- Oaklyn -

The line outside the nightclub snaked around the corner, resembling the power pellets from a game of Pac-Man. Each individual thrummed with energy, ready to be gobbled up by the night's electrifying vibe. A tiny flock of college students assembled upfront. Three boys and three girls exactly set the line back another five people. One of the girls scowled at the bouncer. Her pale skin and petite frame were an outcast to the mop of indigo-blue hair on her head. I'd say she was at least no older than nineteen.

She held their IDs tightly in between her fingers while waving them around in the bouncer's face. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but it wasn't valuable to convincing. The quarrel continued for another minute or so. Eventually, the man dismissed the group, stating, "It's fake" before dismissing them and calling the next person in line. I knew then that the old fake ID trick was the reason for the backtrack.

One after another, the line moved forward. Sailor and I were next for our turn. Sailor lent over her identification to the bouncer. He scrutinized the small print, handing it back.

"You're good to go," he said to her.

Sailor moves to the side and I balance my driver's license on the tip of my fingers for an entry. The bouncer doesn't have many words but I knew by his demeanor that mine would be a bit of an issue. The downward curl tugged at the lips was a dead giveaway that he was displeased. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

I traded a glance with Sailor before turning back to the bouncer. "Is there a problem, sir?" I ask.

He snorts, not even bothering to hide his disdain. "Problem? No. I was wondering if you borrowed this ID from your older sister." He doesn't hand me back my license, his eyes boring into mine. "You sure you're twenty-four?"

"Good genes, that's all there is to it. But if you're volunteering to age for me, I'll take you up on that offer."

There's a cluster of snickering from the men behind me. Sailor also covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

His lips tightened and he aggressively gave me back the plastic card. I embarrassed him. Good.

"You ladies enjoy your night."

Paranoid, I look at my reflection in the window glass of the front entrance.

"I told you I shouldn't have worn my hair like this." My hair was in a high ponytail. I wanted to do something out of the ordinary from my daily hairstyles. It took five years off my look, but I wasn't so sure if that was a good thing.

Sailor drags me inside. "Oaklyn, you look fine. He's just being an asshole."

Inside the nightclub is a light show. The ceiling pulsates down a range of incandescent purples and blues which are perfectly in unison with the DJ's booming beats. The crowd moves as one, a chaotic blend of colors and adrenaline—like a giant box of crayons dipped in cocktails. Sailor and I, fingers intertwined, weave our way through the mob of wild hair and swaying hips to find the booth with a close friend of ours.

"Do you see him?" I yell over the music. My voice is barely audible above the thumping beat.

She points north side of the room, squinting through the strobe lights. "There."

We ambled across the room and through another set of throng dancers. Finally, we spotted our friend, lounging comfortably on the leather couch, very invested with the group of girls next to him. He held a classic mojito in his hand while he filmed on his phone in the other.

I sneak behind the booth and crouch down. He dances to the rhythm, recording a clip for his story. Just before he starts the second, I dive into the frame and wrap my left arm around his neck.

"Wyatt!" I shout into the camera.

Shocked, Wyatt stands to his feet and engulfs me. I nearly tumble over the booth due to his towering height. "I'd thought you two would never show up. What took you so long?" he questioned.

Sailor keeps her arms roped around his waist. "Oaklyn here couldn't decide what to wear."

I dart down to my outfit. After more changes than intended, I settled for a two-piece bodycon dress. It was simple but never too basic for nights like this. The shimmer of silver and metallic pink glistened perfectly under the flashy lights.

Wyatt gives me a once-over nodding in approval. "Well, it was well worth the wait. All I have to say is job well done, my friend. You nailed this look." He smiles while giving me a twirl.

"What about me?" Sailor wheezed dramatically. "Do I get a compliment, or are you too busy flirting with, Oaklyn?"

"You both look great tonight," he compliments, pulling us both into a hug.

Sailor is rocking a skin-tight asymmetrical emerald-colored dress that hugs her pear-shaped figure flawlessly, complementing her makeup to perfection. And then there's Wyatt, looking like a total stunner as usual. If he wasn't so focused on college, he could easily be strutting down a runway for Dolce & Gabbana. His sheer top flaunted his fit physique, while the silver necklaces added a touch of edge to his ensemble, blending effortlessly with his black jeans and deep skin tone. Tonight, we were unstoppable—total badasses for sure.

The only thing getting in our way was our sobriety.

Sailor nodded and flopped down at the end of the booth. "I can see us attracting a few cute guys tonight," she said.

"Oh, for sure," Wyatt agreed. "But we can't do anything without a few drinks in our system. Plus, I need something strong to get my mind off of the fact that I have an engineering project due Sunday night."

Me and Sailor sighed both shouting, "No!"

Wyatt was a senior in college, studying as an engineering student. He was only a sophomore when we were introduced to him, and ever since we have been obsessed with his personality and attitude. But the only thing Wyatt lacked was procrastination, like me, sometimes. He'll wake up at five in the morning to catch a last-minute flight, yet would hold off on an assignment he knew about weeks in advance.

"What did we tell you about that, Wyatt?"

