I’ll never understand how I got talked into this. I’ll never comprehend how at this very moment I’m standing outside an exclusive bar/lounge/club thing that I would never go to in the first place, waiting to go inside. All I want to do is go back to my apartment, watch one of my many chick flicks, and finally fade away into a troubled sleep that will put me in a foul mood tomorrow morning.

Yet here I am. Standing like a complete ho outside of Langley and wondering why the hell I’m here. The group I’m with is completely overtaken with laughter and giddiness. They can’t believe that we’ve gained access to one of the most exclusive clubs on the west coast, and truth be told I don’t quite get how Tony got us in here. Granted each of us had to pay the minimal alcohol coverage of one hundred dollars so I expect some huge ass kissing once we get inside these heavily tinted doors.

Magazines and periodicals the world over have heralded this as one of the most lavish clubs in the world. The wait list to be a permanent member is five years long and with a minimal membership fee of twenty grand, its safe to say that this place will be crawling with the rich and famous.

Again, I have no idea who Tony had to blow to get into this place. I hope it isn’t the huge ass, exceedingly butch bouncer who is eyeing the females with a hungry gaze as they filter past him. I swear to God if he so much as gives me a once over I will have something to say.

“Do you think there’ll be any celebrities here tonight?” Lisa one of Tony’s best friends questions. I shrug. I’m indifferent to all of that bullshit. Living in California of course you have your celebrity encounter here and there, but I relish in the fact that I don’t go looking for them. I’m happy working at my day care and staying out of their way. “Come on, Monica, why are you so tense? This is supposed to be a fun night celebrating your brother’s big twenty-five!”

Yeah, I’d be more in the celebratory mood if I didn’t have to pay a hundred dollars to gain access to this supposed posh club.

“Lighten up, sis! They’re letting us in now! They just had to check the guest list and now we’re ready to go!” Tony exclaims as he slings an arm around my shoulder. I smile in his direction as we stream past the bouncer. Thankfully Tony’s body is shielding the gorilla man’s view of not only me but Lisa as well. It’s Bouncer Boy’s lucky day.

We escape the chilly January air as we step into the main lobby. It’s quiet and the subdued tone of the interior sets every one into an immediate chill mood. The slow banging of the bass can be heard through the closed door past the coat check and the majority of my group is ready to push through them to get to the dancing, boozing, and general good times.

The moment has finally arrived and soon our group is muscling their way through the door trying to find our table and the beat to the random, generic rap song pounding through the loudspeakers. Tony and the rest of his friends immediately run towards the dance floor leaving me and one of Tony’s frumpy co-workers sitting at the table, taking in the scene.

I would be fine sitting alone with this co-worker, but seeing as she doesn’t shut up for two seconds and she has the biggest crush on my brother, I want to smack her. Great. This night is going to be absolutely fabulous.

“So then I told your brother that he had a piece of fuzz on his shoulder and he just shrugged and walked away. But he had Tina brush it off his jacket two minutes later. What does that mean?” she questions before she orders three vodka shots from the random waiter wondering around the club.

“Can I help you?” the waiter asks me before I can answer the girl’s question.

“Cherry soda,” I say. I was instructed to be the designated driver for the evening and I didn’t want to go back on that promise to my brother. Besides, its so much more fun watching everyone get drunk around me and make complete asses of themselves.

“I don’t know what it means and it’s driving me crazy. You’re his sister what should I do Monica?” I roll my eyes, cross my legs, and turn myself away from Annoying Co-Worker. I don’t dance and I don’t really want to socialize with all the people here in this place so I guess I’m stuck here until my brother asks this girl to dance or she decides to leave of her own accord.

The drinks are back and I’m grateful to have something to sip on while Co-Worker continues to gab about how much she loves my brother instead of going off to do something about it. Figures. She could be dancing it up with my brother right now but instead she’s choosing to bitch and moan and I’m going crazy.

“I’ll be right back,” I exclaim right before she starts to move on from the topic of my brother’s body to his lips. If there’s one thing I don’t do – it’s listening to someone talk about the sexual appeal of my brother. Just no.

