My Not So One Night Stand

Chapter one: Hoe's & Bro's

Classy clubs attract classy people, I suppose.

Note the sarcasm.

The sudden sensation of hot breath on my neck comes to my attention and I instantly relax, realising it's just Luke.

"Maya, I'm going to take off," he states in my ear, using an unusually low tone.

Somebody's horny.

Unable to suppress my laughter, I offer him a goofy grin and flash a quick thumbs-up. He smiles back, showing off his pearly white teeth and dazzling cheek dimples.

In my twenty-three years of living, I've never known someone to have such straight, perfect teeth and it is something I've always been jealous of, growing up with Luke.

"Lukey," I say, feeling the effects of the two shots taking hold already.

He brings his head closer to me while smirking at the lame nickname, which I just so happen to have given him when we were seven. His dark brown hair flops awkwardly over his forehead and his familiar scent of vanilla and lavender clouds my senses.

"Use protection," I warn, with a slight smile crossing my features.

He smirks at me and nods his head, confirming he will do as he's told.

"I'll see you for breakfast tomorrow. Later, gater," he says, kissing my cheek.

"Cheerio, hoe," I reply, feeling slightly dizzy from the amount of alcohol currently passing through my system.

He smiles before pulling away and kissing Sasha on the cheek, saying his goodbyes to her too. With that, he moves towards the blonde, who I assume is called Rachel, places his hand on her lower back and proceeds to guide her out of the club.

...And straight into bed, no doubt.

Turning my attention back to Sasha, I grab her hand and once again, pull her towards the dance floor to participate in my only ever source of exercise.

Sexy dancing.

~~~~

Some hours later, my feet are begging me to call it a night and for once, I actually listen. Stumbling out of the club, clinging onto Sasha, we hail a taxi.

I'll regret this in the morning; London taxi fares are ridiculous.

We drop Sasha off at her flat first and carry on to mine, arriving five minutes later.

I pay the taxi driver and cautiously make my way up the stairs to my flat. Pulling my keys out from my bag, I unlock the door, silently cursing the world for spinning so much as I stumble on through. I instantly make my way to my kitchen, dumping my keys on the countertop.

I force myself to eat a slice of bread and reach into my fridge to grab a can of coke. Opening it, I walk over to my bedroom, kicking my heels off on the way, and place the can on my bedside table, ready for tomorrow morning.

Flat coke, the best hangover cure known to mankind.

I strip naked and climb into bed, instantly losing myself in the soft, silk-like fabric of my sheets. With my ears thumping like constant drums as a result of listening to loud music all night and my feet throbbing from the copious amounts of exercise I've taken part in, it's a miracle I can even fall asleep. Yet, that's exactly what I do.

The alcohol probably helps.

~~~~

Waking up the next morning is like rubbing my eyes over rough sandpaper.