"I really don't know, Arnold… those sort of things aren't really my… thing…" she finished lamely.

"Oh come on Helga!" Arnold cried, collapsing backwards on her bed and eyeing her accusingly. "We have to meet new people, yeah?" She nodded. She was meeting new people. She just wasn't sure she wanted to go to a wannabe frat boy party. "So please come with me to this? Spend just two hours with me, and I'll walk you home after."

Helga sighed. Her toes curled up in her socks. How, after all these years, could he still do this to her? Damn him and his puppy-dog eyes.

She shook her head. "You're going to make me do this, aren't you?"

"It's for your own good."

"You know what's actually good for me? Watching BBC comedies and eating pizza. Still being able to function on Saturdays is good for me…"

Arnold laughed, stood up. "I'll be back at six, with pizza. We can finish the last season of The Inbetweeners… then we go to the party. Deal?"

Helga scowled. "Deal. A shit deal… but deal."

He patted her on the head as he passed, "See ya then, Pacman. I'll let myself out."

She groaned when he closed the door. A party? Really? She had managed to talk herself out of a few of them so far, but they had been here a couple of months already, she supposed she had to get out of her little apartment at some point.

But what if the people at the party were dickheads?

She had over an hour before her next lecture. Two hours of that, and she'd be back home around five, enough time for a shower before Arnold got there… What should she wear?

She was still wondering that come six o'clock. Her hair was wet, she was wrapped in a towel, staring at her open drawers. She wore jeans basically every day. Should she wear a dress or something? Nah… she didn't want to feel even more uncomfortable. She should dress up though, shouldn't she?

She did have nice jeans… basically unworn, and some nice tops. She glanced down at her boobs. Maybe she should put them on show for once. She quite liked her boobs… but she just hated the misogynistic crap she got for them. She was going out with Arnold though. If he had even realised she had breasts, he did a very good job of hiding it. She would be out with a genuine white knight… she should be fine.

Not that she couldn't take care of herself, of course.

There was a knock at the door. Typical Arnold, always on time.

She grimaced, self-consciousness making her nervous. She padded to the door, opened it just a crack, and peeped out into the hall.

"C'mon Pataki, I'm about to drop this shit." Arnold's hands were full with pizza boxes and heavy-looking plastic bags.

"Be warned. I am not decent." She scowled.

He shrugged, almost losing the pizza in the process. "Just let me in!"

She pulled the door open and let him pass her. He just got the pizza on the table before it slid from his hands. He flexed his fingers, red from where the plastic bags he had dumped on the floor had been cutting into his skin.

"I got you a six pack of that Japanese beer you like, and a bottle of sav. Choose one though, I don't want you getting completely… uh… shit faced…" Arnold stuttered when he spun around. "Get some clothes on and we'll eat. How are you not ready yet?"

Helga glared. "Are you my fucking mother? No? Good. Put on the show, I'll be out in a second." She stomped into her bedroom. She was already moisturised, so she ferreted around in her underwear drawer for one of the few pairs of slinky panties she owned. The pink ones, kinda lacy… she had a bra to match, somewhere… ah ha! She pulled it on, did it up, and slid her hands into the cups to tug her boobs up a bit.

"Ta-da!" she chortled, grinning to herself in the mirror. Cleavage. She had to admit, it was pretty awesome. She dug out her good jeans, skin-tight skinny legs, and finally whittled her choice of tops down to three. A silvery silk tank top thing, a dusky pink satin top with buttons and a lilac slinky t shirt with birds printed on it. All three were low-cut, so it was basically down to colour.

"Hey, Shortman." Helga poked her head out of the bedroom door. "Blue, pink or silver?"

"Probably silver." He called back, not looking at her as he fiddled with her computer.

"Silver it is." She mumbled to herself. She pulled the top on over her head, assessing her reflection in the mirror. Okay… this would do. She pulled her favourite good boots from her wardrobe (wedge-heeled black combat boots) slid a chunky bronze bracelet onto her wrist and smeared make-up across her features. She re-combed her hair, put on a pair of socks, and transferred all her cards and crap into her favourite leather biker jacket.