I set my drink on the table and move towards the bar. After dealing with this girl I need some hard liquor and I do not want to share it with Tony’s co-worker. Thankfully there’s an open spot at the bar and I lean over the counter to catch a bartender’s attention.

“Oh shit!” a voice yells and before I can see where it’s coming from, I feel something cold and wet seeping into the front of my shirt dress.

“Fuck!” I shout while looking down at my ruined dress. And the hits just keep on coming. My mood is worsening as I push past the totally drunk college frat boy who keeps apologizing in slurred speech. I don’t want to deal with this bull shit right now.

“Ohmigawd, Monica what happened?” annoying co-worker exclaims as she leaps to her feet as I rush past the table. I completely ignore her and push my way into the bathroom. Hopefully if I work fast, I can get the pink stain out of my light blue dress before it sets.

“God dammit,” I whisper under my breath. Why the hell did I choose to wear my Marc Jacobs tonight? My brother’s birthday isn’t that important and now I’m going to have a huge ass stain to remember the night.

I turn the faucet on and let the hot water pour into the sink before I grab paper towel after paper towel. What was it my mom told me about getting stains out of a dress? Rub? Dab? Wet it and leave it alone? Shit, shit, shit. This dress cost me almost two paychecks and I swear to God if the stain sets my brother is either buying me a new one or paying for the dry cleaning bill.

Dab…definitely dab. I start to press the paper towel on my dress at high speed. It isn’t working and of course I’m getting overly frustrated. I can feel the tears starting to swell up in my eyes and I refuse to let my make up get as screwed up as my dress.

Great, the stain isn’t coming out. There goes my whole paycheck down the drain. I drop the towels in the basin and grip the edges of the sink with both hands. I am honestly seeing red right now and the next bitch who comes into this bathroom is going to get smacked.

A grunt that sounds strangely male comes from one of the toilet cubicles behind me. Whatever girl is in that stall must have eaten some nasty shit because it smells…whoo it smells bad. Her fashion sense is lacking because those checkered vans should be pulled out for the shitty club down the street and not Langley.

God it reeks in here.

The stall at the end of the row flushes and the source of the smell exits the cubicle and walks past my pos…

Oh my shit – is that a guy? If it is he totally didn’t wash his hands and that is disgusting! I look back down at the sink and turn off the running water. The vans sneaker girl sniffs before the toilet flushes. I glance up at the mirror to check the reflection of the girl who is probably wearing some poorly put together ensemble. Instead of meeting supposed girl with no fashion sense – I find myself staring at the surprised blue eyes of the most beautiful specimen I have ever had the honor, no, the privilege of looking at. The vans make sense as well as the male grunts. Of course admitting that also means I’ve made my way into the men’s room. Well, this is embarrassing.

I look up into the mirror again to make sure I’m not just imagining things. Maybe Insane Co-Worker spiked my drink so I could commiserate with her and the notions that my brother loves her back.

Nope. Gorgeous Man is still there. I wonder if he’d notice me if I was outside his territory and not standing at the sink looking like a crazy person with tears threatening to fall down my face because of a stupid stain in my dress. I wonder if he would have noticed me sitting at the table outside, bored out of my wits. I wonder if he’d come rescue me or punch the drunken frat boy for ruining my hot little number. But no, I’m here looking like a complete idiot standing in his territory looking a hot mess.

So without hesitation, my hands loosen their grip on the sink and I tear myself away from his piercing gaze. I can still see his smug smirk bearing into the back of my head. I’m glad I could be so damn amusing. This’ll be a great story to tell my brother when he’s sober.

I make it back to the table and try to suppress my laughter. Annoying Co-Worker is standing on the table dancing like some two cent whore to some disco tune. Her hair is tangled and the straps of her dress have fallen off of her shoulders. She’s singing unabashedly, raising a glass in the air as if to salute the women who are dealing with unrequited love.

 This act of foolishness needs to be documented. 

I look around for my purse but to my dismay, I can’t find it anywhere. The first thought that pops into my head is that someone ran off with it while I was making an ass of myself in the men’s bathroom. But upon deeper thought I realize I brought it with me to the restroom, throwing it on the counter with frustration. Wonderful, I’ll have to brave the men’s room again. Not looking forward to it. But my cash, credit cards, and camera are counting on me to come to their rescue.

