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The day I officially turn twenty-one is everything I expect it to be and then some. I wear my highest heels and shortest skirt and flash my identification card at the bouncer. He gives me a wink and says happy birthday as he lifts a velvet rope to let me and my friends walk into a club called Hennessey. My friends follow me to the bar, and my best friend, Ryan Owen, hollers down at the bartender with an order for a round of shots.
I've decided to be out of character and go white-girl-wild for my birthday celebration. So when Ryan hands me two shots with his patented boyish grin, I accept them both, take a knee and shoot them back like a champion. My friends cheered, and Ryan's eyes widened at how effortlessly I downed tequila. Usually, I am not much of a partier, and Ryan constantly pokes fun at me because I am what he considers to be the mother-hen of our group. Not tonight, though; I am anything but clucking cautious. I am reckless and uninhibited, hoping to make this birthday one to remember, full of awkward and funny stories I hope to reflect on for years to come. What else would one be expected to do during their junior year of college on their twenty-first birthday?
Probably dance on a table, slam another few shots of tequila and then puke in the backseat of a cab on the ride home. But I'm not exactly there yet.
On the way to the dancefloor, after Ryan orders us a round of drinks – or actually bottle service in a private booth – my friend Maisie twirls me under her arm and shakes her body against mine for a celebratory shimmy. Our two other friends, Jayce and Kale, worm their way between us and join our dancing circle as some old-school 50 Cent song vibrates throughout the club. Of course, Ryan's already been swarmed in a private booth by some female patrons. Everywhere he goes, women tend to gravitate toward him. It must be nice to be such a beautiful person.
Growing up, I was an unfortunate-looking child with a big space between my teeth, chubby knees, pop-bottle glasses, and some weird choppy bangs that extenuated my already long, stringy brown hair. I didn't fully grow into my look until my Senior year of high school. It took a long stint with braces, mastering the art of applying contact lenses, and finally finding a decent hairdresser to make me feel comfortable in my skin. But even today, I would consider myself just average-looking compared to Ryan. Chances are, if it weren't for my big personality, you probably wouldn't even notice me if I walked into a room. Ryan, on the other hand, is very noticed wherever we go. Women find him strikingly attractive, primarily because of his shaggy brown hair and warm dark eyes. He even has a dimple on his chin and a jawline so strong it could be steel. And for girls who adore a guy who can make them laugh hard enough to awkwardly snort through their nose, he's your man.
Let me guess: you probably wonder why I'm not interested in dating Ryan.
That's because a) we are just friends (always have been and always will be) and b) after I lost a bet between the two of us over who could eat the most hotdogs, he held me down and farted in my face as retribution. No matter how good-looking and cool they are, you can't be romantically attracted to someone after something like that. And I know people insist the whole guy and girl best friend thing doesn't work, but Ryan Owen and I are living proof that it does. He's been my best friend since our first year, and I've never had any romantic inklings for the guy.
In the three short years we've known each other, he's seen me at my worst – i.e. holding my hair while I puked during flu season and watching me ugly cry when my dog died. And any time I've needed to vent, he's my listening ear. He's also the only person I know who will try anything once, dance like no one is watching, and he will always put his friends and family above all else. There is no one in the world closer to me than Ryan. Since I met him, there hasn't been a dull moment in my life. I have no idea what I'd ever do without him.
We met most unconventionally. In an administrative mix-up, we were accidentally assigned as dorm room partners. I was mortified when he walked in to find me just exiting the shower wearing a towel around my head and one around my body like an old lady who just finished her daily beauty routine. I thought he was an intruder. So naturally, I panicked, and by panicked, I mean I screamed at the top of my lungs, grabbed a lamp and then swung it a few times in his direction. When he laughed at my attempted attack - with his heartiest full-bellied laugh - I nearly died of embarrassment. He eventually calmed me down by saying, "Relax, Roussey, I can assure you I am neither a rapist nor a robber. Just walking into my residence room."
I blindly trusted him and eventually found the courage to get dressed and follow him to the administration office to get our little problem sorted out. It turns out someone, somewhere, made the most epic screw-up. Another two students - Maisie and Jayce - were also in the same predicament. After three hours of sorting out the ordeal, Ryan ended up down the hallway rooming with Jayce, and I ended up rooming with Maisie, hence how our little group started.
