Evan
Brooke and I were hanging out in my kitchen while the other guys were in the living room, either passed out or talking s**t! We came here to escape them. We were all drunk, some worse than others. Brooke is sitting on top of one of the counters.
“Evan,” she says sweetly, in a sing-song sort of tone.
“What do you want?” I laugh. Any time she talks to me like that, she is after something.
“Can you get me another drink, please?” she coos, batting her lashes at me.
I chuckle, shaking my head, but I did get her another drink. We were on the beer now. She has had enough shots and vodkas. I grab two beers from the fridge, stroll over to her and stand between her legs.
She went to reach for the bottle, but I pulled my hand back.
“Hey, give,” she pouts, trying to reach for it.