"Ahem." She stood in the doorway, her boots and jacket in her hands.

"The socks are a good look, Pataki." Arnold said through a mouthful of pizza. "Very sexy."

She sighed, throwing herself into a chair and grabbing a pizza slice. "Why do I even bother?" she asked, leaning forward as she ate, so as not to get food on her top.

Arnold swallowed his mouthful and grinned. "Because you love me and want to make me happy. Obviously."

She snorted "Really? I thought it was because I pity you and I want to see you make a drunken fool of yourself."

"On that note…" Arnold reached into one of the bags at his feet and pulled out two bottles of beer. "Where's your opener?"

…

"Yeah yeah… it's not so bad." Helga rolled her eyes at Arnold's triumphant little smile.

He put his arm around her and gave her a little squeeze. "I told you it would be fine. Gimme a text if you can't find me or anything, ok?"

She shook her head as he swanned off into the crowd. Bloody optimistic loon. He was right though, the party was fun. She had befriended a group of undergrads out on the porch and had spent most of the night talking animatedly about everything from 18th century poetry to Game of Thrones.

She tried to shoulder through the crowd, which was getting pretty thick. Sighing, she tried to squeeze through a group of drunken freshmen, when a hand came from nowhere and grabbed her ass.

She jumped like she'd been bitten.

Spinning around, she came face to face with the leering, drunken visage of some popped-collar moron. She stood there, mouth open, shocked, as he looked her up and down.

"Nice ass." He grinned. Right before her fist rammed into his stomach. Ooof. Now that was a satisfying sound. The guy doubled over, holding his ribs.

"Don't touch me, asshole." She sneered at the loser before she turned on her heel and stalked back towards the porch. There was a mixed reaction to her outburst… mostly laughing, but a few shocked gasps, and one call of 'bitch' to which she just pulled the fingers.

"Nice shot." A low voice laughed in her ear. A tall, dark man stood in the front doorway, leaning against the frame.

She grinned. "Thanks." She couldn't remember the guys name… he had been out on the porch with her before, and from memory, he was a fan of Peake.

"Would I get a reaction like that if I were to ask you to dance?"

Whoa. She just blinked at his for a second, her mind searching desperately for what to say. He was good looking, so good looking that she had instantly discounted him. No one that hot would ever look twice at her… or so she had thought. She swallowed.

"Uh… I'm not really one for dancing…" she stammered eventually.

He grinned. "I'm not so sure I believe that… but is there anything else I could ask you to do that would just involve the two of us and, uh, wouldn't earn me a beating?"

"You're kidding, right?" Her voice was incredulous.

His smiled faltered, he held up his free hand, palm forward. "If you're not interested, I'm sorry… you're just… intriguing."

She gaped. "I… I'm interested. I mean… I thought you were joking." She realised she must look like she was a crazy person, and she blushed at the thought. She tucked her hair behind her ear and reminded herself to smile. "You just wanna go somewhere and talk, maybe?"

His smile returned, exposing white, slightly crooked teeth. "Lead the way."

…

"Yeah, I know what that's like." Matt smiled ruefully. "My mostly-absent father is a raging alcoholic. It's fucking disgraceful."

"What about your Mom?" Helga and the tall brunette were sitting side-by-side on the small wall that surrounded the property. They were just at the edge of the light that shone through the windows, close enough to hear the music, far enough away to hear each other.

He shrugged, took a sip of his beer. "She's a nice enough lady, but she's… delicate? She doesn't cope very well with, well, anything." His lop-sided smile was sad. "She does better when she's on her own, she worries too much when I'm around."

Helga nodded, she could understand that. She fiddled with the empty beer bottle in her hands, scratching at the label with her short fingernails. She was nervous, excited. She had been sitting in the dark with a gorgeous man for the past two hours, talking about shit she had never discussed with a stranger before.

"Helga!" she jumped when she heard her name. A figure came briskly across the yard. Shit, she had forgotten all about Arnold.

"Over here!" She waved.

