Page 13 of You Belong With Me

Weaving through the sea of people on the dance floor, our hips sway together in unison. It’s early, so at first, we’re the only people on the dance floor. If I was a little more sober, I wouldn’t dare dancing while this many people stood around watching. Luckily, liquid courage emboldens me to let my hair down.

Ricole’s laugh carries over the music as two men flock around her, but their wandering hands aren’t welcome. She shimmies herself between them and turns around to wag her finger at them.

“Shew, flies,” she yells as she turns away and dances back toward us.

After a few songs, Ashley grabs my arm and drags me toward the bathroom. The stalls are tiny and smell like stale beer, while bright white paint contrasting with colorful graffiti that decorates the walls. There are three stalls on the left and three stalls on the right, but we all squeeze into the same one. We giggle and take turns peeing. Unfortunately, the body suit I have on requires me to get almost completely naked, which only makes the girls laugh harder. They each snap a picture of me on the toilet and add it to their Snapchat stories.

I’m REALLY going to have a problem with that in the sober light of morning, but for now, it’s fucking hilarious.

I stand up and flash my bare ass at them while I look suggestively over my shoulder. “Take a picture of this, you floozies. If you’re gonna put my nudes on social media, at least make sure they’re flattering.”

Without skipping a beat, they both angle their cameras at me, and we have our drunken boudoir shoot in a tiny little bathroom, tons of angry women waiting for us to hurry the fuck up and get out.

Once we leave the bathroom, we get lucky and get a table on the cozy side.

“Work has been insufferable,” I complain as soon as we’re seated. “Andreas, the guy who owns the place, has been around making everyone clean. Which is fine. It needed it, but damn, he’s such an ass.”

Ricole sips her drink and says, “Andreas. That’s a hot name. He’s attractive, isn’t he? I can tell by the way your cheeks turn pink when you talk about him.”

“That’s not attraction. That’s anger, Ricole. Please keep up. And of course he’s attractive. All the biggest assholes are,” I answer.

Next thing I know, both Ricole and Ashley have stalked harder than the FBI and have his LinkedIn page pulled up, jizzing in their pants, oohing and ah-ing at his headshot.

“My God,” Ashley says, “Look at his eyes. They’re almost clear, they’re so blue. They have to be fake, right?”

Fucking-a, it’s an incredible picture. His face is stubble-free in it, which really shows off his Matt Bomer-esque square jaw. His eyes pierce through the lens, and the stoic look on his face could melt the panties off a nun. I really shouldn’t have told them how pretty he is, but can you blame me?

“Oh, Al, sleep with him. As mean as he is, youknowthis man can fuck. Look at his mouth. Look at his plump lips. He looks like a model. I bet they’re so soft,” Ricole slurs, not sounding entirely coherent anymore.

Staring at the headshot, I remember overhearing him tell whoever the hell Stacy was that he wanted to suck on her clit. I can feel a blush warm my face, coloring first my pale breasts, my neck, and then my cheeks.

I’ve shamelessly thought about it since I heard him, and I’ve almost worn out my rose vibrator to thoughts of him doing that and more to me. Greg and I didn’t have sex for the last four months of our relationship, so it’s been almost half a year since I had sex. Greg wasn’t THAT great in bed, so it’s been over two years since I hadgoodsex.

“I can’t fuck him, sis. He’s condescending and treats me like a cockroach. I’m more into praise than degradation, you know that. But Christ Almighty, it felt good to tell him to fuck off the other day.”

I recount the story to them for probably the third time since we left my apartment. I neglect to tell them about the intense moment we had in the bar cooler, and I’m not sure why. That moment felt private, and I’m not yet ready to talk about it.

That I even have a job is baffling at this point. Why didn’t he fire me? I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, so I pull it out and see a notification from my work’s scheduling app:

ANDREAS RIVERA:

Hello Staff,

I appreciate how hard you’ve all worked. The first shift reopened yesterday went well. Keep up the good work.

Have a good evening.

Andreas

I read the message aloud, and the girls encourage me to send him some lewd nudes that sound more likely to be inHustlerthan taken by me.

“Just go to the bathroom. No wait, send the one I took with your jumpsuit pulled down,” Ashley slurs.

“No!” I shut that shit down.

“CAN YOU IMAGINE?!? I’mnotdesperate enough for an underwhelming fuck to message my asshole boss through an app meant only for work-related communications. Yikes, that’s gonna be a no from me, dawg,” I rant.

We finish our drinks and hit the dance floor again, grinding in a messy conga line right until the bartender calls last call.

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