It was a quarter to one in the morning when I broke away from the girl whose arms were coiled around my neck like a snake. “Sorry babe,” I faked a frown, “I’ve got places to be.”

Without waiting for her response, I turned and walked toward the kitchen to get a drink. Sex with Connor and then a half-hearted makeout session with whoever caught my attention first had left me in desperate need of hydration.

Going and kissing other people straight after sex with Connor probably wasn’t the greatest idea because now it’s going to be hard to get them to leave me alone. Then again, I’ve got to keep my reputation alive.

Rifling through the fridge’s contents, I pulled out a bottle of water and twisted the cap off. I leaned back against the countertop, taking slow sips while watching sweaty teenagers quickly unravel under the influence of strong alcohol and dim lighting.

“There you are.” Quinton, one of my best friends, sidled up beside me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you the past hour. Where’d you disappear to?”

I smirked around the mouth of the bottle. “Oh, you know. Around.”

Quinton barked out a laugh, used to my evasive answers by now.

A moment of silence settled between us before I asked, “Have you seen Keegan? We should head out soon. It’s getting late.” My gaze flicked around the room in search of our missing friend.

Quinton shook his head, glasses askew across the bridge of his nose. "I last saw him chatting up some girl from the softball team but that was over an hour ago."

I took that as it was and raised the bottle to my lips again. The song had changed to some obnoxious EDM mix – the kind only twenty-something guys showing off in luxury sport cars listened to. Furniture had been shoved up against the walls of the room to construct a makeshift dance floor and students from both Ridgemount and Northshore were performing moves no person should ever have to observe sober.

This was nothing new. Someone threw a party every week and each school would flock to it like dim-witted pigeons. Of course, I couldn’t really speak since I often ended up there too but my reasons were different. Win or lose, people expected me to make an appearance. It came with the territory of being soccer Captain. Besides, it’s not like we didn’t usually appear without a victory in our hands. Our team was the best and everyone knew it.

Quinton and I watched as a Northshore player broke away from the crowd, cupping one hand over his mouth. Quinton grimaced and I rolled my eyes as we watched him throw up in a pot plant.

“Oh,” Quinton winced, “whoever is hosting this party is not going to enjoy explaining that to their mum tomorrow. Or the rubbish all over the floor.”

I snorted. “Or the brown stains on the hallway carpet. I’m pretty sure there’s something alive back there.”

A crash sounded somewhere to our left and Quinton’s eyes widened. I glanced up the ceiling and sighed, not wanting to know.

It wasn’t much of a stretch to claim teenagers as the vile delinquents of society. The behaviour displayed tonight alone would be enough to have dead ancestors rolling over in their graves. Every week only turned out to be another delightful reminder that no one knew how to through a party like I did.

My parents weren’t neglectful but they kept long hours for work. They often weren’t home until late, if at all, giving me the free reign to throw parties in their absence. My mum’s trust in me was unwavering as I’d proven numerous times over the years there was no reason to doubt my methods.

The upstairs rooms were always locked and any valuables stowed away. As long as I cleaned up afterwards – an easy task with the help of small cleaning staff my parents hired to keep the house in check – then my mum didn’t mind a party here and there. Dad wasn’t home enough to care about a gathering of teenagers in his living room.

Parties at my house were usually to commemorate another victory. I didn’t host them all the time but enough to reaffirm my status as what the cheer squad had dubbed as high school royalty.

Was it vain? Absolutely. But when it came to your reputation, nothing would ever be overblown.

“Your reputation is formed by how you carry your pride,” my father had told me across the dinner table one night when I was eleven. “Our family name and all it stands for is a weight you must carry without weakness. Your mother and I have worked too hard for you to waste everything on meaningless high school relationships and extra-curricular activities that have no relevance to your future. Be smart, Dakota. Prove me wrong about you.”

The popularity scene was shallow and melodramatic but my father’s words still lingered in my head years later. What did it matter how elaborate something was when it worked in your favour?

When I spoke, people listened. When I played, people watched. It even helped me become soccer Captain so I could smash Connor's sorry excuse for a team on the field. A little expectation was nothing when I got to watch Connor stomp off the pitch after running Northshore into the dirt each season.

At school, my grades were stellar. I had great friends who cared about me and got to do something I loved everyday: play soccer. What could I complain about?

Well, maybe one thing.