Once Ryan and I got to know each other, we clicked. Our common interests were endless. We found out very quickly our little mix-up was a blessing in disguise. We both preferred beer and disliked fruity drinks. We are both super competitive; a game of Connect Four turns cutthroat. We are both athletic. Ryan plays on the Lacrosse team for the University of San Francisco, while I'm an accomplished ballet dancer. We are both avid football fans. We both come from a dysfunctional family, and we both dread the holidays. We'd rather backpack through a European country exploring history than travel to an all-inclusive resort to lie on a beach. And we are both folk-music junkies.
By the end of our first year, Ryan was spending more time in my dorm room than his own. He would joke it was because I had the best food in my mini-fridge, but I knew it was because he enjoyed our friendly banter and easy company. Within no time, we were suddenly best friends and doing everything together. By our sophomore year, Maisie, Jayce and our other friend, Kale, were confident my platonic friendship with Ryan wouldn't work and we'd eventually develop romantic feelings for each other. Of course, they were wrong. We've made it to our junior year, still best buds with zero romantic interest in one another.
Ryan even calls me "Jonesy," a play on my last name, Jones. He rarely calls me by my real name – Ella – which is about as feminine as a name can get. We eat All-You-Can-Eat-Wings on Fridays, play poker on Saturdays, and watch football on Monday nights. He prefers skanky-looking girls with fake boobs and rocks for brains. I'm just your typical girl next door with smaller-than-average-sized boobs and a higher-than-average GPA.
"God, it is so damn hot in this club," Maisie yells in my ear. She pulls her long blonde hair off her neck and fans her face with her hand. "Honestly, I want to rip my clothes off."
"Damn girl," Jayce smirks. "You can rip off those clothes for me anytime."
I'm gently shuffled to the side as they make their way closer to each other on the dance floor.
Maisie laughs. "Like when we get back to your place tonight?"
"Yeah, babe, you better believe it," he growls.
I roll my eyes as Maisie wraps her arms around Jayce's neck and grinds herself against his leg to the beat of the music.
Maisie and Jayce are one of those couples who could make a person sick with their public displays of affection. They started dating our sophomore year and have been inseparable ever since. Sometimes their love makes me think I'd like to find a love like that someday. But for now, I am happy to be with myself.
My last relationship was in my first year, a complete disaster. Ryan warned me right from the start my ex wasn't for me, but I didn't listen. I am an artsy fartsy kind of gal who likes to paint her feelings, and my ex was a narrow-minded jock who enjoyed the attention he received from his female fan base on the football field. Two months later, I ended things because I was tired of listening to him ramble off sports statistics, plus his weird insistence on having me wear his football jersey during sex ended up being a deal breaker.
Ryan thinks I purposely find petty flaws in potential boyfriends because I subconsciously don't want anything too serious. And maybe that's true, but I also don't see anything wrong with knowing what I want. If a guy doesn't measure up, I break it off. My life can't be compromised because of a guy who is all wrong for me. My future consists of a cool job in graphic design and travelling the world. I don't need a "serious" boyfriend to drag me down in my twenties. I will re-assess my romantic situation when I'm in my thirties, hoarding a pile of cats and living in a sad one-bedroom apartment. For now, I will enjoy the freedom of my youth.
Kale and I continue dancing beside Maisie and Jayce while they inappropriately feel each other up on the dance floor. Kale gives me a few spins under his arm, and I shake my booty through the following few songs. But when a girl from class that Kale's been crushing on approaches him to dance, I find myself sandwiched between two very hot and horny couples.
Ryan's familiar laugh comes from my right side. "Hey, Jonsey, I think your dorky dance moves are scaring everyone away."
I spin around to face him and his shit-eating grin. He's holding another two shots in one hand and a beer in the other. I know he's just messing with me. My dance moves are far from dorky. I've been a dancer my entire life and even teach ballet to children on the weekends at a local ballet academy.
"You mean these moves?" I say and proceed to be as goofy as possible by performing the chicken dance.
Ryan laughs and passes me one of the two shots he's holding. "Okay, enough. Stop moving like a moron and have a celebratory shot with me."
"Don't be jealous. I can move like a rock star, and you're stuck with two left feet," I quip. Ryan may be many things, but a good dancer is not on the list.
"Take the shot," he insists.
"A few more of these, and I won't make it to midnight."
"Don't worry. Whenever the room starts to spin, I'll make sure to get you home safe." He raises his shot glass. Even in the shadows, I can see his elusive smile. "To my best gal-pal on her birthday. I look forward to watching you dance on a bar top all night."
