The Devil's Assistant

Back to the Basics

I land on my feet, thank god, although my not-yet-broken-in heels do little to soften the blow. After wobbling a bit, I straighten up and notice I'm in a damp alley. Good, I think to myself. No one can see me. The lights outside of the alley are set on ultra-bright, and the sound of a hundred combined voices fills the heated air. I smile and step outside, taking in my surroundings. 

      I walk down the street, the picture of ease, noticing the double-takes guys give me, even older ones. I give them flirty gazes as I determine where to go next. It's a bit early to go to a club, my usual hangout, but I'm sure I'll find something to do. And by the looks of some of these guys, someone to do it with. 

      Finally I spot my target. A group of teenage boys, probably my age or a bit older, all of them good-looking. They're standing on the corner of the street, laughing and punching each other, and quite a few are smoking. Not one of the best-smelling activities, but I'll deal. I walk past them breezily, not looking at them.

     The laughing ceases as their heads turn, following me down the street. I'm almost ten feet away when one of them makes the first move.

      "Hey!"

      I turn around and raise my eyebrows. "Yeah?" 

The boy addressing me is one of the smokers, but I can immediately tell he's not one of those macho shitheads. He has more of a sweet yet sexy look.  His light brown hair is cut short and shaggy, and even from here I can see he's got bright blue eyes. I have to admit, he's cute.

       "You from out of town?"

While he talks, I can see the other guys checking me out, waiting to see just wait their friend is going to do about me. After assessing all (five) of them, I look back to the first guy. They're all hot enough, that's for sure, and I do love being around lots of guys. Funny, I've never had any girl best friends. It was always guys, even from the beginning when I punched this kid, Noah, in the stomach in Pre-K. We were best friends till the day he moved to Canada in sixth grade.

       "Sort of," I answer, pretending to give him a once-over. He gives me a charming smile and spreads his arms open, including himself as well as his friends.

       "Looks like you just found yourself some tour guides, then."

      I pretend to consider, just for the sake of playing hard-to-get. 

      "You got anything better to do?" His voice is a bit challenging and playful. I finally look up at him again and smile.

      "Alright. Where to?"

I've never been inside a Chinese restaurant in Manhattan at eleven o'clock, and believe me, it's not an experience I'd like to relive. It's surprisingly jam-packed, and the only way to get a table is to shove and elbow people out of the way. Surprisingly, Adam and his friends know just how to do that.

      Adam is the brown-haired boy. I learned all of their names on the five-minute walk to the crappy Chinese place three blocks away. Now, as we're sitting at the squished-in booth waiting for our food to come, I try my best to remember them.

      "You drink beer?" Evan asks me. He's one of the hotter ones in the bunch -- fully equipped with ruffled golden hair and pale blue eyes.

      "Occasionally," I say, and shrug my shoulders. It turns out to be a futile attempt since we're all so squished with each other. Evan flashes me a smile and passes a flask under the table to me.

      I decide to go along with it and make sure no one's looking before tilting the bitter tasting liquid back into my throat. I shoot Evan a thankful look and start to listen in on the other conversation taking place.

      "Just Dance," Adam is saying to Damien, another one of the guys. Damien shakes his head, his shoulder-length black hair falling into his face.

      "Sweetheart's," he insists. "They don't ask for ID."

      Adam snorts. "What, you don't trust the one I got for you?" 

      "What are we talking about?" I ask. Logan leans across the table to me.

      "They're arguing over where we're going clubbing," he tells me. His voice is laced with a thick British accent that I find absolutely adorable, as well as his dark-blond hair and heavily lashed eyes. "It happens every time we go out," he sighs.

     "Where do you want to go?" I ask as the argument continues as Tristan (the other guy) throws in another club name and Evan continues to toss back his beer subtly.

      "Personally I'd rather not go clubbing," he says with another sigh. "It gets boring after a while. Quite frankly, we never do anything else." I give him a sympathetic look and then decide enough is enough. I slap my hand down on the table, and the guys jolt to attention.

      "Here's what we're going to do. First, we're going to this 'Just Dance' place, and see what kind of action is going on there. And then if it blows, we'll go to Sweetheart's." I nod, satisfied with my plan. Evan, obviously drunk, throws an arm around me.

      "I think we've found ourselves a keeper," he slurs, then leans in to give me a beer-tinged kiss on the lips. I scrunch my nose and push him off. He might be hot, but he's a wee bit drunk for my tastes. The other guys laugh, and I take it this happens often.

      "What do you say we get out of here? It's not really our scene," Damien explains to me, with an eye-roll directed at Adam. Adam flashes his palms and stands up.

      "Let's go, then."