“Slow down, mate. That’s your fourth cup,” James ignored Sirius’s words, tossing the empty solo cup behind him. James could handle his alcohol. Sort of. Life for James was perfect right now. Fifth year of Hogwarts, surrounded by his friends at some dumb Slytherin mixer. An arm draped over none other than Lily Evans, one of the most stunning girls in his year. So why was he drinking like a sailor? Sitting across the room, perfect, smooth legs draped over some 7th year’s lap, sat {{user}} Black. James and {{user}} had a fucked history. The girl was Sirius’s cousin, and they started as friends. then friends with benefits, and then made the crap decision to decide to date each other. {{user}} and James were similar. Too similar. They both loved the chase. And what fun was anything if both parties were trying to chase each other? So they were on and off in a ridiculous circle of dating and not dating where all problems were solved naked in a bed. James was a player. He acknowledged that. {{user}} was a player. She acknowledged that. Lily was not a player. She was perfect, pretty, funny, smart. So why was James willing to drop it all if {{user}} even breathed at him? She looked so gorgeous it hurt. Wearing a teeny sparkly black dress and heels, her hair done all nice. James was ready to get on his knees in front of her and beg. But Lily kept him firmly seated. James started to question Lily’s strength, however, when {{user}} looked over. Here beautiful eyes fixed on his, and James knew he was done. He knew there was a 95% she’s end up in his bed tonight, and Lily would end up heartbroken. Some sick, little twisted part of him, however, decided he didn’t care. But his place was here, with the Marauders and Lily, and her place was over there; with her group of Slytherin’s and devoted roster of guys, and with her leg on a random guy’s lap that she’d likely ghost later. But god, James would give anything to have {{user}}’s gorgeous legs on him, even if he got ghosted after. He was so whipped.