1.3 | the art of cupidity ✓ - Chapter 3: Chapter 3

ONE OF THE PERKS TO THEIR LITTLE AGREEMENT, IT SEEMS, RESULTS IN SORA RESTING HER LEGS FOR A DAY WHILE ENJOYING RYLIN'S COOL AIR CONDITIONED, CLEAN CAR. They don't discuss the incident that happened last night (and she's thankful for it), because every time she thinks about how his lips were just millimeters from her own, she wants to roll up into a ball and cry. Which is ridiculous, because girls like Sora don't shed tears easily. The last time she sobbed, Claire had dropped a dumbbell on her toes, and it had hurt so much that a few tears had just happened to slip out.
Most students who know Sora call her cold, impassive, and a little bit brash, but it doesn't particularly bother her. Not when she'll never see these people again in two years once she graduates, and she decides she'll worry about her behavior when she enters the world of work. The exterior she has is surprisingly effective, and in her matchmaking business, she can't let her feelings get to her or else things will likely hit the fan.
Which is why she's so frustrated with Rylin Carter—the boy with the pretty beauty mark and the pretty earrings and the pretty devilish smile and the pretty hair. The boy who's lean and tall and likes black jeans and salty waffle fries late at night. The boy who has a voice like midnight and has many different versions of him: the soft one, the protective one, and the arrogant one. Sora can't figure out which one is actually real.
After all, she's only liked one boy in her life—Jonah Kim—and it was because he ran really fucking fast, and in middle school, that was the only thing that mattered to her. She doesn't even think he knew it either, because she'll always be the girl who's like the little sister he never had. Which is fine with her. It's better this way, and she'll gladly help him out whenever he stumbles into an issue.
He visits his aunt's diner frequently (everyone loves Sue, including Sora) and even though the owner complains that her nephew eats all of the food in her pantry, Sue always instructs her to give him extra portions and a box for takeout so that he'll have something to eat. And as she restocks the napkins on the bar counter, Jonah lowers his menu in front of her and grins, signature headband pushed up so that his hair flops over loosely instead.
Looking at her long-time friend, Sora realizes that Jonah and Rylin are two completely different kinds of beautiful: Jonah is more classic, with a sharp jawline and soft curves; Rylin, on the other hand, has a kind of edge and arrogance constantly lining the corners of his mouth, and it's unconventional, to say the least. Everything about that goddamn boy is unconventional to her.
"What's wrong, Sora?" Jonah asks, and she forgets momentarily that he's excellent at reading people—great boyfriend material. Sora immediately fixes her upset expression and scowls as Jonah laughs softly at her, tugging at her apron and fidgeting uneasily.
"Nothing."
A whistle sounds from his mouth. "You've always been terrible at lying to me."
"You're so annoying," she tells him with a smile. "I hate us."
She takes his order and sends it to the kitchen before writing his name on the corner, knowing that the chef will give him a double amount. Growing up, she'd been close neighbors with the Kim household, and Jonah, being two years older than her, walked with her to the swings and pushed her as long and as high as she'd wanted to go. He wiped her tears when she cried, picked her up when she fell, and always kept a bandage in his pocket just in case she hurt herself. When they were older and going through the odd transition of puberty and shifting between gossipy friend groups, they still hung out often, and Sora felt comfortable with him—more comfortable with him than anybody else. Her inevitable crush came and went, and now, she gives him advice regarding someone named Eloise Park.
Jonah taps his phone screen and a picture of her pops up: it's a candid, with her hair wild and curls bouncing, and he just fuckimg smiles at the phone, and if she weren't friends with him, Sora would comment at how pathetic—
"You're pathetic," she says light-heartedly with no real bite to the words. "And whipped. You're really fucking whipped."
The senior shrugs. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he says. "Our anniversary is coming up soon," Jonah comments. "Any ideas?"
Sora pretends to gag. "You guys disgust me," she says, even though Eloise is absurdly pretty and Jonah's been a ray of sunshine ever since she's walked into his life. "She doesn't seem like the dine-in, fancy restaurant type, so honestly, I think having it at home would be fine. Just be thoughtful about it."
