Within minutes, she’s standing next to me, handing me another drink.
“On the house again,” she says, offering her glass up for a toast. I clink mine against hers and we both sip from our straws. “All I had to do is agree to a date and give him my phone number,” she says after she takes a swallow.
My mouth drops open. “You did not.”
“I did,” she says with a shrug and then a grin. “I just gave him the wrong number.”
“Ooh, you’re bad,” I tell her and we both laugh. And drink.
And drink some more.
Finally after thirty minutes of dancing and sweating and laughing with our newfound nameless friends, guys come sniffing around us, some of them cute, a couple of them creepy. We dance away from the creepy ones and smile and flirt with the other ones. I notice Gina never says she has a boyfriend and I wonder at that. Though I can’t judge. Why should she have to offer up her private business to a guy she barely knows? But if I had a boyfriend I know I wouldn’t be flirting with random dudes on a dance floor at a semi-sleazy bar.
By the time I finish my second drink I’m good and buzzed—and it’s already almost midnight. I need to go home. “I have a nine o’clock class tomorrow,” I yell at Gina.
She bounces up and down and laughs, clapping her hands together. She finished off her second drink long ago and she’s acting sort of crazy. “Who cares? I have an eight o’clock one.”
Ugh. She’s going to hate herself in the morning. “We should get out of here,” I tell her and she shakes her head.
“Ah, come on. Don’t be a party pooper. Let’s dance more! It’s fun.” She spins in a circle and then starts dancing around me, getting closer and closer, reaching out to grab my waist and make me dance with her. I fall into the steps easily, enjoying myself, smiling at the other girls nearby, noticing that most of the guys have backed off once again. Maybe they realized they weren’t getting anywhere with us.
And they never would. At least, not tonight.
The bar is packed, filled to the freaking brim with girls. Every kind of girl you could imagine. Tall, short, skinny, chubby, curvy, thin as a rail, red heads, brunettes and blondes, blue eyed, brown eyed, a few greens and hazels I’m sure, not that I can tell any of their actual eye color. The room is too damn dark. They’re all wearing…not much and there’s a lot of skin on display, plus the room is stifling what with all the bodies inside of it.
Yet I’m still here along with Shep and Tristan, holding the wall up with my shoulder and contemplating the scene. Tristan surveys the girls before them with such a possessive gleam I’m wondering if he thinks they’re all a part of his own personal harem.
Me? I’m not interested in a one of them. Meaning something is clearly wrong with me.
“They all look really young,” Shep observes, tipping his head toward mine so I can hear him better. “What do you want to make a bet the majority of them are in here with fake IDs?”
“I don’t want to take that bet,” I tell him because I know he’s probably right. Yeah, there are a lot of girls that are our age in here but many of them do look bright eyed and incredibly young. Like fresh out of high school young.
No thanks. They’re practically like jailbait and I don’t need the hassle.
Two girls chose that precise moment to walk past us, one of them flashing Shep a sultry smile and Tristan glares at him the second they’re out of earshot. “What the hell, dude? I thought you were our wingman?”
“I am,” Shep says, frowning.
“Then why didn’t you lure one of them in? Say something to them?”
“Didn’t realize I was supposed to do your job for you,” Shep says sarcastically. “Can’t you do that on your own?”
I roll my eyes and slump against the wall, not in the mood to get in the middle of one of their fights. I’ve done that before, countless times. We all three get along for the most part but every once in a while these two go at each other because they’re cousins and it’s easy for them to argue.
If they’re going to keep this shit up though, I’m out of here.
Ignoring them, I check out all the girls, waiting for one of them to catch my eye. They’re all pretty and laughing and drinking, a light sheen of sweat on their faces since the bar is hot as hell. I nurse my beer, not willing to let go and get drunk. I thought I wanted to get trashed and find a willing and ready girl but the moment I walked into this bar, I knew that was the last thing I wanted.
It’s irritating, how none of them interest me. I don’t discriminate. I like them all sizes and shapes and colors. I genuinely love spending time with women. Listening to them laugh, talking with them, flirting with them. It’s fun. They’re fun.
But these girls, they’re probably not much of a challenge. Seriously, just from watching them, I can tell none of these girls would be. They’re all on the make, just like Tristan is on the make, trolling for girls like a perv.
Jesus, I’m being totally judgmental. What the hell is wrong with me? Who cares if they’re looking to hook up or not? That’s pretty much how I survived college, especially my freshman year. I banged just about every semi-attractive girl who looked my way.
That sort of thing doesn’t interest me anymore. I can’t believe I’m thinking this, could probably never get around to actually saying it out loud, but…
The casual sex thing doesn’t sound fun. It sounds miserable. I want to find someone and be like Shep and Jade. I want a relationship.