(Izzy POV)
I'm slouched against the wall outside my last class, charcoal still smudged on my fingers, when Marco rolls up in that damn car, black, sleek, all curves and shine, the kind that makes people stare. The window slides down, and he's grinning at me, dark hair a mess, like he just crawled outta bed, sexy as hell. "Get in, Harper," he calls, voice cutting through the campus chatter, and my heart does that dumb flip it's been doing since the rooftop last night, since he kissed me like the world could burn. I toss my bag in the back, it lands with a thud, I slide into the passenger seat, leather cool against my bare legs, sticking a little.
"Where we going?" I ask, buckling up, my fingers fumbling the clip. He just smirks, cocky, hot, cranks the music, some punk song we both love, all screaming guitars and thumping bass that rattles my bones. I laugh as he peels out, tires squeal loud, rubber burning, and it's reckless, stupid, perfect. It shoves Mom's crap about Antonio Rossi right outta my head, her giddy voice, that mafia prick's name. Tonight's ours, me and Marco, no plans, no rules.
He drives fast, weaving through Queens like the streets are his playground, dodging cars, cutting corners, wind whipping through the open windows. I don't ask where, just lean back, let the music pound through me, the city blurring by. We end up at this dive bar near campus, sticky floors, neon buzzing, air thick with smoke and stale beer. Marco grabs us beers, bottles cold, dripping, squeezes us into a corner booth, knees knocking under the table. He's close, arm brushing mine, sparking heat, and I feel it again, that jolt, alive and dangerous. "You're trouble," he says, sipping his drink, eyes locked on me, dark and teasing.
"You started it," I shoot back, grinning wide. He laughs, loud, easy, pulls me in tighter, hand resting on my thigh like it's his spot now. I drink too much, too fast, beers turn to shots, tequila burning my throat, room tilting. Some dude at the bar yells at the TV, sports, whatever, but it's background noise. Just me and Marco, laughing at nothing, his fingers digging into my leg, heat pooling where he touches.
We stumble out after midnight, air bites my flushed face, cold and sharp. "Your place?" he asks, voice low, rough with want, and I nod, giggling stupid as he grabs my hand, tugging me along. The drive back's a haze, music blasting, windows down, his fingers laced with mine, tight and warm. My dorm's empty when we crash in, roommate's gone for the weekend, thank God. I kick the door shut, it bangs loud, and he's on me, kissing me hard against the wall, pinning me there. It's messy, wild, teeth clashing, hands grabbing, and I don't care about anything else, Mom, tomorrow, all that crap, just him, just this.
Clothes hit the floor fast, my shirt rips a little, his jacket thumps, jeans tangle in a heap. We're drunk, sloppy, laughing between kisses, tripping over each other. His hands roam, warm, rough, pulling me to the bed. Sheets twist around us as we crash together, hot, needy, all skin and sweat. It's quick, messy, him inside me, fast and desperate, but it's right, like we're stealing something, claiming it. After, we're panting, sprawled out, his arm heavy across my chest, pinning me. "You're mine now," he says, grinning, voice thick with booze and sleep, slurring a little.
I turn to him, my heart still racing, pounding loud. "What are we?" I ask, half-joking, but it's real, digging at me. He looks at me, eyes soft for once, not sharp, and says, "You're mine now, official. My girlfriend." I smile, big, dumb, unstoppable, kiss him again, hard. "Good," I whisper, all in, screw the chaos, screw Mom's wedding, this is what I've got, what matters.
We raid my stash after, cheap vodka, burns going down. The room spins, we're laughing again, telling stupid stories, half-shouting over each other. He sings off-key to the music still looping on my phone, punk, tinny, and I shove him, giggling 'til my sides ache, tears prickling. We're a mess, drunk, sloppy, tangled up, I don't know when we pass out, but we do, his breath hot on my neck, my legs hooked over his, heavy and warm. It's perfect, nothing can touch us here.
Morning slams me like a fist, sunlight stabs through the blinds, slicing my eyes. My head's pounding, hammer on my skull, and Marco's still out, sprawled across the bed, one arm flopped over me, snoring soft. I groan, rub my face, hands gritty, try to piece last night together. The vodka bottle's empty, tipped over on the floor, clothes everywhere, my bra dangling off a chair. A smile creeps up, his grin, him saying I'm his, official. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, loud, grating, I grab it, squint at the screen. Mom.
I almost chuck it, let it buzz, but it keeps going, insistent. I answer, my voice scratched raw. "What?" I snap, sitting up, sheets slide off. Marco stirs, mumbles something sleepy, but I wave him off, annoyed.
"Izzy, honey," Mom says, all fake sugar, shaky under it. "You've gotta come to the wedding today. It's happening." Her voice wobbles, she's scared I'll say no. She should be.
"No way," I bark, my head throbs harder, pain spiking. "Not celebrating that creep." Antonio Rossi, smug face, slick suit, flashes up, everything Dad despised, bleeding out for. I can't believe she's doing this, selling out.
"Please, for me," she begs, desperate, cracking through her usual pep. "It's important. I need you there." I freeze, words hit soft, worming in. I hate her right now, hate her picking him, forgetting Dad, but that plea snags me, tugs something I don't wanna feel. I don't wanna care, but damn it, I do.
I'm about to yell again when Marco sits up, rubs his face, hair sticking everywhere. "What's up?" he asks, voice rough, groggy. I cover the phone, glare at him, sharp.
"Mom," I mutter, then back to her, "I'll think about it. Bye." I hang fast, toss the phone down, it clatters loud. My stomach twists, I don't wanna go, but her voice sticks, needling me.
Marco yawns, stretches big, muscles flexing under ink. "Everything okay?" he asks, pulling me back down, his arm loops around me, warm. I nod, force a smile, shaky.
"Yeah, just family stuff," I say, keep it vague, light. He doesn't need the wedding mess, not after last night, not when we're us now, official. I won't let her touch this.
"Speaking of family," he says, standing, grabs his shirt, tugs it on slow. "Gotta run home, duties today. Dad's on my ass." His tone's off, edgy, annoyed, he doesn't spill more.
"Sounds fun," I tease, hide my own junk, keep it breezy. He smirks, leans down, kisses me quick, lips brushing mine.
"See you later, girlfriend," he says, grins, and I laugh, shove him toward the door, playful. He's gone fast, door clicks, and I'm alone with the empty bottle, Mom's call echoing. I flop back, stare at the ceiling, my head spinning. Please, for me. Damn it, I don't wanna go, but what if I've got no choice?