Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

| ARIA |

Roscoe was peering down at me with an upturned lip. "Aye, time for you to run along to your real friends." He eyed me as if I were a bug he wanted to flick off his sleeve. "Come find me when you want to go."

A spurt of anxiety jolted my senses and I had to suppress a whimper. Roscoe wasn't what I'd call good company, but he was at least some company.

Clenching my teeth, I swerved around Roscoe and didn't look back. He'd served his purpose, I could do the rest without him.

I wove through the kitchen and out onto the porch for some air. My eyes widened, my fingers reflexively started tapping out a nervous rhythm. There was a swarming hoard of people buzzing throughout the backyard, spilling into the overgrown baseball field beyond. The cacophony of their voices and the booming rap music made their presence feel larger, suffocating even.

... Or was that just me?

My heart rate sped up as I traveled down the wooded steps, my palm running along the weathered banister. The sky was an odd shade of grey for this time of year, sunsets were usually a brilliant pink or orange. Perhaps, it wanted to match the convoluted feelings I had inside.

I'd asked for this, but this whole scene wasn't for me. There were environments where my introverted ass had a chance and this was not it.

I spun on my heel and nearly collided with the boy behind me. He loomed over me, his enormous frame blocking the entire staircase.

Without meeting his eye, I mumbled a broken apology, thinking he'd step aside, and I'd scoot on by, but he didn't budge. Eventually, I was forced to investigate why.

I flinched when I realized his deep brown eyes were scouring over me, rifling over my person with an intensity that made me want to crumple in on myself. I knew he was noting every blemish, every wrinkle, every imperfection, and filing them away for later. A shiny, white, smile spread across his face.

This fool was tall, and I didn't throw that term around lightly. (I had my own card to the six foot club, remember?) There was a muscular lankiness to his form that mirrored the NBA phenotype — the way he held himself, the proud carriage of his shoulders — he looked like a hooper.

"You're not leaving yet, are you?" He asked, his voice so low it blended with the bass pulsing over my skin.

My lips parted noiselessly, letting me flounder.  A surge of anxiety rammed a gate shut as soon as I tried to get a word out.

The boy did not balk at my silence. Instead, he seemed almost intrigued by it, like I were a puzzle he wanted to solve. His chestnut skin glistened with the faintest sheen of sweat, like he'd spent the evening carving through the crowd under a waning summer sun.

"At least tell me your name." He pressed, after wetting his lower lip.

Come on, you freaking hermit. Surely, you can do this at least.

I cleared my throat, "Ar—Aria." I stammered.

The stranger grinned and I felt a little shiver pass through my bones. Goodness gracious, he was attractive. His high cheeks bones, broad nose, and chiseled jawline were pulled together by a neat Dark Cesar haircut. He had a goatee that subtly emphasized the line of his lips. Lips that were curved into a smile, aimed at me.