"Never," I stand up a little straighter. "I'm wearing a short leather skirt. No thanks."
"Yeah, I know," he wiggles his eyebrows. "I plan to catch a good glimpse of those granny panties."
I laugh and playfully smack him on the shoulder. "Me and my granny panties don't belong on a bar top. I'd probably break a heel and tumble down like a sack of potatoes. Never would I ever."
He laughs. "Never say never. I've seen you go wild before. Freshman year...frosh week...Patty's Pub...we drank an entire bottle of whiskey – "
I stare at him and shake my head. "Just to be clear, I had no other choice but to squat and pee on the sidewalk. My bladder was about to explode, and we still had to walk at least three more blocks back to my apartment."
He laughs again and stares at me like I am the most amusing person in the world. "I think the police officer who wanted to charge you with public urination begged to differ. You're just lucky I was there to talk him out of throwing you in the back of a cop car," he flashes me a clever smile. "Come to think of it, you owe me big time."
"I owe you nothing," I laugh. "I've bailed you out of so many things, I've even started to lose count."
"Oh yeah, name something."
"The redhead you slept with the other night. Spring Break Sophomore year. The time we were pulled over for a burnt taillight." I pause and watch his smile fade a little. "Shall I keep going?"
"Nah," I see the playful light in his eyes. Ryan's the guy who does ridiculous things and then deals with consequences later. He'll invite a girl he just met back to his place for a quickie, wear an outrageously offensive t-shirt in public, and even make a complete fool out of himself just for a smile. Sometimes, I wonder what he'd do without me saving him from himself.
"Let's just call it even and get you another drink. The bar-top is calling," he winks from one of his dark, mischievous eyes.
Ryan guided me to the VIP booth and poured me a drink. I can see the girls flirting with him earlier, watching us from the far-right corner, curiously eyeing me up. Little do they know, I'm only best buddy, not fuck-buddy. No competition here. Ryan doesn't even notice them gawking when he turns to face me, blocking their envious eyes with his broad shoulders and handing me a drink.
"Drink up, buttercup," he says, and we clink our glasses together.
I forgot how I'm such a cheap drunk, and it's embarrassing to admit, but I already feel a little blurry around the edges, a little unwound. It's freeing, and I kind of like it.
"You look really good tonight," Ryan says, smiling a little.
I nearly choked on my drink. I raise a skeptical brow even though his tone is sincere. Usually, he's teasing me about my Converse sneakers and lack thereof hairstyle - a sleek low ponytail – because my day-to-day style is casual. I rarely wear makeup and spend money on lash extensions rather than applying mascara. Yoga pants and comfy tops are my go-to, and I'm fully aware of how I'm dressed tonight – a short black leather skirt, skimpy shimmering top, stilettos heels, long dark curls and contoured makeup is very different than how he usually sees me. I dress up only when required, like weddings, parties, and twenty-first birthday celebrations. Other than that, comfort comes first.
"Uh, thanks." I finally reply.
"Who knew you could clean up so well," he smirks. "I have always wondered if tits existed under those bulky sweaters you wear. I'm guessing those puppies are a solid B cup."
"Puppies?" I playfully smack him in the arm. "Jesus. What are you twelve? Who talks like that?"
"Am I right?" he wiggles his eyebrows.
He's not right. I'm an A-cup, although the bra I'm wearing tonight has enough padding inside to double the size of my boobs. I'll never give him the satisfaction of knowing my actual cup size.
"I'll never tell," I coyly smile.
Ryan gives me a scolding look and starts to open his mouth to say something clever before his gaze is snared over to someone approaching my backside. Two warm hands cover my eyes, and a familiar voice is in my ear.
"Guess who!"
I immediately recognized Alodie Banks' squeaky, high-pitched voice.
We teach ballet together on Saturdays at the Ballet Academy. She moved to San Francisco from a little town in North Carolina a few months ago. She was hired as my assistant for an early morning children's ballet class, and for some reason, she immediately liked me. She's a little outrageous, but she's also easy to work with. She's great with our students and loves dancing just as much as I do. I had forgotten that I invited her to come to my birthday party.
I spin around to see a pint-sized Alodie wearing a white body-con dress. Her shiny black hair is smoothed down her backside, and her pouty lips are coloured with bright pink lipstick.
"Happy Birthday, Ella!" she throws her head back and giggles, obviously pleased with herself for surprising me.