Connor Taylor.

Where did I even begin with him?

Connor and I had known each other for a long time but it was never a friendly relationship. We absolutely hated each other. It first started when we were kids and used to play in little league together.  Connor liked to criticise my every move and I would yell insults about his playing style back at him in retaliation.

We were only young then but that hatred carried into high school where it just got worse and worse. We both fought our way onto our school teams and vied for captaincy in our third years. Ridgemount’s first win over Northshore pushed Connor to train harder and my team to play harder. Our issues used to just be on the field but had evolved into an all-out war across the board. There wasn’t a single time we’d stood in the same room without yelling insults at one another in over two years.

Then there's the whole friends with benefits deal. If we’re being specific, it was technically enemies with benefits.

My memory of how it started was hazy and distorted with time. I could ask Connor but would then live to rue the day I gave him something to hold over me. He was too cocky for his own good.

The only thing I did remember was something about a party last year. Ridgemount had just beaten Northshore in the final game of the season and Connor and I were having a merry old time, once again, yelling at each other.

Connor had accused me of cheating because one of our players had injured their goalie (by accident) and they had to use a first year. It wasn’t exactly a hard option to beat and Connor was furious.

Somewhere in the heat of our argument that night I remembered kissing him. Part of the blame could definitely be placed on the alcohol I had consumed prior, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t some primal instinct to shut him up the best way I knew how.

To say I was surprised that Connor kissed me back was an understatement. Hit me, slap me, punch me, whatever, but to kiss me back? I think it surprised even him.

Not long after the kiss we’d ended up fooling around in one of the downstairs bedrooms. I hadn’t even expected the sex to be decent but it had ended up being far better than I thought. If Connor was inexperienced with guys, it certainly didn’t show.

Only after we’d come down from our high did we realise what we’d just done. Both of us were mortified and could barely look at one another let alone speak. Then something changed.

After the initial regret, and more than a few threats exchanged, Connor completely surprised me when he admitted he enjoyed the experience. If I wasn’t so caught up in the horror of our act, I would’ve responded with some cocky remark. My body was stunned and I was lost for words.

Eventually, I came to the realisation that I felt the same and conceded that the sex didn’t make me want to poke my eyes out. After all, it was just two people doing what nature intended. Feelings didn’t have to be involved. We agreed to continue our routine from then onwards.

Our dialogue was awkward for a little while afterwards. The deliverance of our arguments wasn't the same for weeks after but we eventually fell back into our usual rhythms. Insults were still thrown across the room at one another and we did our best to one-up the other whenever the chance arose. The sex was just a stress reliever and meant nothing to either of us once we left the bedroom.

Still, I wasn't complaining. It's like I said, Connor was pretty good in bed – not that I'd ever tell him that.

A few hours later the party was starting to die down and people were beginning to clear out. I eventually found Keegan standing by the fire pit with a number of guys, blonde hair illuminated by the flames.

"We should start heading out," I suggested, coming up on his left. "It's getting late."

"Dakota Anderson," Keegan slurred. He draped his arms around my neck and hung off me, clearly wasted. “The only jock who can successfully be a buzzkill.”

With a laugh, I unhooked his arms and gently guided him toward the door. Quinton followed behind us. "When you wake up safe and alive in your bed tomorrow, then you can tell me how much of a buzzkill I am."

People called out goodbyes as we made our way through the house. I only entertained a few of them while guiding a drunk Keegan out the door. Quinton hooked Keegan’s other arm over his shoulder as I fumbled for my keys to unlock the car. It took both of us to wrestle Keegan into the backseat and strap his seatbelt on given that he’d somehow decided twerking while singing Nikki Minaj was the best thing he could do in that exact moment.

We drove to Keegan's house first. I led him up to his bedroom and, being the good friend I am, helped him into a pair of sweats to sleep in. Keegan’s dad came out of his bedroom just as I was creeping down the stairs.

“Again?” he asked, unsurprised but not angry.

“He’s been on water since twelve-thirty,” I replied. “He’ll have a wicked headache in the morning but I don’t think he’ll throw up this time.”

“Thanks, Dakota. Get home safe, yeah?”

I nodded before leaving Keegan’s house.

Seeing as Quinton was not drunk like Keegan, I simply pulled up in front of his house and bid my friend goodnight as he climbed out and went inside.