He thinks about it and when he lifts his head, Sora knows that he already has an idea. "You're an angel," Jonah tells her, and she nods proudly, as if this information had already crossed her mind and it still sticks to this day.
"What about you?" Jonah asks, hand resting on his chin in a curious manner. "Anybody new? How's business going?"
Well, your best friend hired me to watch a sophomore named Rylin Carter, who apparently isn't gay and who is also apparently trying to teach Adrian-the-asshole a lesson, Sora wants to voice out, but eventually uses her head and replies with a negative. "Business is unusually steady," she admits. "I think people wanted to get their feelings out during the holiday season, so I was always out on the job. But other than that, nothing much has been going on."
"Anyone you're interested in?"
Sora gasps mockingly. "Who? Me? You're joking, right?"
The boy shakes his head sullenly. "I'm not good at telling jokes, it seems. Eloise is so mean to me."
I like her more already. She rolls her eyes and follows up on his original question, letting her feelings come out and frustration overtake her senses. "Unless that somebody I'm interested in is an arrogant asshole who plays hockey, hogs the ice, and flirts his way out of everything, then no, I'm not seeing anybody at the moment."
Jonah adopts a curious look, and something in his expression tells her that he knows what she's feeling even if she doesn't say it (a quirk from knowing each other for so long), and Sora presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth. "Ah," he says, waving a fork in the air before comically digging into his food. "I see the problem."
"What problem?"
Her childhood friend laughs and smiles so warmly at her that Sora remembers that they're polar opposites. "You like him," Jonah tells her. "Whoever he is—ice hogger. You like the ice hogging, arrogant asshole." A pause. "You just won't admit it because you're stubborn."
"No, I'm not—"
"Yes," he counters. "Yes you are."
Sora's mouth drops open, and maybe Jonah had changed just a bit from his long-term relationship, because he sure as hell wouldn't have said anything like this to her five months ago. "No way," she hisses a bit loudly, and she quiets down as people swivel their bodies over to her for a few seconds before turning back. "No fucking way, Jonah. He doesn't shut up—like, ever—and sometimes I think he's a bit of a pervert, and—"
"He gets under your skin?"
"Exactly! He gets under my skin, and I hate him. I do."
Jonah murmurs something under his breath, and Sora pushes his shoulder lightly. "What?"
"What's his name?"
She pauses but then eventually answers his question, lips pursed tightly. "Rylin Carter," Sora mutters. "Rylin Carter, who is a bitch but has a really nice car."
Jonah looks up at her and raises a brow before adjusting his headband. "You're so weird," he muses as another bite of food is swallowed.
"And you're whipped," she counters.
"We're pathetic."
She doesn't deny it, but when Jonah leaves and gives Sue a goodbye kiss on the cheek, Sora feels better, like all the weight she'd been carrying is now off. Maybe that boy really is magic, she thinks. And if Jonah is magic, then Rylin is poison—
Sora doesn't know which one she's starting to prefer.
Rylin drives her to the ice rink in the afternoon exactly four and a half hours until the anticipated event begins. He plays his music and blasts it through the speakers, and although she doesn't admit it, he has great taste. The alternative music calms her nerves, and when they finally reach their destination, he gets out of the car alongside her.
She raises an eyebrow. "You're skating with me?"
The boy takes his earrings out, and she looks at the ground while wishing her heart didn't malfunction the way it just did. "If the Ice Queen will allow it," Rylin says smoothly, the sass potent and so very clear.
"Oh, fuck you," Sora snaps, although a corner of her mouth curls upwards. When Rylin notices, his expression turns to one of surprise and bashfulness, and they both look away at the same time.
A second later, he's right back to version number three: the cocky one. "Yes, please," he says with a straight face. "Fuck me. I'll check my schedule, but I'm pretty sure I'm free next Friday night at six."
