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ARYA HILLS.
Arya’s lips stretched into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her confused eyes. It had been a while since the two had spoken, with Arya usually as the initiator and her friend - ex-friend? It was hard to tell at this point - as the one who avoided the conversation. Though, it’s probably difficult to avoid someone if you’re sitting by them. Arya fiddled with the sleeves of her jacket, pulling at some loose string, as she wondered how much of a jerk she’d be if she acted bitter towards Brielle. No, no… She decided, Brielle’s too nice for that. Maybe if she was Elena, maybe, but definitely not Brielle. “Thanks,” the girl replied, fixing her smile so the edges of her eyes turned upward, “You do too. Nice, uh, shoes.” Saving Arya from furthering this awkward exchange, Devon promptly announced the rules and chose the first spinner.
Rowan!! So that’s what his name was. Cain and Arya always tag teamed the guy, messing with him whenever they got the chance, and his reactions never ceased to crack her up. He approached the bottle, cheeks flushed and gaze stuck on anywhere but the people around him. He spun it, and, lo-and-behold, it landed on her.
Seeing how intently Rowan stared at the bottle, as if he was willing it to disappear, Arya knew that she was really going to enjoy messing with him. She slunk toward him, gazing at him seductively. Her fingertips trailed against his skin, traveling up the length of his arms, while a small grin tugged at the edges of her mouth. Despite Rowan being over half-a-foot taller than Arya, he felt so small to the girl. She pressed herself into his warmth, then cupped the back of his head, pulling him closer to her. The kiss only ended when Arya deemed it was long enough.
She tore herself away, her shoulders relaxing into their lazy position, as she flashed Rowan her classic smile. Then, a little abruptly, she exclaimed, “My turn!” with a spin of her heel, then crouched down to the glass bottle. She twirled it, and took a step back, her adrenaline filled body impatient. The girl didn’t worry too much about who it landed on - she was perfectly fine kissing every damn person in this room. Though, when the tip of the bottle landed on Devon, her heart thudded against her chest. She didn’t think of him as anything more than a friend, but still couldn’t help but be flustered at the thought of kissing him.
She made a dramatic bow, offering the other a hand to stand, before helping him up. She didn’t bother with the whole theatrical thing she did with Rowan, and, instead, just went straight for it.
Laughter bubbled from Devon the second Arya leaned in to try and kiss him. “Oi,” she gave a playful pout, and lightly tapped the side of his cheek. If Devon wasn’t Devon and also wasn’t drunk, Arya might’ve been offended. She went in for a second try, but, unable to take the goofy smile that was still spread across his face, burst into a fit of laughter herself and pulled away. “Deeevvv,” Arya groaned, then clapped her hands against his cheeks, squishing his face, “Okay, buddy, on the count of three, right?”
“One, two…” She pushed up on her toes and slowly snaked her hands from off his face, to around his neck, “Three.” She pressed herself into his chest, and planted her lips against his. She kept the kiss for just a little over three seconds, then pulled away. Her cheeks were rosy from a mixture of the beer and excitement.
Returning to her spot in the circle, Arya felt a burning stare on the side of her neck. Giving a quick, casual glance around the crowd, she noticed that Rowan was looking at her. He still seemed a little awe-struck.
Shit. She hoped she didn’t break him.