My Cliche Love Story | ✓

Chapter 6

Great, I'm left alone to fend for myself. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep to myself. Honestly, this place seems pretty sketchy, so I have no idea what's going to go down tonight. And let me tell you, that scares the heck out of me.

I'm sure it looks like I'm cold, even in the midst of this place with the body heat from at least 100 people swarming all around me. I probably look like a fish out of water, but that makes sense doesn't it? I mean, I'm totally out of my element here.

At least twenty minutes have gone by, and all I've done is observe. Dylan hasn't even come back yet. I haven't even seen him. Hopefully, he's just making out with some booty call and not bailing on me. Trust me, if I were left here, all alone, I'd be out for blood.

I'm surprised that there are still a good amount of people dancing, because I'd get really tired. But, I guess, with the alcohol in your system, it's easy to lose track of the time, right? Of course, I wouldn't know, as I'm a good girl, and don't drink underage.

Jason suavely walks up to me, and places a drink in my hand. After just twenty minutes, this guy is hammered. I'm shocked that he can even walk straight. A lazy grin is plastered on his face, and he starts telling these cheesy knock-knock jokes. Well, at least he's not a mad drunk, like someone else I used to know.

"Knock knock," he chimes.

Oh, lord, this'll be good. "Who's there?" I reply, playing along and acting like he's a child.

He shakes his head. "I can't answer that."

Okay, this is a weird joke. But he's drunk, so whatever. "Um, I can't answer that--?"

Jason waves a hand in front of my face, and then points at the drink. "No, that's not the joke," he slurs, "you've got to take a drink first. Otherwise it's not funny."

I know I shouldn't, but one sip won't do anything that bad, right? So I oblige, slowly tipping the red solo cup up towards my mouth, making the last minute fight with myself. 

Don't do it, you idiot.

Oh, come on, Alex, don't be a prude.

You know it won't end well.

Besides, Dylan told you to loosen up. 

The cold alcoholic drink slides down into my mouth, and I scrunch up my face as it stings the back of my throat. I open my eyes, and the room circles for a few seconds, and then returns to normal. See? Nothing happened. I'm fine. "Okay," I say, a smile forming on my face, "I'm good."

Jason goes back to the joke. "Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Man, does my voice sound like I'm in a fishbowl? Yeah, it's probably from that second and third sip that I took. No big deal.

"Ooze." He chugs the rest of his drink, throws it over his shoulder, and it's trampled immediately by the dancers in the living room. 

"Ooze who?" Deciding to copy Jason, I slurp the rest of my drink, the contents hitting me hard. There's some type of floating feeling that I get when I look up again, analyzing the room. Now the circles don't stop, but I ignore it as I focus down on Jason again, who's still got a goofy grin on his face.

He chuckles, and hiccups, sounding like a little boy. "Ooze that knockin' at my door?"

In a sober state, I would have just giggled, and ushered Jason to a bathroom, where I'd force him to drink water. But now, with this glorious drink inside of me, blossoming my fun side, I burst out laughing, throwing a casual arm around my friend, walking over to the middle of the living room, wanting to dance.

Okay, walking? No. More like stumbling, or tripping, or anything else besides walking. I'm a mess, I know, but it just feels so strangely good. I can't believe I've never done this before.

At that second, Dylan shows up--well, a blurry version of Dylan--and swoops in, allowing me to shift my weight, leaning on him for support. As I look up into his eyes--oh, his beautiful blue eyes--a hand lands on his chest, just like it did when we first got here.

"Dylan," I giggle, "did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?"

He grabs my waist with his hand, and now I don't know where Jason went. "Beautiful...my eyes? Like a puppy's?"

He's referring to the conversation that we had before. I laugh. "Yeah, like a puppy's." I knit my eyebrows, feeling his chest and looking at his shirt in confusion. "But your abs don't feel like a puppy's."

I think I see a bragging smirk in his eye as he says, "Alex?"

"Yes?" I respond, raising my eyebrows. Man, I wish I could be standing on my own two feet right now.

"Are you drunk?" He chuckles as I count the number of words on my fingers.

A laugh escapes my lips before I lean up to his face--did I ever tell you how beautiful his face is?--and whisper, "Oh, absolutely."

A sober thought cuts through my brain: what was in that drink?

But it washes away as Dylan grins, and his stunning teeth glisten, as he replies, "Good."

The volume of the music blares in my ears, and he pulls me into the middle of the living room, hands on my hips. Facing me, he grins triumphantly and sways my hips in his grip, watching as I close my eyes, feeling the music around me. I forget about the rest of the people here, I forget how much I hate Dylan, I even forget about the alcohol in my system.

Until he tilts my chin up towards his face, and leans in to press a kiss to my lips. "See, Baker?" He smirks softly, "this isn't so bad."

A sober thought fights its way through my drunken state, and my mind is on full alert, anger pulsing in my veins as the buzz wears away faster than it came.

"I want to go home," I say sharply.

He looks confused. "But you just got here, you've barely had fun!"

"I want to go home," I repeat, "now."

12/08/2015