He’s pretty hot. Athletic with big round shoulders and short dark-blond hair. A nice smile. Bright eyes. Young. Wearing a Giants shirt. Pretty standard stuff but whatever Kayla is saying to him has him eyeing me appreciatively. I would have thought she wouldn’t have been a very good wingwoman herself but she genuinely seems interested in Project #Dicks (hashtag needed) as she ended up calling it. I noted she called it plural, but I suppose there could always be one for her at the end. After all, Steph has her #dick at home.
Okay, I think I’m drunk. The guy is leaning forward and asking me something but I can’t hear him so I just nod. Then he holds out his hand for me and takes me to the dance floor. I look behind my shoulder at the girls and I can tell Kayla is yelling “Dicks!”
“What’s your name?” the guy asks, as he wraps his arms around my waist and brings me up to his chest.
“All yours,” I tell him with a smirk. I can’t believe that came out of my mouth.
And next thing I know, the guy is kissing me. He tastes like beer and his tongue is too sloppy but I’m into it. The alcohol, the music, the feeling of anonymity on the dance floor. I can be anyone, he can be anyone.
Yet, no matter how hard I try, he can’t be Bram.
The next thing I know, we’re in a cab. Steph is here. Flashes of Kayla. She’s making out with some guy, sitting on his lap. I’m on this Giants guy’s lap.
Then we’re in another bar. Woodbury or something. There are two bars inside. We stay at the one that’s just for beer and shots.
I do a lot of shots. After a while they don’t burn anymore. I make out some more with Giants guy and then he takes me into the handicapped restroom, a place I know is tailor-made for having disgusting bar bathroom sex.
The guy lifts up my dress and asks if I’m on the pill. I am – I’ve been ever since Ava – but I lie. I don’t know why. I tell him I’m not.
“You should be,” he says as he pulls down my underwear. “You don’t want to end up pregnant.”
I look around the bathroom and stop at my reflection. She looks like someone else. Drunk and pretending to be unafraid. The girl in the mirror breaks my heart.
So, I look down at the guy who is grinning up at me and I say, “Doesn’t make a difference, I already have a kid. Ava. Want to see her picture?”
That stops him dead in his tracks. He lets go of my underwear and I widen my leg to prevent it from falling to the dingy floor. I pull it up as he stares at me with panicked eyes. He’s young, too young for the truth.
“Look, uh,” he says, nervously running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mess around with moms. I’m only 24 and I—”
“It’s fine,” I tell him, pulling down my dress. I’m too drunk to try and pretty up my face though, so I just punch him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Thanks for the make-out session though, it was fun.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking sheepish now. “I had no idea. You’re just so fucking hot. And young.”
I nod him my thanks and then unlock the door, heading back out into the bar.
“What happened, did you score?” Kayla asks as I walk over to her and Steph. I notice her boytoy isn’t around either.
“No,” I tell her. “And it’s fine. I just…fuck it, let’s drink everything.”
We immediately order another round of beer and shots of Jameson and we drink until things go back to being blurry again.
When reality starts to fade in a bit, I find myself being walked to the door of my apartment building, my arms draped over both Kayla and Steph. We go up the stairs and now I’m standing in front of my door, wobbling back and forth, trying my hardest to look as sober as possible.
Steph goes to knock on the door but it’s already open. I guess we are being loud, giggling, in the hallway.
Bram looks at the three of us and my God is he a sight for sore eyes.
“We brought her home,” Steph says, motioning with her hand for Bram to get out of the way, “your shift is over.”
“No,” I tell them as they shuffle me inside. “He can stay.”
I know the three of them are exchanging a look over my head.
“I’ll make sure she goes to bed,” Bram explains. “No funny business, I swear.”
“Pinky swear?” Steph says and I turn to see her holding out her pinky to him. “You know I don’t break those.”
Ugh, Steph and her damn pinky swears. She wouldn’t even be married to Linden if it weren’t for one.
But Bram does a pinky swear with her.
“No funny business,” Steph warns him.
“Good thing I’m not funny!” I yell as I flop down on the couch. The room is beginning to spin.
“Nic, that was, like, five minutes ago,” Steph says. She reaches over the couch and pats my head. “Do you want us to undress you because Bram’s not allowed.”
“No one undresses me but me!” I yell, throwing my fist up into the air.
“Have fun with her,” Steph says to Bram. “And remember, she’s untouchable. Don’t make me make your brother punch you in the junk or something.”
Bram makes a scoffing noise. “Last time he tried to do that, I got him back good. You just ask him what happened on January 16th, 2005 and why he’ll never eat pudding again.”
“I mean it,” Steph threatens and I hear her and Kayla leave and the door closing.
I close my eyes too. Drift away for a moment. The spinning has stopped and there’s a beautifully cool breeze wafting over my skin.
“I’m not supposed to touch you,” Bram’s gruff voice says and when I open my eyes, he’s crouched in front of me, a lock of dark hair over his forehead. His face is shadowy in the dark, the only light now being from my bedroom behind him.
“That’s okay,” I mumble into the couch. “You can touch me. I say it’s fine.”
“How about I bring you something to sleep in? Do you have a favorite nightshirt? I always see you in that top that your nipples try and poke right through.”
“No, not the nipple shirt.”
He goes to get up. With a lazy hand, I grip his shirt. “Don’t leave. I’m fine here.”
“I can’t imagine you being comfortable.”
“I’m drunk. Everything is comfortable. Except I wish I had a cheeseburger. I would eat it and use it as a pillow. Or maybe use it as a pillow and then eat it.”
“I see.”
I raise my brow at him. “You just want to go through my underwear.”
“Oh, I’ve already gone through your underwear.”
“Lies.”
“I wore them on my head and danced around your apartment.”
“Did you really?” I ask, totally serious.
“Come on,” he says grabbing my forearms. “If you want to sleep in your clothes, that’s fine. But I’m bringing you to your own bed and taking off your shoes.”
“Can you brush my teeth too? I need clean teeth.” I let him pull me to my feet and I pitch to the left, heading right for the coffee table. But I’m in his arms, his capable arms, and he’s holding me to him.
“You have capable arms.”
“You have an exquisite arse,” he responds and half leads me, half drags me out of the living area and into the bedroom.
“I like the way you say arse,” I say with a giggle, exaggerating his accent. “I like the way you say everything.”
“I’m glad, because I foresee a lot of arse talk in the future.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I try and swat him away. “All talk and no arse pinching.”
“You’re as tipsy as a loon,” he whispers into my ear. “Otherwise, I’d be all over you and in you. You wouldn’t be able to walk for days and I’d just be getting started.” He lays me down on my back and then starts to take off my shoes.
“Sounds painful,” I comment, feeling my whole body turn into a jellyfish. For a moment I think I don’t even have fingers and toes or arms or legs, I’m just this squishy, nebulous blob.