Music pounded beneath your feet from the party downstairs.

It had gotten crowded so you stuck to one of the rooms upstairs.

You were looking at a few sketches on the desk when two arms wrap around your waist.

“Lost?” A familiar voice asks against your ear.

It was Junior Layke. Your enemy.

“Nope.” You swallow as his hands skim under your ribs.

“Hm, then why are you in my room?” His lips brush your jaw.

“A coincidence?” You say, very unconvincing.

“Liar.” Junior tsks.