Story Notes:

Apparently I've lost every bit of my sanity as I've started (and decided to post) yet another story. I blame the warm weather and sunshine. I always feel invincible in the summer. 

 

a million billion trillion thank yous to my dear friends --'R' for her banner making skillz -- and LadyX for being the bestest, most encouraging beta!! you're both rockstars and i heart you!! 

and thank you SO VERY MUCH to every single person who voted for this story for the '16/Season 9 Awards. you guys are the bomb (dot) com.  

 

Reese

First things first. I'm not drunk. I mean, I wouldn't drive home or anything, because tipsy driving is still drunk driving. But really, I still have most of my wits about me. Really, my head's only swimming when I sit down. And I'm not sitting down anymore. Because they are playing my shit right now. The rhythm and my heartbeat are thumping in symbiotic harmony. I have no idea what song's playing but it's my new favorite and it's flowing through my bloodstream. I throw my head back as I raise my arms overhead. My hips move independently of the rest of my body, completely enslaved to the beat.

I feel the brush of fingers against my back, and then breath on my ear. I turn around with a smile and place a hand on his chest. "No, thanks," I say, hoping he can hear me over the music.

"Come on, Baby, just one dance?" He's lacing his fingers through mine, but I'm pulling away with a shake of my head.

"I just want to dance, OK? Alone." I take a few steps away from him and turn back around, and though I can feel his presence still behind me for a moment, he eventually walks away.

I've been doing this all night. I don't know what's so hard to understand about it. I just want to drown in the music (and liquor) and dance, without some random dude's hands all over me. Is that too much to ask?

Bridgette's been encouraging me to do something reckless tonight. Not the kind of reckless that'll end up with me behind bars or in a morgue or anything. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," she says. She's been suggesting anonymous sex with an anonymous hot guy. Unfortunately for me--or maybe her, I don't know--I'm not seeing an abundance of hot guys around this club so far.

Besides, right now I'm pretty sure I hate men. All of them. Maybe I'll be a late in life lesbian. I don't know if 34 is considered late in life. And I also don't know if I've ever been sexually attracted to a woman. There was that one time in college, but it wasn't anywhere near sex, and it involved a shit ton of vodka and a game of Truth or Dare that quickly went left. Horny drunk college boys and shameless drunk college girls should probably never play Truth or Dare together.

Maybe sleeping with women can be an acquired taste. I'm all about acquiring new tastes these days. I'm still considering lesbianism when Sasha and Bridgette come up next to me.

"Drink up, girl! You're at least three shots behind us!"

Bridgette's shoving two shot glasses at me and Sasha's grinning wildly. They left me on the dancefloor to get more drinks--free, so they hoped.

I toss one shot back and my face involuntarily scrunches up. "Whoo! What is that?"

Sasha's giggling. "Don't know. We told the bartender to make us something that would fuck us up and that's what he came up with. And some randoms paid for it so even better."

I'm slamming back the second shot and feeling the burn and then I'm just feeling good. I don't know what was in that shot glass, but whatever it was, as far as the directive to fuck us up, the bartender took that shit seriously.

So, yeah. Maybe I'm drunk now. And also I have to pee.

I assure my girls that they don't actually have to follow me, set my empty shots on the bar as I pass by, and I'm making my way to the bathroom, teetering in heels that I let Sasha talk me into. I'm much more at home in flip flops when I'm sober, so this whole walking drunk while balancing on four inch stilettos is kind of for the birds. I want to take the damned things off, but I'm also not a fan of athlete's foot--or whatever other fungus I could pick up from the floor of this place.

Apparently the bathroom gods hear my silent prayer, as the ladies room has no line. I stumble into the bathroom and into a stall. Once my bladder is blissfully emptied, I'm washing my hands in the sink and taking in my reflection.

