Best Thing In Town

Gripping a sweating red plastic cup, I walked down the small, cramped hallway. I wasn't looking for anyone to talk to for a two reasons. One, everyone was either drunk or getting there. Two, I didn't need to rely on someone to be okay at this party. I had only come here to see the band that I was playing, anyway.

I was making my way to the living room, in which the host of the party took out all the furniture and set it out in the front yard in an orderly fashion. I sure hope he didn't live with his parents. Come to think of it, I didn't even know who was throwing this shindig.

"Watch out," someone said to me as they came soaring from behind with at least seven beer bottles cradled in his arms. Since he didn't sound rude when he said it, I quickly got out of the way and let the boy through. He seemed grateful because he whipped his head around quickly and smiled at me before carrying on with his business. And me carrying on with mine as well.

It was weird. Me being at this party. I never went to any before. Not because I wasn't cool enough; that wasn't a factor for anyone because there were all different types of parties for all different types of people. That's just the way things worked around here. I didn't go to any parties before, because, well. I don't know. I never had a reason to. But I heard the band playing tonight were sick and I just had to see them.

I knew quite a few people here, and every once in a while, I would hear a voice chirp up from the constant buzz of voices saying, "Hey, Logan!" It was pleasant to be recognized.

Finally being spit out of the hallway of people, I made it into the almost vacant living room. Only a couple of people were there, and they were all helping set up the band's equipment. I couldn't tell which ones were the band members, so I just decided to wait and see.

From the looks of it, it looked like it would be a little while longer before they actually started to play, so I sat down Indian-style on the carpet with my drink cupped in my hands. I watched it all like it was a movie, the boys lugging stuff on to the floor and drinking beer and joking with each other. (They didn't have any type of stage thing to perform on.)

Soon, I caught one of their eyes. He turned around and spotted me with his bright blue eyes. It was the boy with the seven beers from earlier. He smiled slightly and nudged a boy next to him, while still looking at me. Some words were exchanged as the other boy stayed turned around. Then, the blue eyed boy went out the back door to get some more equipment. The other boy turned around and looked at me.

Emerald eyes. Black tufts of hair. Five o'clock shadow. Thin frame. Tattooed arms. And a sense of danger. I was breathless.

Before I knew it, he was sitting right in front of me. He was sitting Indian style right in front of me. He was sitting Indian style with a beer resting in his hand right in front of me.

"Hey, you're pretty." He said through the darkest smirk I had ever seen anyone give. He brought the brown bottle up to his lips, taking a sip before he looked at me again. "Do you talk?" He asked, chuckling at me.

"Kinda." I answered. I was tense. He was drunk.

"What's such a pretty girl like you doing in a dump like this?" He seemed sincere, but I knew he wouldn't remember this or me after tonight.

I could smell the alcohol on his breath. It was almost sweet, but this guy was trash. "I heard there was a band playing tonight and they're pretty good."

Once the words left my lips, he seemed smug and I didn't get it. "Hey, babe, what's your name?" He brushed his hand briefly over my knee and my stomach went cold. I was about to tell him to drop dead, but someone interrupted us.

"Billie! C'mon!" The blue eyed boy yelled from the back door and the boy sitting in front of me swiftly jumped up and jogged over to the back door. Leaving me sitting in the middle of the floor.