I rush back to the bathroom, swallowing my fear. I push open the door and survey the situation. Everything seems to be in order except the gorgeous man is standing in the middle of the room, holding onto my purse and digging through it.

“Hey!” I yell loudly. His head snaps up and our eyes meet again. Good lord he’s beautiful. I almost reconsider yelling at him and asking if he wants a drink instead. He looks so Bond, searching through my purse – and he isn’t even in a tux.

Uh…nevertheless, he is invading my privacy and I have every right to kick his sexy ass.

“What do you think you’re doing? That’s my…”

“Sorry, but you did leave it here. I was just trying to get some ID so I could look for you out in the club.” Even his voice is sexy - a slow drawl that purrs and growls with every syllable. Christ, get it together Monica!

“It’s called ‘Lost and Found’ if you didn’t know,” I retort sharply.

“Well, it looks like you got lost and then found yourself in the men’s room.” Was that his lame attempt at a joke? Really, it was stupid. I think he realizes what a retarded statement that was because he looks just a bit embarrassed. Not as much as me, but whatever.

“I thought you were cute when you were embarrassed, but you’re much more attractive when you’re pissed,” he blurts out and I have no idea what to say to such a blunt statement. Or should I take that as a compliment?

“Uh, thanks?” awkward silence fills the room. Someone flushes a toilet and a man (go figure) appears from behind a wall that is no doubt separating the washing area from a row of urinals.

“She’s not allowed in here, dude,” the guy tells my would be purse snatcher. We both give him the ‘mind your own damn business’ look before he takes the hint, washes his hands quickly, and exits the room.

“Can I have my purse, please?” he looks down at the bag and starts forward, closing the distance between us. Our hands brush as I take my purse out of his grasp. “I’m Monica,” I all but whisper. My word he’s pretty.

“Justin,” he purrs.

“A pleasure I guess,” I add and he laughs quietly. I have no idea where this is going but I guess I should roll with it. Besides this guys seems like a better time than Tony’s exceedingly inebriated co-worker who is probably still dancing for dollar bills on the table.

“Can I get you a drink? Maybe a dance?” he questions as we both turn around for the exit. His hand finds the small of my back and I’m pretty excited he wants to hang out with me even though I have a huge stain on the front of my dress. The fact that he’s touching me right now makes me want to throw him into one of the stalls and do him right now.

But that would be highly unsanitary.

“Sure,” I explain as he reaches out to push the door open, “Why not?”

To say I had fun with Justin the remainder of my night in the club is a complete and total understatement. I had the time of my life. It helped that he dropped the big bucks on the overpriced drinks and he would turn a deaf ear towards my protests when I told him that eighteen dollars for six shots of tequila between us was way too much.

Needless to say by the time we hit the dance floor I was starting to feel the effects of drinking three shots of tequila, a few mixed drinks, and I think…did I do a shot of vodka? I can’t remember.

We’re both clumsy on the floor due to the toxins that have infiltrated our bodies but I don’t give a fuck who sees me. My brother is probably at some table other than his own with some leggy blonde and the rest of his friends are either at the bar, somewhere smashed on the dance floor, or have found their own rides home. Screw being the Designated Driver tonight, I found my fun and I’m going to go with it for the time being.

The music is loud and I have no idea what song it is. All I care about and all I’m seeing right now is Justin standing in front of me, swaying in time to the music. I move towards him and our bodies connect. He turns me around and wraps his arms around my mid-section and the closeness is killing me. We’re practically having sex on the dance floor and this something I never would have thought myself doing.

But hey, I’m drunk, the guy is hot, and I’m sure when he isn’t in the club or slightly drunk he’s a brilliant conversationalist. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. I could be totally wrong and this could be the biggest jerk on the face of the planet. Then again why would a huge jerk talk to a girl with a noticeable pink stain on her dress?

My arms are reaching behind me and after a bit of searching, they wrap themselves around his neck. Before I realize what’s going on, I’ve turned around so I’m facing Justin, his face inches from my own. His hands are still on my waist and mine are rubbing his closely shorn hair and I almost laugh out loud because of the fuzzy texture.