"Wow. Alodie, hi." I lean in and give her a quick hug. "You made it. Thanks for coming."
"I convinced some girls from class to come out and celebrate," she giggles again. "Look at you, Ella! A pair of heels does wonders for your butt."
"Um, thanks," I reply, following her curious gaze behind me straight to Ryan. Of course, she is enamoured by his good looks, and typically, I wouldn't care, but there is an unfamiliar flop inside my chest that tells me I wouldn't say I like the way she gazes at him.
"Well, well, who is this?" she coos and presses her palm to her chest. "Ella, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
Ryan straightens up and pulls the corner of his lip between his teeth. I can tell by how he's scanning her body from head to toe that he also finds her attractive. But of course, he would. She's gorgeous with perky boobs and very flirty.
"Alodie, this is Ryan," I say, entirely steady, even though I'm slightly annoyed. "Ryan, meet Alodie."
"Nice to meet you," he drawls.
"Um, this is Ryan? Like your best friend?"
"Guilty as charged," he winks.
"Why didn't you tell me he was hot as fuck?" she giggles again.
"Who him?" I nervously chuckle. "Yeah, he's alright."
"Ella tells me you study at the University of San Francisco, too," she says, batting her eyelashes at him.
He nods. "Yeah. Pre-law."
"An aspiring lawyer. Wow."
"Yeah." He straightens his shoulders. "Trying to keep the family tradition alive," he says calmly, like he isn't completely stressed out by the pressure his father places on him to follow in his footsteps. "My dad owns a law firm back home in Sacramento. What about you?"
"I'm studying at City College," she glances down at his toned thighs. "I'm in the Theatre Program. You'll find me on Broadway one day."
"You're artsy, just like Jonsey," he grins. "How do you two know each other again?" he asks. And just as I'm about to answer, Alodie interrupts.
"She's never mentioned me?" she gives me a scolding pout. "We teach a class together at the Ballet Academy on Saturday."
"She's my assistant," I clarify.
Ryan glances over at me with another one of his shit-eating grins. I want to smack it off his face this time because I know exactly what he's thinking. "You two must have a choreographed coyote ugly-inspired routine you could perform on the bar top then, no?" he says, struggling to retain his already gigantic grin.
"No," I say. "Stop being such a pervert."
"Ohmigod, Ella! We totally should," Alodie squeals. "It's your birthday!"
"I like your spunk, Alodie," Ryan laughs. "Let me pour you ladies another drink. Jonsey is nowhere near the appropriate amount of drunk. And I definitely want to see that dance."
Only a handful of songs pump through the speakers before I'm overly buzzed and giggly. Ryan pours us another two rounds of drinks and a third round of shots. Naturally, Alodie cozies up to him in the VIP booth and talks his ear off. When she declined my offer to head to the dancefloor, Ryan gave me one of his famous "help me" looks just before I rejoined our other friends. Instead of bailing him out, as usual, I leave him behind and light up the dancefloor with my stellar moves.
Maisie cheers me on as I become the centre of the circle and suddenly the centre of attention at the club. I'm not sure I'm dancing well, but the tequila removes any self-consciousness I'd typically feel. I attained the wildness I hoped for and even took a body shot off Kale and let him take one off me. The time passed quickly, and despite my earlier refusal to dance on the bar top, I somehow ended up there with Maisie at my side and the entire club cheering us on. At some point, a random guy handed me a drink, and one guy even got up on the bar top and started dancing with me.
I have no idea how much time has passed when I hear, "Jonsey!"
I recognize Ryan's voice as he shouts from somewhere below me. I try to focus on where his voice is coming from, but my vision isn't doing so well, and I'm distracted by my dance partner. I am pretty sure those are his hands cupping my ass.
I continue to dance even though I notice Maisie is no longer beside me. I can't see much, and I definitely can't hear much over the music. I know I am having fun, and I don't want to stop dancing—a few more songs later, a hand tugs on my wrist. I look down to see Ryan's dark eyes staring up at me.
"Hey! Ryan! Get up here!" I shout.
He shakes his head and glares at my male dancing partner. Even though I am drunk, I can see he's irritated.
"Who is this guy?" my dance partner says against my ear. He glares down at Ryan and pulls me closer to his chest as we dance.
"This is Ryan," I shout and shimmy away from him. "Wait. What was your name again?" I ask.
"Okay, buddy. That's enough," Ryan shouts. "Come on, Jonsey, the party's over."