Her face turns an unnatural shade of purple and Sora scoffs unintelligently before stalking off towards the ice rink, making a beeline for the bathroom to rest her hands on the sink and collect her composure.
What she doesn't realize, however, is that Rylin's heartbeat is racing just as fast—if not faster.
Sora Lee despises a lot of things, but parties are at the top of the list, along with cheaters, men, and boiled eggs. It's unfortunate that invitations to Adrian's social clubs are literal golden tickets in college, and to be invited into one was to essentially be invited to another world: a place filled with real alcohol—not the cheap kind in a barrel—and slippery silk and occasionally completely illegal narcotics in the bathroom. At least, that's what the stories she's always heard informed her. Jonah, Adrian's best friend, doesn't usually accompany him to the lavish events, and tends to prefer a quiet place rather than all that raucous noise. It's a coping mechanism, Jonah told her a few hours ago. For all the shit he's going through.
She just hopes that the party has a nice selection of food where she can linger all night long and stuff her goddamn face.
At nine o'clock, Sora begins to get ready: a long, hot shower accompanied with a sharp razor and body lotion, a session of prepping her hair with a blow dryer, and a moment of sullen silence for all of the pitiful dresses hanging in her closet.
But like always, Claire Ayele always comes to her rescue. She'd been in Ethiopia for an extended vacation visiting her grandparents for the holidays and had arrived back in the states four days ago (most of which was spent recovering from her severe case of jet lag and sleeping), and Sora had missed her terribly.
She also missed Claire's closet. The girl's wardrobe was like an entire luxury mall: all the pieces were made of satin, chiffon, merino wool, or pure denim. There are no rip offs or fakes, and Sora squeals with delight as she rummages through the dresses with ease. "I love you," she tells Claire, and glares at Adeena as she laughs from the other side of the room. "You're the reason I don't look homeless."
Claire laughs. "You always look homeless," she tells the Korean girl, and Sora fake frowns.
"You're terrible, you know that?"
"You tell me that every day."
Sora blows out a puff of hot air. "Yeah, and I mean it."
The girls decide on a little black number—the dress ends around the upper thigh (Sora can't sit down, or else she'll flash everybody), cuts straight across her chest in a simple design, and hugs her hips and waist so well that everything is visible to the naked eye. Yes, Sora thinks miserably. Naked. That's practically what I am. But the dress looks good on her and this is the least provocative option (Claire loves showing off her body, and Sora completely supports her), so it'll have to manage.
Sora paints her makeup in a simple style like always. A blood red lipstick blooms on the center of her lips, giving her an impression of a full, sinful mouth; chromatic, silver highlighter dusts itself on the high edges of her cheekbones; a bit of smoky shadow is dramatically blended out at an angle, offering her a mystic, sugared glaze like that of sweet flames and white electricity. The heels on her feet are dainty and delicate and all too feminine compared to her usual chunky sneakers, and Sora limps a bit as she gets used to the feeling of unstable chaos, but she enjoys the thrill.
"You look hot," Claire approves, and Adeena gives an agreeing murmur as she looks up from her laptop and grins. "Like, really fucking hot."
Sora laughs and looks at herself in the mirror for the second time before checking the time. "You're a goddess," she tells her friend as she approaches the door. "I'll be back before midnight."
"You better be," Adeena yells out, "or else I'm eating all of your snacks."
She smiles as she leaves and leaves the dorms altogether, breathing a sigh of relief as she spots Rylin's car pulling up to the curb. The windows are too dark to make out his initial reaction, but Sora pulls open the passenger door without hesitation and slides in, making sure the liquid fabric of her dress doesn't reveal too much skin. She smells his familiar cologne—stronger this time—and when she turns to look at him, Sora finds that his gaze is already centered on her like it never left in the first place.
It's silent as Rylin's eyes start at the tips of her toes, then slide across the smooth expanse of her legs and past her torso, and linger on the slight curvature of her neck before landing on his favorite spot: her mouth. Sora's swallow is embarrassingly audible in the unusual quietness of the atmosphere, but she soon clears her throat and takes in his attire.
