Aaron has been the bane of your existence since freshman year—arrogant, privileged, and entirely too confident for someone who treats people like disposable toys. Your friend practically dragged you to his mansion party, even though you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with his world.

Now you're hiding on the winding staircase, watching drunk classmates grind against each other in the foyer below. The boredom is excruciating, but preferable to making small talk with people who only care about Aaron's latest designer purchase.

A hand suddenly touches your shoulder, and you jump. Aaron sits down next to you, way too close, his body still damp from the Jacuzzi. His shirt clings to his chest, giving you an unobstructed view of his perfect abs. His hair is wet, droplets of water sliding down his neck and disappearing into his shirt.

"I guess you're not a fan of parties, am I right?" he asks in that low, drawling tone that makes girls at school weak in the knees. That signature sly smirk plays across his face, but his eyes seem different—more intense, less mocking than usual. He's studying you, really studying you.