Before I can even protest, Ryan grabs me by the legs and tosses me over his shoulder. I start laughing uncontrollably as he carries me through the crowd. Every time he takes a step, I hiccup, which amuses me. I can't stop laughing or hiccupping. When we make it outside, he finally places me down on my own two feet. The world starts spinning, and I am sure I need to pee. Wearing heels now seems like a terrible idea. I hold onto Ryan's arm as I enjoy the cool, fresh air on my face.
"Jesus, Jonsey," he scratches the back of his head and props me up a bit. "You are a mess."
"It's all your-" I hiccup, laugh, and then hiccup again. "Your fault," I finally finish my sentence as he pulls open a cab door and guides me onto the backseat. "I was having so much fun. Why did you pull me off the bar top?"
"Because I'm pretty sure your dance partner was getting the wrong impression," Ryan does not sound impressed.
"Yeah, but I didn't mind," I hiccup. "That's the most action I've had in months."
Ryan looks at me like I've lost my mind, but I can tell he's mildly amused. He scans my body from head to toe as a smile lingers in his eyes. He's so damn observant sometimes it makes me blush, and I know as soon as his smile slowly disappears into a fine line, he's thinking about something he'd rather not say.
"Where am I dropping you two off?" the cab driver asks.
My stomach turns, and a wave of nausea passes over me as Ryan rambles off my address to the cab driver. I can't remember the last time I was ever this hammered. I am not a hard-core party girl, but the last thing I wanted was to be a dud on my birthday. But somehow, tonight, I ended up a complete mess in the backseat of a cab and gauchely intoxicated for the first time in months, sitting close enough to Ryan that I could use his shoulder for a pillow.
"Hey," I slur, trying to keep myself alert. It dawned on me that I had no idea where the rest of our friends were. "Where did everyone else go?"
"They left a while ago," he says with a mildly irritated expression before continuing. "No one could get you away from that creep."
I tilt my head, staring at him. "Aw. Are you jealous?" I laugh.
Ryan doesn't answer.
"Is that why you waited for me?" I tease him. "You didn't like Mr. Touchy-Feely groping your buddy Jonsey?"
Oh boy. I've had too much to drink when talking in the third person.
"I promised I'd get you home safe," he says, his tone unreadable. "Maisie left with Jayce. Kale left with some random girl. There was no one left to babysit you."
"What about Alodie?" I ask.
He studies me with his dark, brooding eyes for a beat. "What about her?"
"She was all over you," I remind him.
"She was obnoxious."
"That hasn't stopped you before," I say, slurring my words. Ryan has never turned down an overly flirty female as gorgeous and willing as Alodie. When he doesn't respond, I ramble, "I could name a ton of obnoxious girls you've taken home from the club. Seriously. Why didn't you go home with her? I can take care of myself."
Ryan remains silent. The longer he stares at me, the more it feels like my heart is beating a little too rapidly for my liking. My chest gets tighter and tighter, and for the first time ever, Ryan is making me nervous.
"I didn't want to go home with her."
The cab becomes silent as we stare at each other in an impenetrable silence. Beneath the surface of his gaze, I see something I hadn't seen before, some depth he usually keeps hidden, as if tonight, some shield was stripped away. It can't be just the alcohol because we've both been together and drunk so many times. I can't even begin to panic or push away the unfamiliar feeling in my belly as he slides a hand along my neck and into my hair. I am not even startled by his touch or warm eyes gazing into mine. I look at him, feeling confused. Drunk, mostly.
Ryan leans in closer and kisses me once, just a touch, and even though I am completely taken aback, I don't pull away like I should. He gazes down at me for a quick beat, panicked, like he's waiting for me to slap him away. I know kissing him back is a terrible mistake. He's my best friend, and we are both drunk. But my heart rate kicks up speed, and before I can even stop myself, I stupidly kiss him back, groaning as my hands slide up his chest and around his neck. His lips fall into an easy rhythm against mine – nothing feels weird about drunk-kissing my best friend in the back seat of a cab, even though it really should. I can taste a hint of spearmint gum on his breath mixed with the shots we did together in the club. He's never been a sloppy drunk, but his cheeks are warm from the alcohol, and his body is a little too relaxed, considering I'm the person he's making out with.
The next thing I remember is exiting the cab, stumbling together into my apartment, more kissing, sucking and biting, and then somehow I'm very naked with the one person I shouldn't ever be caught naked with.