Holy shit.
Rylin's piercings are in (they must be a new weakness for her), and instead of his usual messy hair, his bangs are artfully swept back with a bit of hair gel, and a thin silver chain lies at the base of his throat. Long legs are clad in his usual ripped denim, but his shirt is nicer too—even though it's still black.
He's so handsome it makes Sora want to scream. She hates how good he looks; she hates how he looks at her, like she's something of his affections. And she hates herself for actually, genuinely liking the attention, because even though she always states that she hates him, Sora knows it's not true.
Rylin just gets on her nerves.
"Keeping those legs from me was the biggest crime you've ever committed, Ice Queen," Rylin says smoothly as the car starts and the GPS activates. "Who knew you could look so stunning?"
And just like that, the moment's over. "Shut the hell up, Carter," Sora grumbles. "Nice to see that you own something other than training gear."
"I could say the same thing for you, Sora Lee."
She grins into the palm of her hand, and Rylin lets out a laugh: a real laugh, not one of those fake ones she's heard one too many times. And she wants to hear it again and again and again, because he sounds like silver music and looks like the renaissance art and smells like a field of honey and butterfly jars filled with bittersweet memories. He's beautiful.
Fuck you, Sora, she thinks. Fuck your feelings.
When they arrive at the party, her eyes widen and she looks over at Rylin, who gets out of the car and opens the door for her like he was already ready, and when he grabs her wrist gently to intertwine their fingers together, Sora sucks in a quick breath as she feels the slender shape of his nails scratch against her own.
"Ready?" Rylin asks.
Her gaze locks on the house, and she hopes that this evening passes by quickly. "Ready if you are, Carter."
A pause. "After you, pretty girl."
All the stories and rumors that Sora had heard as a freshman must have all been lies, because Adrian's parties are practically insane. His second apartment (not the one he shares with Jonah) is reserved for partying and energetic gatherings, and it's clear in the layout: the kitchen is an open concept, the crystal bar lines the wall, and a table of food is open to everyone with plates and disposable utensils. Neon lights flash from above in expensive, high-beam bars and upbeat music plays from bluetooth speakers so that the surround sound isn't too loud in one place and too quiet in the other.
They're a bit late to arrive, so the party is in full force—people are pressed up against each other, gyrating and grinding to the bass, and she can spot Chase in the nook near the bathroom as she talks to her blonde friend. Adrian is in the other corner, watching everyone enjoy the scene, and his eyes occasionally flicker back to the Spanish girl with the dark, smoky hair; Sora notices this with wicked interest, and she can't believe that she'd labeled Adrian and Rylin as lovers.
Why am I always so dumb?
The boy next to her taps her elbow and draws her attention. "Go talk to Chalmetón," Rylin instructs. "Tell him you came with me and that you'll make sure I don't make a move on Chase."
Sora nods and just as she's about to walk across the dance floor, Rylin pulls her against his warm and lean body again, bending down so that his lips brush delicately across the shell of her ear, and she shivers in his hold. "Wait," he breathes, "don't accept drinks from strangers, Ice Queen."
Sora, irritated at her feelings and her body's response, nods once and looks at the floor. "I'm not a fucking idiot," she comments, voice breathy and low. "I'll just be across the room."
The boy grins and tucks a piece of stray hair back behind her ear. "Come back to me, Sora Lee."
"I—"
Then she's pulled into the push and pull of the crowd, and Sora has to physically shake her head to rid herself of the image of Rylin Carter smiling softly at her and holding her against him like—like they're together. Like they're dating.
He keeps messing with her head, and she's positive he's messing with her feelings too, because she's never heard of him dating anyone before. And Sora isn't one to keep secrets, so if these feelings keep building up, she'll eventually have to let him know. It's just the type of person she is and always will be, and she feels a bit of relief that after tonight, their deal is done.
