Chapter Text
It’s never surprising, when at a party with that most of the residents of a college campus are at, that Cara Hills would see Anabelle Green in a fight with someone.
That anyone would, to be honest- frat parties with provided alcohol and the lingering feeling of being watched by sweaty boys always means that the girl who should’ve been born a boy with all the fucking around and playing with women she does, will be guaranteed to piss some ex-link off when she hooks up with yet another girl. Anabelle herself never seems too bothered by the amount of people that scream in her face weekly- she just smirks that insufferable smirk, checks the girl out, and runs her tongue over her teeth with raised eyebrows as if to say, ‘Are you done?’.
Clara has never once fallen for it. She’s slightly appalled, actually, that people of her own maturity still choose to let Anabelle take them home when they’re fully aware of the consequences.
Still, while she pities the latest victim of the fuckgirl who’s sobbing her eyes out on the dance floor, Clara can’t help but think- God, again?
Anabelle Green is like, the epitome of stereotypical spoiled trust fund kid- a complete player and cockier than all the boys at Oakwood college combined in both aspects. She’s disappeared somewhere else, now, and Clara’s nosy ass turns back to the little circle of friends she’s chatting with and leans against the kitchen island.
“Okay, okay- never have I ever… been in handcuffs?”
Clara doesn’t hear who exactly asked, she lost track of the game a long time ago, but she doesn’t touch her shot glass. Instead, she leans against the island and grins at her best friend, Nadia, across the room, prepared to get up and say hi because damn she looks good tonight.
Something- or rather, someone’s drunk ass stumbles against Clara literally in that moment, causing her to make a soft, startled noise because why the hell do people have no spacial awareness?
“Hey, damn! Sorry, I fell.”
“Hm?” unfortunately, attention piqued by the genuine tone in the low, smooth voice addressing her, Clara glances up at whoever muttered that dangerously close to her ear.
“Fell for you, beautiful. Can I get you another drink?”
Ugh, ew. Clara physically cringes- who in the world still uses pickup lines unironically?
It poses little surprise when she finally looks up and makes eye contact with the infamous Anabelle Green, so close to her face. So close, and it’s awful to admit that Clara does get a fluttery feeling in her lower abdomen when Green’s ocean blue eyes dart down to her gloss-slick lips, her own lips turned up at the corners in such a playfully innocent way that Clara almost believes she’s being genuine. Almost.
“…seriously?”
Anabelle just flashes her signature grin, shrugging one shoulder and allowing her gaze to drift back up to Clara’s eyes, intense and hot and slightly squinted.
“Yeah, seriously- what do you like? Cider, vodka-”
“No, I mean that that’s the worst pickup line. Like, ever.” Clara’s reply comes with a short, disbelieving laugh as she adjusts her sequin top, wrinkling her nose and squinting back, eyes flicking between Anabelle’s cheeky smile and far less innocent, heavy eye contact.
“You’re smiling, though. Let me try again- did it hurt when-?”
And now Clara wants to go home. She cuts off the stupid, cheesy ass line with a heavy exhale, pinching the bridge of her nose- although the dismissal doesn’t falter Anabelle’s smirk at all. She just tilts her head as she listens, far too attentively to have good intentions. Clara’s sudden poker face better be convincing, because no way is she letting her have the upper hand.
“You’re so full of shit, oh my God.”
“Yeah, and I want to get you a drink. Let me?”
That line alone has probably gotten hundreds of girls into her car before. Clara could be less than half assed.
“I’m good, I don’t wanna be another one of your side pieces. I’ve seen you fucking around, Anabelle.”
“Oh, you have, huh? I bet I could be better for you, though, baby.”
And shit, Anabelle’s good. Her replies come fast, too fast, and with that tone of voice that makes it known she thinks she’s getting what she wants before midnight.
“Bet you say that to all of your girls. Baby.”
Yeah, Clara’s good too. Anabelle needs to stick it up her ass next time she tries with someone like her, because clearly, she’s far better with both sarcasm and talking to overconfident fuckgirls without stuttering even once-
“Call me that again, I liked it.”
Never mind.
“Go away, oh my God!”
“At least I’m trying.”
“Yeah, to get laid.”
“What’s your name?”
Don’t tell her.
“Clara.”
Shit. It’s okay, you’re drunk. Time to find Nadia and go home.
“Clara. Let me take you on a date, prove it to you.”
That makes Clara pause. Double take, even, because no way this bitch has the audacity to ask that after cutting it off with her fourth girl this week five minutes ago. With at least 20 others in her contacts.
“You literally couldn’t convince me with a hundred gazillion dates. I’m going to my friend now, goodbye!”
“That isn’t a number, c’mon! I can change your mind on three dates, watch me.”
And she’s insistent? For God’s actual sake, all Clara wanted was to drink and then have a sleepover with Nadia, and so, with a scoff and a shake of her head, she begins to reply with something so jaw dropping that Anabelle will actually be in awe and shock and then walk away and leave her alone.
“…You’ll pay for everything, yeah?”
Or not. Y’know what, fuck it, free food and days out? And I don’t have to get attached.
“Sure, baby. Give me your number-”
Anabelle’s breath is warm against Clara’s cheek as she hands her phone over, that same infuriating smirk on her lips as she glances from Clara’s eyes to the device, and then slowly up her face from lips to eyes again.
“Fuck it, why not. I’m in the Sycamore building on campus.”
“Mhm? I’ll pick you up Friday, ‘kay? Bye.”
And then she’s not near her face at all, flitting around the room with that same cocky grin and greeting one of the frat bros she’s somehow infiltrated.
“Mmh.”