Sorority Party - Part 2
1236 Words
「 ✦ Halsey's POV ✦ 」
As the noise picks up with the group entering the house, all of us turn towards the front door where a towering figure commands the room— a six-foot-three towering Viking of a man whose chiseled features could melt glaciers walked in leading the group.
His wheat-blond hair catches the light from the hallway, creating a halo effect as his smile reveals a flawless row of perfect teeth.
Two 24-packs dangle from each of his hands, as he announces in a booming baritone, "THE PARTY HAS NOW ARRIVED, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"
My sister's laughter bubbles up like champagne. Her fingers slip from mine, leaving behind a ghost of warmth as she jogs lightly across the hardwood floor, hips swaying beneath her dress.
She moves with the practiced confidence of someone who knows exactly what effect she has, each step of her stilettos punctuating her approach before she stretches upward, her slender arms encircling the vikings thick neck, her body melting against the contours of his torso.
Despite her four-inch heels elevating her to nearly 6 foot, he still gazes down at her, his azure eyes softening at the edges.
The look he gives her transforms his handsome face into something vulnerable—the kind of unguarded tenderness that makes onlookers feel like intruders witnessing something sacred.
My sister's cheeks bloom with a soft pink as she gazes up at him, her eyes shining with unmistakable devotion. The way she looks at him reminds me of those romantic movie moments I always thought were exaggerated.
She turns to Hazel and me, with a gentle smile playing on her lips. "Guys, this is Niko, my boyfriend. Those guys hovering behind him are his teammates from the football team and his Sigma Chi brothers."
"Niko, meet my sisters—Halsey and Hazel." Her voice carries a hint of pride as she introduces us. Niko's face lights up with a megawatt smile that reveals perfect white teeth against his tanned skin.
"Hello, beautiful sisters-in-law," he says in a deep, warm voice tinged with a slight accent. "It's truly an honor." He executes a playful bow from the waist, his broad shoulders dipping gracefully as his blonde hair falls forward.
The rest of his group—a parade of broad shoulders and sharp jawlines—surges through the door like a wave of cologne and confidence. Hazel's gaze locks onto them, her eyes widening slightly as they saunter past. She tracks their movements hungrily, from their styled hair down to their expensive shoes, as they disappear into the kitchen where bass-heavy music pulses through the crowded living room.
When she finally tears her attention away, she catches me watching her my eyebrow arched knowingly - bemused.
A delicate pink flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks, like watercolor bleeding across paper. "What?" she shrugs, smiling impishly. "I can look, I just can't touch. And look I shall." Her lips curl into a self-satisfied smirk that vanishes in the next instant as she looks over my shoulder.
Her mouth falls open, pupils dilating as she stares transfixed at something— or someone—behind me.
"Dear lord," she whispers, her voice dropping to a reverent hush, "that is not a man, that is f*****g god."
I chuckle and turn to follow Hazel's gaze, then freeze mid-motion.
My breath catches somewhere between my chest and throat. The party noise fades to distant static, sounds blurring like I'd suddenly been submerged underwater. He walked in like gravity itself had shifted, pulling everyone's attention toward the doorway where he stood, surrounded by a constellation of impossibly gorgeous men who paled in comparison to him.
He towered over everyone like a modern Adonis—easily 6'5", maybe even 6'6"—with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, his textured black button-up with short sleeves strained against his marble-carved chest, casually open at the throat. Intricate tattoos wound their way up his powerful arms, disappearing beneath the fabric of his shirt, only to reemerge at his collar, hinting at artwork that claimed every inch of skin between his chest and neck.
His skin glowed with the kind of deep golden-bronze tan, that only comes from days spent under open skies, not tanning beds. His jawline could cut diamond, accentuated by the perfect shadow of stubble that made his full, rose-petal lips look even more luscious against the masculine terrain of his face.
Midnight-black curls crowned his head in deliberate disarray—the top swept back as if wind-tousled, while looser curls fell slightly to one side, framing his devastating cheekbones. The sides of his head were precision-faded, the kind of haircut that costs three figures.
But it was his eyes—those eyes imprisoned me where I stood.
They were the blue of deep arctic ice, of tropical lagoons at noon, of sapphires held to sunlight. Even from across the room, I could see the hypnotic kaleidoscope of cerulean, cobalt, and azure swirling in his irises, flecked with silver like stars reflected on tropical waters, rimmed by thick, sooty lashes.
"Holy s**t," Hazel breathed beside me, her fingers digging painfully into my forearm. "That's Hero James."
The name registered somewhere in the back of my mind, but I couldn't process it. I was too busy fighting the magnetic pull that made me want to cross the room, to step directly into his orbit and let gravity do the rest.
His approach was glacial; the kind of slow-burn entrance that suggested he’d never needed to hurry in his life. The men flanking him seemed to shrink in his presence, their own beauty rendered generic by proximity; he outclassed them the way a panther outclasses a pack of house cats.
He wore tight black jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, and clean black Chelsea boots. His outfit accentuated the architectural perfection of his face making it feel like he was even more untouchable, like a mythic king in disguise.
He moved with predatory ease—shoulders loose, hands buried in his pockets, sweeping the room like a searchlights, pausing momentarily on faces before moving on, assessing, dismissing, surveying the party with a detached amusement that made it instantly clear he’d been born for this kind of attention.
Every woman and half the men in the party tracked him as he passed, conversations faltering, laughter trailing off, as if the gravity of his presence had bent the physics of the room.
At somepoint the ambient noise had returned, I realized, but warped—every sound seemed sharper, more brittle, as if the world itself were waiting for him to speak.
Even his scent preceded him, a faint, woodsmoke-and-bergamot cologne that I felt rather than smelled. My heart hammered, erratic, as if it had just remembered the possibility of miracles.
He was close now—so close that Hazel’s jaw went slack.
I watched, spellbound, as the man’s gaze flicked over Hazel.
Then it happened.
Those hypnotic eyes locked onto mine with surgical finality, pupils dilating just a fraction as he took me in, the background noise faded completely.
His gaze narrowed slightly, his head tilting almost imperceptibly.
Then he smiled—a slow, devastating curve that was equal parts invitation and threat.
A shiver raced down my spine, A warning but also desire.
Every instinct screamed danger, and yet…
My gaze remained locked with his, unable to break away.
- Writer
