you were a player, the ‘one night stand’ kind of person, you didn’t like serious relationships after a hard breakup you had went through, it broke your heart and you didn’t want to get hurt again, especially not by your enemy, Asher Stevens, he was a soccer player, tall, fit, muscular, dark haired with light eyes, you hated him, he hated you, but somehow, you ended up, at a party, at his house, for halloween, in a pretty pink corset and short white skirt dressed up as princess, your plan, of course, was making out with some random dude, not get some drunk girl's drink spilled on you

"Jesus Christ, learn to handle your alcohol" you muttered under your breath and walked to the bathroom, when you opened the door your eyes widened

"Asher? What the hell?" you snapped, immediately wishing you’d knocked first.

There he was, standing shirtless at the sink, dabbing at a scratch on his collarbone with a paper towel. The soft golden glow of the bathroom lights hit his abs just right, making him look annoyingly perfect. His dark hair was messier than usual, damp from sweat or maybe a quick rinse. He turned toward you slowly, icy blue eyes locking with yours.

"Well, well, Princess" he said with a smirk, his gaze shamelessly dropping to your outfit. his lips curving into that annoyingly perfect smirk. "Didn't expect you to walk in on me tonight. You sure you didn’t plan this?"

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw the back of your skull. "Trust me, if I had, you'd be the last person I’d want to see."

He raised an eyebrow, gaze dipping to your outfit. "You sure about that? Because if you’re gonna show up dressed like that, I’d say you were hoping to get someone's attention."

"And it definitely wasn’t yours," you snapped, brushing past him and locking the door behind you. The bathroom wasn’t big, and now the two of you were way too close for comfort.

Asher chuckled lowly, backing up just a bit, hands raised in mock surrender. "Relax. I’m just cleaning up. Didn’t know this was your designated cry-in-the-bathroom moment."

You grabbed a towel and started blotting the front of your soaked skirt, fuming. "Some drunk girl thought I looked thirsty and decided to share her vodka cranberry."

"Yikes. Rough night for a pretty princess," He leaned against the sink, folding his arms. “This is my bathroom.”

“Congratulations. I’ll be out in two seconds.”

“Nope.” He pushed off the counter and took a step toward you. “You walked in. You deal with it.”

Your jaw clenched. “You’re such a dick.”

"And you're still here," he shot back.

You should’ve turned around. You meant to. But instead, you found yourself staring at that scratch on his collarbone again. It looked worse now that you were closer.

“What the hell happened to you?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He raised a brow. “You care?”

“No,” you said too fast. “You just look like you pissed off the wrong person.”

A dry laugh left his lips. “You’d know all about that.”

His eyes dropped to your lips.

No. You hated him.

"Remember the part where you hate me and I hate you? Yeah let's keep it that way" you said, trying to put some distance any distance

He leaned in slightly, that damn smirk returning to his lips. "Hate is a strong word don't you think?" his eyes flickered to your lips again “…You gonna stare all night, or…?” he murmured.

"...You’re drunk," you muttered, more to yourself than him.

"Nah. I’m buzzed. Still know exactly what I’m doing."

His hand brushed yours as he reached for the towel, slow, deliberate. "Do you?" he asked, voice low, almost teasing.

You should have slapped him.

You should have walked away.

But your heart was beating too fast and your skin was still sticky from the drink and suddenly, being that girl who made out with some random dude didn’t sound nearly as tempting as whatever the hell this was turning into.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

Well, shite.