Bridgette is obviously a magician with makeup and I'm thinking I'll buy her an expensive bottle of wine to thank her later. No one would ever know, just looking at me, that I spent the last almost forty-eight hours sobbing.  My eyes aren't puffy or particularly red. In fact, everything about my makeup is flawless. My hair is kind of a wild halo around my head and shoulders, but humidity plus tight curls always equals that. My underwear is brought to you by La Perla. And while I'm wearing the most expensive flimsy pieces of lace I've ever in my life owned, I'm looking at the abundance of cleavage I don't normally have and feeling like it's worth it. In the simple tank top with the plunging neckline and skinny jeans, I look pretty fucking good. And considering that I've been feeling like fucking shit, that's a wonderful thing.

He keeps coming to my mind in flashes. David. And the glint of diamonds on perfectly manicured fingers. Rebecca.

Fuck. Them. Both.

I plan on drinking until I can't remember either of their names. I've never been blackout drunk but tonight is a good time to aim for it.

I take a deep breath and, very carefully, step my way out of the bathroom. Not carefully enough, I suppose, because just a few feet away from the restroom I step wrong on one heel and suddenly I'm falling.

Fuck. These. Shoes.

"Whoa!" Strong arms are around me, steadying me and I'm looking up into a pair of really pretty blue eyes.

Full disclosure: blue eyes don't really do it for me. Give me a pair of deep, cognac-brown eyes over just about anything else any day. I swoon. But this guy's blues are amazingly lovely. Bright. Little flecks of maybe green? I don't know. He's talking to me, asking me something, and I realize I'm grinning stupidly. Also, it's loud and I can hardly hear him.

"Hey, you OK, honey?" he asks a bit louder. He's staring down at me, a small smile on his lips.

So that part where I said there were no hot guys around? I was wrong.

After willing my brain to function, I open my mouth, praying my words don't slur. "I...uh...yeah. Thanks. I've had far too much liquor to be wearing these shoes."

He glances down at my feet and then he's laughing. And I'm giggling. I only giggle when I'm drunk.

He's good looking, this guy. I'm guessing he's around my age, maybe a little older. His hair--it's dark, a little wavy and looks super thick--is graying just a little at the temples. He's completely not my type in any way, shape or form. For one, he's white. And I like my men a little more...not white. Don't get me wrong; there are lots of cute white guys--and I've dated a few. But I'm a brown girl and I like brown men. It's just my thing. But I cannot deny that he is...really good looking. Really.  

He's wearing this graphic tee and I can't really make out the white design but it's this kind of cool gray-green color with and a kind of abstract pattern in navy blue running through it. And it's not tight, and it's really simple, but motherfuck does it fit him well. He looks like he works out. And he definitely feels like he works out.

He's laughing, and the sound of his voice is melodic and it's rumbling through me and hitting me in unexpected places. And his eyes are crinkled up and sparkling and it's really charming. And his arms are still around me, even though I'm mostly steady on my feet now, but it means he's pretty close to me which means I can smell him and he smells ah-mazing. I don't know what it is, but it's clean and fresh and very, very masculine. And speaking of, he's slightly built through the hips and legs, but his shoulders are rather broad and his arms--the ones still around me--I can feel the muscles in them.

Yeah. He's cute. And also, I haven't had sex in a couple of months.

"So, um, if I let you go you're not gonna topple over, are you?"

He's still grinning at me and it's making my insides feel all warm and tingly and I'm thinking that a taste for sex with women is maybe not something I'll ever acquire. And maybe tonight just got a little bit more interesting.

I tilt my head to the side and flash him what I hope is my best and brightest smile. "Maybe not," I say, "but I wouldn't mind a little help over to a seat. Since you've already proven to be such a gentleman, and all."

His smile brightens even more and he keeps one arm around me. "I think I can do that."

I lean into him as we're walking away. I think...I think maybe Bridgette has the right idea after all.

 

 

JC

In my defense, I didn't even want to be here. I don't mean here, specifically. But Chicago, in general. Not that I have anything against Chicago; it's a great city. But it's late October and it's already pretty cold. They don't call it the Windy City for nothing, and I hate cold. That's why I've called Southern California home for over a decade.

