My Not So One Night Stand

Chapter three: Drunken mistakes

Pulling furiously at my ever-riding-up black skirt, I enter Hoe's & Bro's, the smell of Jäger instantly attacking my sense of smell. The dance floor is full and the phrase 'packed like sardines' comes springing to mind.

Just terrific.

Finding it increasingly hard to manoeuvre around the sweaty bodies, I proceed to push my way through the crowd with only one destination in mind.

The bar.

With a little help from Luke, I finally find myself there, ready to order some drinks.

"Four shots of tequila and two Budweisers please, mate," Luke says, struggling to shout over the loud bass currently pounding throughout the club.

"Coming right up," the fit bartender I recognise from last weekend replies whilst getting to work on our order.

He catches me looking and smiles.

"Where's the other one tonight?" he asks, and I assume he's referring to Sasha.

I instantly feel the corners of my mouth twitch as I try to suppress my mischievous smile, caused by making the conscious decision to wingman Sasha.

She'll thank me for this later.

"Not out, I'm afraid. I'm sure she'll be pleased to know you were asking after her, though," I say, raising my voice slightly in the hopes that he can hear me over whatever dreadful song is now playing.

He shoots me a wide smile while handing me and Luke our beers.

"...And why would me asking after her please her?" he asks, clearly participating in the playful banter.

I like this guy. I hope Sasha and him do get together.

"Well, I don't know, you could always call and ask," I say, slyly passing him one of Sasha's business cards.

A couple of months ago, her boss had made her get them so that she could distribute them accordingly to clients. She had gotten so excited when they'd finally arrived and had handed me and Luke a bunch of them claiming, 'You never know when they might come in handy.'

...And she was right, they did come in handy.

It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'mixing business with pleasure.'

He takes the small card and places it carefully in his back pocket, sending a friendly wink my way while doing so. His attention then returns to his work as he proceeds to pour our shots.

"That'll be sixteen sixty, pal," he says to Luke whose front is currently pressed flush against my back.

I suddenly remember it's a holiday weekend, which explains the amount of people who are out tonight. I inwardly groan at the realisation of how I'll likely be spending this evening pressed up against very sweaty, very horny men.

Delightful.

From behind me, Luke passes the bartender a twenty and waits patiently for his change. Once again, I yank at my skirt and almost immediately feel Luke's breath on the base of my neck.

"Will you stop pulling at that thing? You're not flashing anything," he says with a somewhat promising tone.

I crane my neck slightly, giving myself a better angle to reply.

"I can't help it. I feel like I'm showing my underwear to the world. I can't believe I let you talk me into wearing this." I pout, making sure he can see clearly just how unhappy I am about it.

Luke had come around to mine for 8:00pm, like he'd promised, and had insisted that I change my 'conservative outfit'—which, according to him, was something his grandmother would wear—to something a little more sexy.