"Shit, Helga… I've been looking everywhere for you." He scowled, eyeing Matt suspiciously.

She fumbled in her jacket pockets, pulling out her phone. Four messages and two missed calls. Oops.

"Shit… sorry man." Helga pouted out her bottom lip. "I just, uh… lost track of time."

Arnold eyed Matt again at that. "You ok?"

"Yeah… fine. Matt, Arnold, Arnold, Matt."

Matt offered his hand. "Hey." He smiled, as Arnold grudgingly shook it.

"So… you ready to go?" Arnold looked… mad.

No. "Um…" she glanced at Matt. Really not wanting to leave yet. She looked down at her phone, it was past one in the morning. She knew Arnold had to work the next day. She felt awful. She also felt kinda stuck in the middle. She didn't know what to say.

"I can walk you home, if you like." Matt said softly, smiling.

Helga felt her breath catch. "You sure?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it's fine. I'm not in any kind of rush."

She looked up at Arnold. "It's cool, Shortman. I have a bodyguard." She smiled, but Arnold's face was firm.

"Alright. Keep safe, OK, Pataki?" He stared straight into her eyes, concerned, and obviously more than a bit annoyed.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She tried to keep her voice light, but he just looked so miffed that it came out sounding desperate, more like a question than a statement.

"Sure. Seeya." He turned on his heel and stomped off, heading out the gate and in the direction of his dorm.

"Well…" Matt said slowly. "That was… awkward…"

Helga grimaced. "God, totally. I must have really pissed him off."

Matt laughed. "Yeah… or something. He isn't a boyfriend or anything, is he?"

It was Helga's turn to laugh. She shook her head. "Arnold? No. Not at all. We've just known each other since we were three, is all."

Mat grinned, passed her the half-full beer in his hand, the last they had between them. "Does he know that?"

Helga groaned. "The closest Arnold and I have ever come to being a couple was when he played the Romeo to my Juliette in the school play… when we were nine." Not to mention the years I spent pining after him, writing poetry, wishing desperately that he would notice me… no… if he were interested, he would have done something about it by now.

"So you're single?"

She smiled. "Sitting out here with you for hours, alone, drinking and talking all cosy-like would be pretty inappropriate if I had a partner, don't you think?"

"You didn't answer my question." His grin was cheeky, exposing a dimple in his left cheek.

"Yeah, I'm single. What about you?"

"More single than you." She could hear the laugh in his voice. Her stomach flipped as he put his arm around her shoulders. She turned slightly to look at him. Jesus Christ he was good looking. All olive skin, dark eyes, long eyelashes. His square jaw was dark with stubble.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I don't even have childhood friend to protect me from prospective girlfriends." Oh god, why was he smiling? Was his stomach not roiling with nerves too?

"Is the Arnold thing a problem?" She asked, really not wanting to have any kind of jealous guy-shit in her life.

He squeezed her shoulder, his eyes locked onto hers. Oh fuck. Is he going to kiss me? "Not at all… I'm not the jealous type."

She didn't know what to say. She had to struggle to keep up with the conversation as it was. His leather-clad arm held her tight against his chest. She felt stuck, she wanted to turn to face him, but nerves held her in place, clutching at the beer.

"Would you punch me if I kissed you?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head. "Slap me?" she shook her head again. "Berate me?" and again.

His hand came up to brush a lock of hair from her face. His fingertips trailed down her cheek. Without taking his eyes from hers, he took the bottle from her hands and tossed it unceremoniously out onto the grass.

She finally turned to him, their thighs pressed together, her breast pressed against his ribs. He leaned down to her, while she tilted her head up…

His lips were soft, cold from the night air. His breath smelled amazing… he smelled amazing. Like leather and cotton and skin. His stubble scratched her, his fingers held her firmly against him. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket, but she barely registered it.

This guy was amazing. He didn't shove his tongue into her mouth or go weirdly still or drool or do any of those other things that ruined kisses. He just pressed kiss after kiss against her lips, until he pulled away, smiling.

"Can I walk you home?"