The Wildcard

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Ryan and I clinked our champagne flutes together daintily in the back seat of the shiny limousine he'd gone and rented for the night.

"Congrats on the new job baby girl," he kissed me on the cheek lightly, and swung his arm around me, so that when I leant back I could feel the lean, sculpted muscle against my bare back through the thick tuxedo, "I just know you'll be fan-fucking-tastic!"

He beamed at me – his perfect white teeth practically glinting like some bad espionage film. Ryan's hot – like model hot – he should be, he's a model. He's got this perfect sculpted face – all high cheekbones, and chiselled lips. Women swoon.

No, really, they do. We've shared a flat for nearly four years, and I've seen it with my own eyes.

But I've never swooned, don't even go there – not one of those stories.

"Thank you babe," I pouted up at him playfully, "Now what's this surprise you've got me all dolled up for?"

I'd just landed a fantastic new job at CJ Entertainment, and was due to start my new position first thing Monday morning, so following Ryan on a wild night out probably hadn't been my best plan of action – sometimes he didn't get back from one of his 'parties' for days! But I was only to live once, so he reminded me, and come Monday morning I'll need to be one of those 'god damn responsible people' (the kind with an actual career, he means, I think), so I'd slipped on the gorgeous floor length red dress he'd laid out for me – the silk fabric sliding sensuously over every inch of me, leaving my entire back exposed right down to a daring v-cut at the back – and the shockingly glitzy Loboutins that I'm pretty sure he stole from a photo shoot, and headed out after him. It's not like it's the most daring thing I've ever worn or done, but it's been a while.

"Weeeeellll," he stretched out the word, like he'd been waiting for me to ask all night, "We're going to Pearly Gates!" He whispered the last bit, as if it was a conspiracy, as if the driver could hear us from a thousand metres away – and as if he wouldn't know anyway, since he was taking us there!

"As in the casino, Ryan?" I asked flatly, because I know how self destructive Ryan can be, and I really don't want to be fuelling a brand new addiction less than a week after we've arrived in the city.

Ryan and I met about six years ago – at a counselling group for troubled teenagers. He's got a tendency of taking out his issues on himself in completely inventive, but none the less unhealthy, ways. The end results are never something either of us can cope with without a cocktail in our hands – except his are usually much more potently served with a side dish of prescription drugs.

I'm trying to keep myself ... I don't know how I'm trying to keep myself really, I've never really been anything but a complete fucking head case before, so I'm just going to see who exactly the new Jodie Garrett actually is – the one that lives in the city, and enjoys a glittering career.

The one that doesn't get haunted by night terrors, or shaken up by shadows. I'm free. I've never been free before – I want to enjoy it.

What I don't want is to have to go through another Twelve Steps programme with the brand new city Ryan – the one with a gambling problem.

Please God, I roll my eyes Heavenwards to a deity I'm not entirely sure I believe in, and face my best friend.

"You promise this won't turn out horrible and ugly?"

He fakes astonished outrage, but I can see the seriousness in his emerald green eyes, and I'm convinced that he'll behave – or try to.

"Baby girl, this is your night, I won't give you a thing to worry about, except shaking that sexy ass of yours all over town, and enjoying your last night of freedom!"

I chuckle at that – he's got such a way with words!

"Last night of freedom? I start a job Monday – it's not a prison sentence!"

"Might as well be!" he grumbled, "It's PR ... I'll never see you on a Saturday again! And we're in a brand new city – I know nobody, I'm going to be a recluse, I can see it!"

I down the rest of my champagne quickly as the car rolls to a slow stop, and pull Ryan out of the car behind me as the trussed up driver opens the door for us, laughing at the image of Ryan in a wedding dress at the window lamenting over his lost social life ...

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