irl at the party

Bea's POV:

I watch Dylan walk around this disgusting frat house and talk to different girls.

It's quite amusing watching them throw themselves at him. He walks away quite quickly for most of them.

I'm sitting on the only clean part of the countertop in the kitchen just people watching and sipping on a beer. My gaze keeps drifting back to Dylan.

He's talked to about 8 girls so far. And i've lost track of where his current whereabouts are.

"Hey." I jump slightly at the sound of a voice so close to me. It's nice, sort of a laid back, effortlessly gravely while still maintaining sounding velvety, with a british accent.

I turn my head to the owner of the voice, now not surprised to find Dylan Wilde standing next to me refilling his cup with beer.

"Hey," I reply trying to seem nonchalant.

"You look bored."

"Is it that obvious?" I laugh a little.

"Only to people who pay attention."

"Ah- there he is."

"There who is?"

"The famous Dylan Wilde. The flirt. The guy who's hit on half the girls at this party."

He laughs at my comment.

"You don't like the flirting." He says it more as a statement, despite raising an eyebrow for confirmation from me. I look back at the crowd of drunk college students.

"I don't mind it, if it's you saying it." I reply. Remember the rules, Bea. You have to flirt back.

"Why's that?" He asks. He's now done filling up his cup and he's turned so he's leaning against the counter next to my legs.

"You have a nice voice." I say, and take another sip of my drink. He laughs.

"So I've been told."

"It's the accent. Makes girls drop their panties for you," I shrug with a small smile on my face.

"Not all girls."

"No just the oblivious ones who think they can change you."

"You don't think I can change?"

"Not for a girl you just consider a quickie."

"I'm hurt, Bea." He says putting his hand over his heart.

"My opinion shouldn't matter to you."

"Pretty girls opinions always matter to me."

"Do they?"

"Maybe not."

I laugh and he smiles at me. A genuine smile, not some smirk that he usually wears to get a date.

"So why are you here alone?" I ask.

"Looking for someone." He says turning back to the party goers.

"Oh yeah? Who?"

I know who.

"Do you really want to know?" He asks after a second of hesitation.

"Well I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."

"A girl."

"Well that much was obvious." He fake laughs at my comment.

"I don't even know what I'm doing here. I'm looking for her when I don't even know her name."

"Is she that special?"

"She's- she's perfect. She's smart, and funny. She doesn't care what people think. It's refreshing to talk to her, despite her knowing who I am, she treats me the same. Well- after a minor freak out. But she still makes sarcastic comments and stuff. I'm not sure. There's just something about her." I smile, knowing it's me he's talking about. My heart is beating so hard, I'm afraid he can hear it.

"How do you know all that about her, but not know her name?"

"We talk every day but she won't tell me who she is. I just wish-"

"DYL!" Isaiah shouts, interrupting whatever Dylan was about to say. He's waving his arms frantically trying to get him to come over. I laugh at his antics.

"You should probably go check that out." I say gesturing to his friend.

"He's an idiot," Dylan grumbles.

"Goodbye, Dylan." I say jumping off the countertop and starting to walk away.

"Goodbye, Bea." He says loud enough for me to hear. I continue to walk, despite feeling his eyes on me.

I glance over at Isaiah, who winks at me. I laugh to myself and walk out of the frat party.

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