"Adrian," she calls out, and a hand whips out and stables her in her heels. A set of blond curls and baby blue eyes look at her calmly, and Sora grins. "I'm here with Rylin," she tells him, and she watches him nod. It's like everything she's seeing is dipped in the rainbow, and there's a bit of fuzz lingering on the edges of her vision. "He won't approach Chase while I'm here, okay? It's all under control."
He sends her a smile. "Alright," Adrian shouts, and he seems to believe her. "Thanks, Sora—you have no idea how thankful I am."
She offers a thumbs-up. "I'll be leaving around midnight, okay?"
Adrian confirms that her curfew is perfectly fine with him and when she heads back to where Rylin is, she sees another girl pressed up awfully close against him, and it feels like her throat wants to close and her hands possess the sudden urge to rip the two apart. It looks wrong—Rylin and that girl look wrong together, and Sora really fucking hates it. Hates the way she's looking at him like he's the most beautiful person in this world (even though he is); hates the way she's approaching a bit closer and closer until there won't be any space left.
Sora moves before she knows it, and she expertly loops an arm around his waist and smiles at him before sending a lightning-quick glare at the girl. Red-hot satisfaction lights up her chest as Rylin rests his arm around her as if on natural instinct, and his once-bored expression turns to one of the devilish smirks that Sora is now very well acquainted with—it might be her second favorite expression of his (the first being when he laughs).
"Hey, baby," Rylin murmurs, and drops a kiss on top of her head as she tightens her hand around his toned body, feeling the rumble of his voice reverberate in her temples. Baby, Sora thinks. Oh, fuck.
"Hi," she grins sweetly at him, and leans against him once more, eyes turning to slits to send yet another warning sign at the clueless intruder. It takes a few more seconds for her to excuse herself and walk away awkwardly, and Sora clicks her tongue in annoyance before turning around to face Rylin, who wears a foreign expression on his countenance and looks the most shocked she's ever seen him.
He raises an eyebrow, and Sora finds even that movement ridiculously attractive too. "What was that, hmm?" Rylin asks, leaning down to run the tip of his nose down the slender column of her throat, smiling sharply as her breath catches. "Is my Ice Queen jealous?"
Sora clears her throat and looks away, well aware that her hand still lingers on his chest and lacks any motivation to move. "Shut up," she tells him, and feels panic rising like a hot bubble about to pop as it continues to rise.
"I could shut you up instead," Rylin murmurs, stepping even closer so that everyone knows that they're here together. And a thrill goes through her body at that realization, because he's so obvious that even Adrian laughs a bit from the other side of the room. "Want me to?"
"You're an arrogant asshole," Sora whispers, slapping his shoulder once but lacking any ounce of real force. "Why are you asking me?"
Yes, Sora thinks. Shut me up.
"Because I'm a gentleman who believes in consent," Rylin glares at her, and this energy between them—cold fire and hot ice—erupts in a lick of blue, crystallized flame. "So I'll ask this again." He pulls her against him, lips full and face golden. "Can I kiss you, Sora Lee?"
She can't take it anymore. "Stop talking and just do it, you brat."
Sora pulls him down by his collar and presses her lips to his, feeling the smooth skin heat up as his lips move against hers, and—and holy shit, he's an expert kisser. Which might be ironic considering that this is Sora's first kiss and she isn't too familiar with the exponential levels of kissing, but she assumes that Rylin is top fucking tier. His hands rest on her waist, and then on her jaw, and then on her neck: they're always moving, always traveling to new places, and Sora closes her eyes and just feels. Feels the tip of his tongue asking for entrance on the inner portion of her bottom lip; feels the way his kisses her roughly and yet smoothly at the same time, hair brushing her forehead and breath unsteady against hers. Rylin Carter tastes like a blessed curse and a collection of angelic alcohol on a summer evening, and Sora wants to hold onto him and never let him go.
Because she's making out with Rylin Carter, and everyone can see. Heart pounding, Sora rests her thumb on his pulse point and feels it flaring wildly—recklessly. Oh, my God, she thinks, a gasp escaping her as Rylin squeezes her waist, thumbs teasing the fabric. Oh, my God.
I need a drink.