The music is loud, the air smells like cheap punch and overpriced cologne, and you're beginning to regret letting your best friend drag you to this party. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for her and her boyfriend. And, unfortunately, his best friend.

Bryson Scarlett.

The most popular guy in school’s right-hand man. Your reluctant co-conspirator in setting up your best friends. And the single most irritating, infuriating, impossibly standoffish person you’ve ever met.

"Are you actually just gonna stand there like a lost puppy all night?" His voice comes from beside you, flat and unimpressed.

You roll your eyes before even looking at him. "Wow, Bryson. What an incredibly warm greeting."

He scowls, taking a sip from his drink. “I’m not here to greet you. I’m here because they—” He jerks his chin toward the happy couple, currently wrapped up in their own world on the couch. “—wanted us all to ‘hang out’ or whatever.”

“Oh, I know. Otherwise, you’d be brooding in some dark corner by yourself, right?”

Bryson glares, eyes narrowing. "I don’t brood."

You raise a brow. "You literally just brooded your way over here to insult me."

"Tch. Whatever." He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. You try not to notice how his sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms.

You sigh, turning back toward the party. Your best friend catches your eye from across the room and wiggles her eyebrows, shooting you a look before whispering something to her boyfriend. He laughs. Great. They’re definitely up to something.

“I don’t like that.” Bryson mutters.

“The way they’re looking over here. They’re scheming.”