I smile and he leans forward more, our foreheads and noses touching. My whole body is on fire and I completely blame him for this. Despite being drunk he’s an amazing dancer and I feel like I’m only on board for the ride. Our lips are millimeters apart and I have to admit I’ve been waiting for this moment since I first saw him in the men’s room.

His sweet breath is engulfing me and just when I think his mouth is on mine, his head veers to the left and I feel his lips gently press on my neck over and over again. What a tease. My head automatically tilts back and I want nothing more than to voice how much this is making me want to do something unspeakably nasty to him on the dance floor, but I refrain. Instead, I pull away from him, put my hands on his cheeks and bring it in for the real thing.

If Justin kissing my neck got me that worked up, it says nothing for actually kissing him. My whole body is on fire and I don’t know why my clothes haven’t burned off yet. I am ready to melt into a puddle of goo because this is just…oh holy shit.

It isn’t what I expected at all. I’ve had my share of drunken make outs and they’re usually very slobbery and not at all well executed. But this was carried out to a T and my knees are knocking together. My world is spinning. Are we still dancing? Are we even in Langley anymore? Who did I come here with? How much did I have to drink? Did I really pick this guy up in the fucking men’s room?

Why the hell am I asking so many questions? If I was a smart girl I would focus on the fact that this hell of a guy is currently making out with me – big pink stain or not!

He isn’t like the other club hookups I’ve experienced. Most of the guys are just looking for something to hold them together between girlfriends or more serious hookups. Others are doing the exact opposite and trying to get away from their girlfriends and do so by finding random girls who aren’t going to spoil the perfect life they have separated from the second one they lead. They’re callous, rough, and looking for a wham, bam, thank you ma’am. But this guy is totally different. Even now he’s kissing me as if I’ll be the last kiss he ever has. He caresses, he gives, takes, and is absolutely gentle when he wants to be, but that fire is still there. I swear to God, Justin could make a mint if he sold his techniques to other males. Hell, he could set up shop right in the men’s bathroom, and I wouldn’t hesitate to be his female assistant.

“Hey,” he mutters using the sudden usage of words to break away from my lips. His eyes are flashing with curiosity and probably a hint of lust. His lips are a bit more swollen than before and I take great pride in knowing that I was the cause of that.

“What?” I yell over the booming sound of hip hop. I hate clubs for the sole reason that you can’t talk to anyone without blowing a vocal chord.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he shouts into my ear. Does he even have to ask? I nod enthusiastically and Justin grins widely before kissing me again. When he tries to pull away, I only hold on longer and he smiles against my lips before chuckling out loud. He finally pulls away and grabs my hand, taking me towards the entrance of the club.

I’m hoping to God he’s more sober than I am because I am in no mood to drive. I spot my brother sitting on a couch as I make my way out with Justin. He looks at me with wide eyes as a blonde continues to kiss his neck and massage his stomach. Tony gives the thumbs up before Justin and I make our final exit.

The car ride home is more than eventful. For some reason he had a black SUV waiting for him, driver included. The journey is mostly spent with me sitting on his lap where the awe inspiring kissing continues. I would be totally content to sit in his car and kiss him until the end of time, but all too soon we’re pulling up to his enormous house and I know things other than Hot and Heavy Make Out-a-Thon will begin.

Justin anxiously pulls me from the car and I try to avoid eye contact with his driver. I don’t want to seem like a dirty skank. We walk into the foyer of his house and the onslaught of kissing continues. Hey, I have no complaints about it at all. Our hands are roaming all over each other’s bodies and soon he has me pressed up against the wall still kissing me as if there’s no tomorrow.

What lottery did I win to get this kind of treatment? Lord almighty I have hit the proverbial jackpot. His tongue is dancing circles around mine and at the moment I can’t make heads or tails of what is going on. If Justin stopped kissing me now and asked me which way was up, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell him. I am so intoxicated right now and… Justin has found my weakness. He’s nibbling on my bottom lip.