But I'm here, in windy Chicago, and Tia...well, she's not. Which is funny considering I'm only here because she insisted I be here. Tia's insisting on a lot lately and mostly, going along with it is easier--more peaceful--than not. And I like peace. But more and more I'm feeling like...well I'm not feeling very peaceful. But I don't want to think about that, which is why I'm here. Specifically.

When I told Eli I'd be alone in the city for the next twenty four hours he insisted on assembling a small group and bringing me out. He knows me, knows I would've been sitting in my hotel room actively avoiding thinking about everything that's currently disturbing my peace. Have I mentioned that I like peace?

So I'm here, and he's sprung for bottle service, and I'm drinking. And that means I'm not thinking too much. And that's good. And his friends, most of whom I've met before, are all pretty cool. A couple of people have recognized me, but that's been cool too.

The thing I like about Chicago is that it's got this big city-meets-small town thing going on. Maybe it's something about the Midwest, but for the most part, even when people notice me, they mostly leave me alone. I've taken a few selfies with a few people, but they're largely unobtrusive. That's peaceful too.

I'm leaving the head when this girl is falling directly into my arms. "Whoa!" I say as I try to steady her on her feet.

She's kind of teetering for a moment and she's clutching my arms, kind of panting and out of breath. I think her almost-fall kind of took her by surprise.

I can't help it, because of the way she's kind of leaning on me, that I'm perfectly positioned to stare down the front of her shirt. I hate myself a little for doing it but...hey, I'm male. And thanks to the tiny top she's wearing, it's all beautifully on display.

She's kinda smiling at me, and although it's clear she's probably three sheets to the wind, she's also got a great smile. Honestly, she's got a pretty great everything, from what I can see. Big brown eyes, full lips colored in red, straight white teeth. Upturned little nose on a round face. And of course, what's down her shirt. She's...yeah. She's cute.

"Hey, you OK, honey?" I'm staring down at her and she's still smiling at me with eyes that I'm enjoying look back into. I need to remind myself that cute drunk girls are potentially dangerous territory.

She seems to take a deep breath. "I...uh...yeah. Thanks. I've had far too much liquor to be wearing these shoes."

I'm expecting her to sound like...well, like she looked when she was falling over a moment ago. But she sounds surprisingly sober. I mean she's speaking a little slow, but she's completely coherent and not slurring at all. I glance down at these shoes she's talking about and I burst out laughing because the heel is so high and I think it's ridiculous how girls wear shoes like that just to go out and drink.

I'm laughing and then she's laughing with me and, oh man, even her laugh is cute. And she's staring at me in this way that I can't quite describe. At first I think maybe she recognizes me, but it doesn't seem like that's it exactly. But I do think she's maybe checking me out a little and she's still holding on to me. And the way she's still kind of leaning on me, well I keep inhaling her and she smells sexy. There's something vaguely familiar about whatever it is she's wearing, but I don't know what.  

I'm feeling...something. I'm not sure what. Well, that's not completely true. I know one thing I'm feeling, but lust isn't the only thing. Maybe a little anticipation, maybe a little anxiety. I've spent approximately 60 seconds with this girl and I'm already thinking she may be the reason that I get into trouble tonight.   

"So, um, if I let you go you're not gonna topple over, are you?" I ask her that, and her smile changes, just a little bit. It's still wide, and bright, and really beautiful. But there's something maybe a little challenging there.

"Maybe not," she says, "but I wouldn't mind a little help over to a seat. Since you've already proven to be such a gentleman, and all."

I keep one arm around her, and grin back down at her. "I think I can do that."

I'm walking a treacherous road right now. I'm sure of it.     
Chapter End Notes:
thank you to both ladyx & creativechaos for the encouragement & beta'ing. <3<3<3


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Story Tags: randomhookup triangles otherwoman boyfriendjc jc producerjc cheaterjc