All week, I caught myself doing the same thing over and over again—glancing at Brittany Vetrova whenever Liz wasn't looking. Quick looks. Sideways stares. Pretending to check the clock or scratch my neck while my eyes tracked her across the lecture hall.
And every damn time, I saw the same thing: another guy making her laugh.
It wasn't just one. It was everyone. The guy who sat behind her in Econ. The dude from the soccer team in the library. Some random nobody at the café on campus. Didn't matter who—if they so much as opened their mouths, Brittany laughed, smiled, even leaned in like whatever they were saying was the funniest shit in the world.
Meanwhile, me? Matteo Leandro Lewis? The guy who could pull a girl out of a group of ten with nothing more than a smirk? I was stuck. Paralyzed. Couldn't make a move.
Because, you know… I don't have a girlfriend. Pun intended.
And the more I thought about it, the more it ate at me. Why was it that easy for them? Why did they get the laughs, the smiles, the green eyes lighting up like they'd just told the joke of the century?
Why not me?
But tonight… tonight was different. Tonight was Friday. Party night. The night. Which meant the perfect chance to finally shoot my shot.
We'd picked Ryan's place for the party. Tyler had argued it'd make the bet way harder—home turf advantage, the QB's castle, all that. Maybe he was right. Maybe it did make the bet more difficult. But honestly? I didn't care. All I wanted to know was if Brittany would show up. And if she did… well. We'd see.
"Matteo!"
Liz's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
I turned and nearly choked on my own tongue.
She was standing there in the middle of the room, spinning in a slow circle, the hem of her dress flaring just enough to tease without giving the full show. It was short. Tight. Red. And paired with heels that made her legs look about a mile long.
"What do you think?" she asked, grinning like she already knew the answer.
I'm not gonna lie—if she looks like that when we get back, there's a solid chance I'll end up bending her over the nearest surface and fuck her before either of us makes it to the bed. Just saying.
Out loud, though, I smirked and said, "You're gonna give half the party a heart attack."
Her grin widened. "So… you like it?"
"Like it? Liz, you're dangerous."
That got me a satisfied little wiggle as she smoothed her hands down her sides. "Good. Then go change."
I raised a brow. "Change? We've still got, what, two hours before the party even starts?"
She groaned, drawing out the sound as she flopped onto the couch like I'd just ruined her entire life. "Matteo. Please. Just go. I hate waiting."
I chuckled, dropping into the chair across from her. "I thought you wanted to go late. Make an entrance and all that."
She pouted, lower lip sticking out in that spoiled way she always did when she wanted me to cave. And yeah… it usually worked.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Fine, fine. I'll go change. Happy?"
Her pout disappeared instantly, replaced by a triumphant smile. "Very."
---
I stood in front of the mirror, buttoning my shirt while Liz leaned against the doorway like she was supervising me. Every time I skipped a button or left one undone near the top, she clicked her tongue.
"Higher," she said, pointing.
I shot her a look through the reflection. "If I go higher, I'll suffocate. I'm supposed to breathe at this party, Liz."
She smirked, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "Supposed to look good too. Don't ruin my vibe."
I shook my head but fixed the button anyway. The things I do to keep the peace.
By the time I grabbed my watch and slid it onto my wrist, she was already dangling the car keys in my face. "We're taking the Lambo," she declared.
"Of course we are."
Because God forbid we show up in anything less than a supercar. Liz had this thing about arrivals—she wanted everyone to stop, stare, whisper. Tonight wasn't about the party; it was about her grand entrance.
We left the penthouse, the hum of the city below us fading as we made our way down to the garage. Liz strutted ahead in her heels, dress hugging every curve like she was walking a runway. By the time she slid into the passenger seat, she'd already pulled her phone out, checking herself in the camera app.
I fired up the engine. The roar echoed through the garage, sharp enough to make her grin.
"Perfect," she said, settling back.
The drive wasn't long, but with Liz, time worked differently. She spent half of it touching up her lipstick in the mirror, the other half pouting about how we were "early." Which, to be clear, meant we were still late—but not late enough in Liz's book.
"You wanted to leave two hours early," I reminded her as I pulled up to Ryan's house. Music was already thumping through the walls. "If anything, this is your fault."
She crossed her arms, lips in a perfect little pout. "Still not late enough."
"Not my problem."
We rolled up the driveway, headlights sweeping over the line of cars already parked. Ryan's place wasn't just a house—it was a mansion with enough space to fit a football team, which, coincidentally, happened a lot.
The second we walked inside, the smell of alcohol hit me. The living room was already packed—guys from the team, girls in glitter and heels, music blasting so loud you could feel it in your chest.
The boys spotted me first.
"Lewis!" Tyler yelled, slapping me on the back as soon as I walked up. Ethan and Jude weren't far behind, drinks in hand. We exchanged handshakes, laughs, the usual.
Behind me, Liz let out an exaggerated groan. "Ugh. Boys."
She leaned in, brushed her lips against my cheek, and whispered just loud enough for everyone to hear, "I'll be with the girls if you need me."
And just like that, she was gone—off toward her little fan club by the drinks table.
Ethan actually sighed in relief. "Finally."
Jude's eyes narrowed. "Hey. She's my sister."
Ethan froze mid-swig. "Oops."
The rest of us cracked up, Jude included, though he shook his head like we were all idiots.
Tyler was the first to steer the conversation. "So, Ryan…" He leaned closer, voice dripping with interest. "Where's the blonde, huh?"
That got everyone's attention.
"The blonde," Ethan echoed, smirking. "Don't tell me you lost your touch already, QB."
Ryan rolled his eyes, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitching. "Relax. She said she might come."
"Might," Tyler repeated, dragging the word out.
"Which means you're about to pay up," Ethan said, grinning. "You know the rules. Bet's a bet."
They all started laughing, voices overlapping, teasing Ryan like they'd been waiting all week for this moment.
I didn't join in.
Because that's when the front door opened.
And she walked in.
Brittany Vetrova.
No announcement. No dramatic entrance. Just her—stepping over the threshold with that calm, collected stride like she owned the room without even trying.
And damn.
She wasn't overdressed. Not underdressed either. Just the right balance—simple dress, perfect fit, heels that made her legs go on forever. Her hair fell loose, catching the light as she glanced around. Decent, but hot. Classy, but still enough to make every guy in the room turn his head.
And they did.
One by one, every single guy looked.
Some nudged their friends. Others just stared. Ryan's living room might as well have gone silent for a second, the air shifting like we'd all been collectively punched in the chest.
Even the guys standing around me stopped mid-laugh.
And me?
I felt something I hadn't in a long time. Not just want. Not just the thrill of a new chase. Something sharper. Something I couldn't quite name.
But whatever it was, it hit me hard.
Brittany Vetrova.
---
To be continued...