ONE
This is not how I usually spend a Friday night. Actually, this isn’t how I’d choose to spend anynight, but when your best friend calls you and begs you to go out with her so she can get over her shitty ex, you put aside your personal desires and put on the sluttiest dress you own—which is arguably not that slutty at all—and join her in a night of debauchery.
As I toss back another shot of liquid courage, I decide to say “fuck it” and throw caution to the wind. Maybe it’s good for me to do something out of my norm.
Blaire tosses her hands up in the air as she smiles at me.“Hell yeah. Lexi is finally letting loose.”
I give her a wan smile as I fight the urge to cough from the burning sensation working its way through my chest into the pit of my stomach.
I can barely hear her over the pounding bass in the fancy Hollywood club she chose. I take a sip of lemon water, hoping it’ll cool the burning of the shot, and remind myself I’m doing this for her. It doesn’t matter if I’d much rather be curled up at home in the oversized beanbag I got on sale at Target with the latest romance pulled up on my tablet that I bought just to try to reduce my book buying.
Books are my happy place, and I’m much more comfortable getting lost in a book than fighting against the overly loud music blaring through this club just to have a conversation with my friend.
God, I sound like I’m eighty-seven instead of twenty-seven.
Blaire tosses back her own shot and then grabs my hand and pulls me away from the bar into the throng of people. She lets her body move to the beat of the music, and I stand there trying to find my rhythm, but I’ve not had nearly enough alcohol. She squints at me when she notices my lame moves, and I offer her a shrug.
“You are too hot to dance this badly,” she shouts.
“I like to be unique!” I shout back with a smile.
She rolls her eyes, but her lips pull into a wide grin as she grabs my hands and tries to guide me to dance like her. I’d tell her it’s useless, but I know she won’t give up.She’s stubborn like that. I’m convinced it’s the only reason she refused to let me push her away. She decided we were going to be friends, and no matter how many times I brushed off hanging out or made excuses, she inserted herself until I finally caved. It helped that I couldn’t get away from her even if I’d wanted to since we’re the only eighth-grade English teachers in our building and team up often to talk about how to support our students.
She’s the first real friend I’ve ever had, and most days, I’m grateful she was stubborn enough not to let me hide in my shell like I usually do.
Although, now is not one of those times. I’d still definitely rather be home reading.
We dance—and by dance, I mean, she dances and I look like I’m a robot that needs some WD-40—for another half hour before I gesture back to the bar. Not only are these heels killing my feet, but I’m desperate for another drink if we’re going to keep dancing. I’m too sober not to be totally mortified by how bad my moves are.
She nods her head, and we move back to the bar which is only slightly less crowded than the dance floor. In the hour we’ve been here, this place seems to have exploded with people.
“Isn’t this way better than sitting at home on a Friday night grading papers?”
“You grade on Fridays?” I shout and try to get the bartender’s attention.
“Don’t even pretend you don’t.”
I shake my head. “Fridays are my night off.” Saturdays on the other hand…I definitely spend too many weekend hours grading papers. But Fridays are mine to decompress from the long week. I just prefer to decompress in fuzzy socks, yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and no bra.
Her expression sobers. “Are you really not having fun?”
My anxiety flares, but I push it down. I may have fought against Blaire’s friendship in the beginning, but now that I have her in my life, I don’t want to do anything that might push her away. I can sacrifice one night for her.
“I’ll have more fun after I have another drink. Promise,” I say, squeezing her hand.
The bartender starts making his way toward us when Blaire grabs my arm tight. “Oh my God, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen is walking this way, and he’s staring at us.”
I spin around trying to see. “Are you sure?”
She roughly forces me to stay facing her. “Don’t look! Play it cool.”
She smiles, her eyes scanning down a man behind me, and there’s no way to miss the way her smile widens and she gets all flirty. Her hands fall from my arms, one going to her hip and one resting along the bar. I fight back my grin at her pose.
“Hey ladies. My cousin and I were wondering if we could buy you drinks?”
“We’d love that,” Blaire says.
I spin around to check out these guys that apparently have Blaire all twitterpated and nearly forget to breathe when my gaze connects with golden-brown eyes. They light up and then I manage to actually see the man attached. He’s tall—like, really tall, easily six foot four if I had to guess—and built. His black button-down shirt is snug across his toned chest and thick biceps, but hangs loose down his torso, no doubt hiding a droolworthy set of abs. The sleeves are rolled up slightly, showing off his toned forearms covered in tattoos. His sandy-brown hair is a little unruly on top, but trimmed short along the sides. A piece falls on his forehead, and my fingers itch to brush it aside.