Initially, I thought that my attire would be acceptable to venture out in; however, this belief was proven to be very much wrong within minutes of seeing my roommates' clothing.

Back to the drawing board it is, then.

Eyeing my newly organized closet, I sigh, knowing there are only three dresses that could possibly be acceptable for this evening. With a shrug, I grab one of my hoe dresses and say "what the hell" to myself before squeezing myself into the tiny fabric prison and zipping up the back. With my tits out, my makeup done, and a crippling pair of heels, I leave my small room and walk into the common room where I find a nearly empty vodka bottle and my three roommates, looking way hotter than I could ever dream of being. They surprise me when they gush over my outfit and my makeup, though, so at least I have that going for me.

"Alright ladies, time to catch the boys," I announce, taking my phone and my keys in my hand. It takes several minutes for me to escort them out of the room and several more to heard them into my car. I drive to the only bar I know of and hope it's a good one; the girl's' loud screeching when we arrive confirms that I have made a somewhat decent choice.

Before I can put the car in park, the girls are already scrambling out of the car towards the entrance of the bar. It's funny how they suddenly want to operate like normal humans the minute I'm not trying to get them in one place. Actually, it's not funny. It's kind of annoying, and now that they're loose, I realize that rounding them up in a bar like this is going to be a nightmare. 'Club' is probably a more accurate description of this place. Strobe lights are bouncing off the walls, and please don't even get me started on the shit-covered floor. I'm pretty sure that if the juices on the floor touched your skin, you'd probably have to burn it off to be entirely cleansed from it.

As I approach the club, I contemplate going inside when the storefront a few doors down catches my attention. It has a heavy wooden door with glass walls, and inside there are pool tables and some guy singing on stage with a guitar. It's decently crowded in there, but nothing compared to the ever-increasing line out the door of this God-forsaken house of hooligans. This other place really seems more like my kind of scene.

"Maybe later," I tell myself, following my three crazy roommates and standing in line.

The wait is nearly twenty minutes and my feet are already killing me; I genuinely can't fathom having to last any longer in these shoes than midnight, so hopefully, my roommates get their fill of partying before I heard them up to leave. I don't know how likely that is to happen, though, since no less than seven stupid frat boys have come up to us, trying to charm their way ahead in line. Now, I might could fall for their lies if I were desperate enough, but these guys are clearly assholes, so I have determined that none of them will cut in front of me. My roommates, on the other hand, do not have the same restraint as I do, so they let these dickheads get ahead in line, meaning that we're going to be here longer than I had hoped.

When we at last get into the club, it's more crowded than I ever could have imagined. There's literally no room to walk, and the only decent standing room is by the bathroom. With so many people squeezing against me, that is the only place in which I will be able to survive this night. All of us are separated at this point; trying to stay together would have been a fool's errand. I try to make my way to the open space I had seen earlier, and the moment I manage to escape the throng of sweaty bodies is like squeezing pus out of a wound. The pressure of everyone against me finally becomes so great that once I am free of it, my body is thrust forward, rather aggressively, into the wall by the bathrooms. Only, I don't hit the wall directly. I hit a person. Oh god.

Stumbling to catch my balance, I finally am able to stand up straight and look the person in the face. At first, I'm confused. I expect to see some drunk, khaki-wearing, Hawaiian shirt-clad frat dude in loafers, but that is not at all the person I am looking at. He's wearing black dress pants along with what looks to be a silk gold blouse of sorts that has a deep v-neck and appears to be too short on him. Either that, or it's just supposed to be that way, I don't really know.

Practically shouting at him, still confused as to what he is wearing, I attempt to relay my apologies over the loudness of the music and yelling, "I'm so sorry! I was trying to get some fresh air!"

To my surprise, he laughs and leans in close to my ear, "That might be hard to find here."

Confused, I look at his smiling face, unsure of what to say. Normally, if you nearly tackle someone as I have just now done, the person in question is not this friendly about it. Yet again, he leans into me, "You know, you look the part, but you don't want to be here, do you?"

He smirks playfully at his assessment of me, and I can't help but laugh at how correct he is, "That's very observant of you. Do I really look that miserable?"

"Not exactly, you just nearly tackled me to get out of there, so I gathered that this isn't exactly your destination of choice." I feel my cheeks heat up in embarrassment; I still can't believe I hit him so hard.

"Yeah, I hate clubs, and I'm still so sorry about that. It was an accident," I say, adjusting my dress to cover myself a little more. I hadn't been nervous about the amount of skin I was showing until now. It's not that this guy seems to be judging me or looking at me creepily, I just feel way more exposed than before. I hadn't expected to actually talk to anyone decent, so now I feel a little underdressed.

The boy laughs, "I wouldn't worry about it. Besides, you can make it up to me by buying me a drink." I feel the knot in my stomach tighten at his suggestion, but I try to play it cool. I'll never see this guy again, so why not?

"Ok," I yell. "It'll be hard to get to the bar, but I'll buy you a drink."

Now he's the surprised one, I don't think he expected me to say yes. Nonetheless, he recovers his composure and boldly takes a step towards me, his breath fanning against my neck as he speaks, "No, not here. Let's go down the road. I'm sure your friends will survive without you for half an hour."

Part of me tells me that this is a bad idea. After all, this guy is a stranger and he wants to leave the club to go somewhere where no one will know where I am. Given this logic, I should say no. But I don't. Just as I am about to decline, a couple slams into me hard from behind, shoving me once again into the man wearing the silk shirt. That's it. I need to get out of here.

"Lead the way," I say grumpily, expecting him to lead me through the crowd of sweating college students. Instead, he takes my wrist lightly in his calloused hand, leading me past the bathrooms and through another door. Before I really know what has happened, we are standing behind the club in an alleyway. Okay, this was not my best decision. My ears are ringing, but I can finally see this guy's face clearly. Good, now if he tries to murder me, I can point him out in a line-up.

"Don't look so afraid," he chuckles, releasing his grip on my wrist. Now that I can finally hear and see again, I notice that he's older than I originally thought. Also, his accent is most definitely not Southern like mine. This guy is British. Score. His face has very defined features, and I am thrilled to report that he is hot, way hotter than I thought he was. Score, yet again. "We're just going to the bar right here," he says pointing to what must be the bar I had contemplated going to earlier. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. Triple score, he's not a murderer.

Laughing, I walk with him to the bar, "Sorry, when you pulled me into the alley, I thought it was game over and that I had done the one thing that they warn all the girls not to do. I was about to be very disappointed in myself."

He frowns, knocking on the back door and leaning against the brick wall. When he crosses his arms over his broad chest, I see the tattoos that litter his chest and arms. It takes an annoying amount of effort to look away from his clearly impressive physique.

"Yeah, we need to talk about that. I mean, you're fine with me, but you shouldn't just go off with any guy you meet, especially in a place like that." His voice is low and serious, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth that, in the end, betrays his sullen expression.

I try to replicate his concentrated composure by clearing the grin from my lips, "You're quite right. In that case, I should be getting back." I turn to walk away, and I don't even make it two steps before I feel his warm hand around my wrist again, pulling me back to him. When I turn to face him, I find that his face is mere inches away from mine, and my breath catches in my throat.

His chest, mostly exposed due to the low-cut design of his shirt, rises and falls slowly as he stands over me. His tongue runs impulsively over his bottom lip and he fixes his green eyes on me, "You still owe me two drinks, love."

Two?

•••

Lol this is highkey my dream just saying

don't judge
-Kate🖤