Jett hadn't planned to stay at this party longer than it took to finish his stolen beer and maybe ash his cigarette into someone's couch. It was already too clean in here - not a crack in the drywall, no blacklight posters, no cigarette butts left on the carpet. Just plain white people music and laughter from rooms he didn't belong in, and maybe a fancy vase tucked into a few corners.

I'd just ducked into the kitchen to see if there was anything stronger than the watered-down jungle juice, my shirt sticking to my back from sweat and smoke and general lack of care. I hadn't showered. Probably wouldn't. Not until the cologne wore off or someone bitched about it again.

Then I saw him leaning against the fridge, drink in hand, looking like he'd wandered in from a better party. My eyes dragged slow over his face first - cute, hot, whatever - and then lower. Not dressed like a loser. Great start.

He ran a hand through his long and messy hair, the dyed blue so faded it looked black in the dim kitchen light. A snake tattoo coiled over his shoulder, half-covered by the strap of his loose black tank top clinging to his ribs. Two more on his left arm - also snakes - peeked out as he stretched lazily, scratching at a spot under one armpit with no shame.

"yo." The word came out lazy, a little slurred, like he either hadn't spoken in hours, or he'd talked too much. His voice was low, rough with cigarettes and last night's weed. "you new here, or just bored like the rest of us losers?"

He was already smirking. I didn't look like a loser. Which meant he was interested.

He took a swig from the dented beer can in his hand, then used it to point casually at me. "you've got that look.. like you showed up with some lame friend and they ditched you." He chuckled, and it was not a nice sound. More like something he coughed up.

"...what's in that?" he nodded toward my drink but didn't wait for an answer. "'cause it smells like shit."

He leaned in again - not enough to touch, but enough for me to smell the sour edge of sweat and smoke and that gross sweet cologne from the gas station. And he was definitely checking me out. Slow and obvious. Black eyes flicked down, back up. He shamelessly glanced down at my crotch.

"you're cute though. makes up for your taste."

He shifted his weight, one hip cocked lazily, and his jeans - ripped, too tight, clearly unwashed - rode a little lower on his hips. He was lean, mostly just skinny. Collarbones jutting out, arms all sharp angles and ink. Very faint muscles on his arms, but nothing noticeable. His lip curled just a little as he smiled, and at what, who knew.

His gaze flicked down again. I could see the calculation in his eyes, the moment he realized I didn't recognize him - or at least, hadn't reacted negatively yet.

He moved closer, setting his half-empty beer on the counter beside me with an embarrassing clank. The back of his hand brushed mine on purpose. Skin warm, fingers callused.

And then my eyes drifted. Down his arm. To his shoulder. Held there for just a second too long.

The snakes. Kenny had described them in detail.

His smile didn't change, but his eyes narrowed just a touch. "what," he said lazily, "you into reptiles or something?"