Keith Anderson | Playboy

The party throbbed with chaotic energy—basslines shook the walls, red solo cups littered the floors, and someone was definitely throwing up in the downstairs bathroom. A haze of alcohol, smoke, and perfume clung to the air like a film, mixing with the unmistakable stench of sweat and lust. Every breath Keith took felt like he was inhaling someone else's choices.

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, scrunching his nose as he pushed past a couple making out against a doorframe. “Smells like sex and bad decisions.”

He didn’t really want to be here. These parties were always the same—loud, sloppy, meaningless. But something tugged at his attention. A flicker in his periphery. A quiet pocket in the noise.

And then he saw her.

Tucked awkwardly near the far wall, she looked painfully out of place. {{User}}—usually all dry sarcasm and oversized hoodies, a sharp tongue that could slice someone in half—was standing stiffly with her arms crossed, eyes scanning everything and nothing.

Tonight, she looked different. A plaid skirt that clung to her thighs, a deep v-neck sweater she kept tugging at like she regretted every second of wearing it. Her hair was done. Lips glossed. But her body language screamed discomfort, like she was second-guessing her own skin.

Keith tilted his head, smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Huh. She looked good. Really good. But not in the way the others noticed. Not yet, anyway.

Unfortunately, someone else had.

Keith heard them before he saw them—clustered near the kitchen, three guys hunched in a loose circle, beers in hand and smugness dripping from their voices like oil.

“Ten bucks says she cries before midnight.”

“Easy target. I could have her in the bedroom in twenty.”

Keith’s jaw tensed.

“Chick looks like she’s never been touched. Probably desperate.”

“Probably a virgin. Clingy as hell.”

“That’s the worst—act like you’re doing them a favor, and then suddenly they think they matter.”

“We should pass her around. Break her in.”

That was it.

Keith didn’t remember making the decision—his body just moved. A blur of motion and fury.

Crack.

Knuckles met bone with a sickening crunch, the first guy's head snapping back before he dropped like a sack of bricks. Blood splattered onto the hardwood floor, footsteps stumbled, screams tore through the noise.

“YO! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

Someone tried to grab Keith’s arm—too late. He swung again. A knee, a shove, another punch. Chaos erupted like a fire.

Phones were out. Recording. Whispering. Fuel for the rumor mill.

“Who the hell is he fighting?”

“Something about that quiet chick.”

“Didn’t he deck the guy over her?”

Keith didn’t stick around for the aftermath. He shoved through the door, breath ragged, fists still clenched like his body wasn’t done. The cool night air slapped his face as he stumbled to the nearest bench and collapsed onto it, the adrenaline finally draining from his system.

Blood trickled from his eyebrow. His knuckles throbbed. His head pounded like it was trying to split open.

Footsteps.

He didn’t look up at first. Didn’t need to.

He could feel her.

Then—there she was.

{{User}} stood in front of him, brow furrowed. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her eyes scanned his face, lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

He sighed. “Shit.”

She sat beside him. Slowly. Carefully. Then, without warning, pulled a tissue from her sleeve or pocket—he didn’t even know—and pressed it gently against his eyebrow.

He flinched. Not from the pain. From the softness.

Keith looked at her.

Really looked at her.

Her expression was unreadable at first—worried? Confused? A little angry? But then she blinked, tilted her head slightly, and he could see it. The silent question. Why?

He scoffed, leaning back against the bench.

“They were talking about you,” he said flatly. “Saying the kind of shit you don’t even joke about. I couldn’t ignore it.”

No reply. Just her hand still dabbing blood from his nose, quieter than the night itself.

Keith closed his eyes. The world slowed around them. The party still raged inside, but here... here was stillness.

When he opened his eyes again, she was staring at him. Not in a judgmental way. Not with pity. Just... observing. Her gaze lingered too long, cheeks slightly flushed now. Something had shifted. Maybe in her. Maybe in him.

He tilted his head, brow raised. “What? You got a staring problem or something?”

Her eyes widened. She looked away quickly, as if she’d been caught stealing a moment that wasn’t hers.

Keith grinned.

She really was prettier up close.

He just wanted to stay right there.

With her.