// W A S T E A M O M E N T //

O N E

I stood in the room adjoined to my bedroom, which I like to call my wardrobe. Each wall held clothing fit for few different social situations, categorised into three sorts: elegant, tasteful garments, casual, blasé attires, and sports (more specifically rowing) apparel. What with attending a particularly glamorous event that evening, I gravitated towards the more sophisticated clothing.

That night I was going to an album launch party; my uncle Chris had invited me and my dad, claiming 'You never accept my invites, we're family, and you're my brother! Come on, I mean, this is my band's last album – you've got to come.' My dad usually avoided parties because of his job, and whatever that entailed, but retiring a couple months ago from the SAS at the grand age of forty-six had left him with a lot of time on his hands. Thus, with much persuasion on both mine and my uncle's part, we went.

Never before had I been to such a high-status party. I was, however, both excited and uneasy. What if I made a fool of myself in front of all these influential, prominent people within society? Would they think that I was just riding on my uncle's success? Ignoring these thoughts, I chose, after much deliberation, to dress in a long sleeve silver beaded and sequined mini dress and began my makeup. After finishing up a subtle smoky eye and nude lip, I stood before my full length mirror. The silver gave my deep blue eyes an unusual green tint, and dark blonde hair an ethereal glow; the mini dress and burgundy velvet platform sandals rendered my legs endless: it was as good as I was going to get. Grabbing my phone and tan shearling coat - the biggest and warmest sartorial investment I've made to date - I ambled downstairs.

"Hey, Dad, are you there?" Strolling into the kitchen-diner, I asked. With no quick reply, I assumed that he must still have been getting ready.

I was sat at the table going through my phone when the front door clicked open, "Hey, Flo, are you ready?" Lucas' voice echoed through the hallway.

"Yeah, just sat in the kitchen, give me two seconds." I replied, upheaving myself from the comfort of the oak chair.

Unsurprisingly, Lucas looked stunning – dressed in a camel (almost certainly cashmere) turtleneck sweater, and a navy jacket that fit his broad shoulders impeccably. With a freshly trimmed chocolate mop, I remarked how his steel eyes, framed with round glasses, glanced twice over my body.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." I joked.

We had been friends for ten years. He moved into the small town on the south coast of Devon when we were both seven, in the house next door. I spent a lot of time with his family through the years, what with my dad often being away with his job and mum not around: naturally, we became very close.

At the age of eleven, Lucas convinced me to take up rowing with him – his elder brother, Alex, proved some sort of inspiration, as well as the shelves of shiny metal that stood proudly in their house. To this day, we have not spent more than a week off of the water. It was our sport. We trained, competed and triumphed together.

It would be fictitious of me if I were to say that I don't find Lucas charming or attractive, I do. Only out of apprehension of ruining our friendship do I disregard it all. I can't mess up ten years of friendship for selfish purposes.

"You know what," He chuckled, "I think I might."

Amused and somewhat dumbfounded with his retort, I resigned to impersonating a lifeless fish.

"Florence, are you ready to leave?" My dad questioned as he came down the stairs, "Hello Lucas, I see you're ready."

"Yep, thank you for inviting me again, Nick." Lucas smiled handsomely.