I can’t hide the small moan that escapes my lips and before I can stop myself, I’ve wrapped my legs around his waist, our mouths never pulling off one another. He’s walking somewhere, I have no idea where we’re traveling too but I can only guess its to a place where we can take a horizontal position and really get to business.

My thoughts are confirmed five minutes later as I’m placed down on a mattress, his hands still roaming all over my body. Of course this is where I decide to let the alcohol induced darkness take over me. The last thing I can remember is discarding my stained dress onto the floor…


Hangovers are God’s little way of telling people to never drink that much again. But do we listen to him? Hell no. Sometimes it’s good to wake up in the morning with the worst headache in the world and want to sit on a couch for hours on end and not join the real world. Granted I have to have the worst hangover in my entire life in a stranger’s bed. Only me I swear.

Sunlight is streaming in from the windows on either side of the mammoth bed I’ve found myself in and the bright light isn’t helping the pounding on my temples. The spot where Justin should be lying is empty and I can only hope he’s in the bathroom doing whatever he needs to do and not out calling friends about the random chick that’s inhabiting his bed at the moment.

But I shouldn’t give myself that much credit.

I swallow and find that my throat is incredibly scratchy. Good lord how loud and how long did I scream last night? Was it really that amazing? All I can remember is rocking back and forth in a bed, yelling incoherent things to the wind. And it happened twice.

The door to what I’m assuming is the bathroom opens and Justin appears, leaning against the doorframe with a toothbrush in his mouth, the only thing covering his lower half is a towel tied carelessly around his waist.

“Hi,” I say hoarsely. He holds up a hand to pause me before he disappears for a moment. The sound of spitting and water hitting the sink basin is heard before Justin appears again, walking across the room towards his closet. He vanishes again behind a semi closed door and comes back out a split second later in plaid pajama pants.

“Hey,” he quips as he bounces on the bed and crawls up next to me. Now comes the part of exceedingly awkward silences and looks that ask ‘so should I drop you off and do I get your number or is this a one time thing?’

“I already called you a cab, it should be here within twenty minutes or so.”

Oh…so this is a one time thing. I should have known. I think he can read my disdain because he reaches out and grabs hold of my hand as if to reassure my thoughts.

“I just have a lot to do…”

“You don’t have to make excuses,” I interrupt. I really don’t want to talk about this whole thing and I’m praying that he doesn’t make this more awkward and embarrassing than it already is.

“I would like to see you again. You know, get to know you. All I know about you, Monica, is you have very interesting taste in fashion, you’re pretty damn good in bed, and you like to go into men’s bathrooms.”

“What do you mean fashion taste?” I question.

“Not everyday you meet a girl who has a huge polka dot in the middle of their dress. Then again not many people can pull that off.”

“Are you kidding me?” I ask in disbelief. This guy is totally clueless and soon I’m laughing uncontrollably. Justin looks concerned, as if this one night stand has gone to hell on my brain. I manage to get my laughter under control and once I’m able to speak without bursting into giggles, I explain what happened the night before.

“Oh so that would explain why you were washing the front of your dress. I thought you were crazy for a second washing a perfectly good dress. You know what this means, right?”

“No…” I have no idea where he’s going with this.

“Well it means that I’m going to have to see that dress without the stain for the next time.”

So now there is going to be a next time? God this one night stand thing is so confusing.

Without another word, Justin gets off the bed and throws me an old T-shirt and boxer shorts. He seems really pleased with himself that he was able to dress a woman in his own clothes and he doesn’t seem the least bit ticked off that I might run away with his clothes and never return them.

Nevertheless, he makes me some cereal to wait for the cab and we get to talking about random, every day things and normal adult questions. Things are going great and I’m glad that I met him, even if it was a random bump in at the men’s bathroom.

The cab arrives and he escorts me out to the vehicle, pausing quickly to give me a kiss goodbye before paying the driver however much it was to take me home. What a new age knight.

As the taxi pulls away, I turn around and watch him wave us on, a boyish grin on his face. We round a corner and he’s vanished from my sight. It isn’t until we’re safely on the freeway that I look down at my dress and press gently on the faded pink stain.

I’m going to have to let frat boys pour drinks on my dress more often.