Are you saying you don't know what not to do?" he questions. I smile.
"I've never been to a party before, no one's told me the rules," I shrug. There can't be that many. Were my parents supposed to tell me these things?
Grey sits up, his eyes flash more in a small fit of what I would call his version of slightly panicking.
"Are you fucking me, Azalea?" He questions. I smirk a little and shake my head at myself. This is serious.
"I'm not freaking you, Grey," I nod seriously. His jaw tenses harshly and he stands up. He grabs me by the waist and throws me onto the bed, standing in front of me. I smile up at him.
"Stop smiling, this is serious," he points at me and I stop smiling, not even realizing I was doing it in the first place.
"You shouldn't go," he shakes his head.
"But I want to."
"It's not safe for you anymore. I don't feel good about it," he tells me honestly.
"Then tell me the rules," I suggest and he breathes out harshly.
"Don't wander off anywhere by yourself," he starts, "just because you see someone who looks nice, doesn't mean they actually are."
"Okay," I nod.
"Don't fucking compliment people. Just don't. Maybe you can to girls because I don't know they're fucking weird drunks but random people, don't."
My eyes widen at that.
"And donot,"he stresses, "compliment-, look at me Azalea," he grips onto my chin, making sure I'm paying close attention to him.
"Donotfucking complimentanyguys inanyway. Better yet, don't look at them. They're frat guys. They fuck any girl who looks at them."