"I know, ladies. But we shouldn't focus on that right now. It's my twenty-second birthday and all I want is to dance and enjoy the night out with my girls."

"Fine, fine. Whatever you say." Sailor dismisses the conversation.

The music changes and so do the drinks in everyone's hands. I wanted to be like them. Forget about all my problems. Get lost in the depths of false reality.

"So what are we starting off with?" I pose, tugging at the ends of my skirt. I circle at the two, settling my eyes on Wyatt specifically. "You choose."

"How about we start with a round of tequila shots? It'll get the night going." It takes less than a millisecond for Wyatt to make a suggestion. Sailor and I give a quick thumbs up. "I'll be back," he exclaims before zooming off to the bar.

With Wyatt away, I pull out my phone, needing a brief vent session. The second my home screen loads, I'm bombarded by a garden notification of missed calls and messages from a certain anxious journalist.

Ignoring Boston has been a challenge.

But I've managed it so far.

Only less than twenty-four hours ago, I learned that he was off the market. And now he's making my life so much easier (note the sarcasm) by flooding my phone and email inbox with messages.

Usually, receiving a piling heap of back-to-back text messages from a guy is considered a positive sign—proof he's into you. But in this case, I feel like I've already been trapped in between a vortex of problems. And the grenades of those challenges, with the wrong move could eventually all blow up in my face.

This is the toughest battle yet.

Sailor scooted close to me, peeking at the endless grocery list of messages. "Damn, he's down bad for you, girl," she remarks.

I sigh. "It's getting out of hand."

"Simple fix. Just block him."

"I can't. He's literally paying me to plan his wedding," I remind her.

"Okay, so just ignore him."

This isn't some random guy I can ditch. There are a ton of reasons why ignoring him is a bad idea. First off, Boston is an engaged client. Secondly, I don't want to be associated with any guy who's playing hopscotch with women. And third, he's a journalist, which means he could write an article that ruins my reputation and possibly gets me fired. Maybe I was just overthinking the third reason, but I didn't want to take any chances.

In the wedding world, I was on cloud nine. I couldn't have everything I worked for turn to ashes.

"So what? Do I need to take away your phone?" Sailor teased, reaching for my phone.

I smirked. "Relax, mom."

"Then put it away and enjoy the night."

Wyatt returns shortly. In his hold, there's a lineup of shot glasses. The clear liquid seeps from the translucent cup. He sets them down on the round table in front of us and squeezes next to Sailor to take a seat. One at a time, we grab a lime slice and a shot after.

I lift my glass in the air and turn to Wyatt. "All right, birthday boy. If you had one birthday wish tonight, what would it be?"

He licked the salt off the cover of his hand and grinned. "To get white girl wasted," he ends.

With the sound of the glasses clinking, we tilted our heads back and let the tequila burn its way down.

𓆉 𓆉 𓆉

After hours of partying, I genuinely couldn't tell if I was counting drinks or just seeing double. I feel like the pool of people on the dance floor had been duplicated by two and I didn't give the time of day to my conscience.

Tonight, I am young and free. I don't care if the amount of alcohol intake equaled my body weight, and how many people randomly grinded on me throughout the night. Or the fact that at some point I vividly remember trying to dance with one of the bartenders who was arriving for their shift. None of that mattered because, by tomorrow morning, I won't remember any of it.

The music pulsed louder. My head spun more wildly. The people around me were stuck to me like we were packaged in a can of rainbow sardines. Partying with strangers gave me a thrill. They help me lose any stress—forget about my problems.

More importantly, forget about Boston.

I downed whatever concoction was in my cup and returned to the dance floor. The DJ's song choice wasn't particularly to my taste, but at the moment, it'll due. I struggled to find Sailor in the mix. One second she's off-key lip-syncing to the lyrics she doesn't know and the next, she's MIA.

And Wyatt? I'm pretty sure that he went to the restroom. But that was over thirty minutes ago.

There's no telling what those two got themselves into.

Maybe for once, I was the most responsible.

I continued to move. My arms are in the air like one of those inflatables at the car dealership. Compared to the people around me, I felt like a nuisance. However, I must've not been as a pair of strong hands dough their way into the small of my back. The cool skin caused me to do a three-sixty.

"You Miami girls sure do know how to move," A thick southern accent tunnels in my right ear.

Maybe I could blame the toxicity of the alcohol for my blurry vision but this man was a studmuffin—one taste I could devour him. His chestnut hair was shoulder-length, but layered to perfection. Along with his milky skin, his sharp jawline creased artistically with his Nordic blue eyes that I didn't mind getting lost at sea in.

I stumbled backward. These heels were finally getting to me. "Oh, is that right?" I slurred a bit.

"Hell yeah." His palms linger down to my waist. I resume swaying to the music. "What's your name, sweetheart?" he asks.

"I bet you would like to know, huh?"

"You bet."

I rolled my eyes. "Names are for friends, cowboy. That's something you got to earn," I cautioned.

Somehow the horde of dancers dispersed, making it seem like this southern eye-candy and I were the only ones left. Though I was on there verge of being more than tipsy, I was very aware of what was going on around me . . . for a few more minutes, at least. One more swig of vodka, I could possibly end up naked on the beach like a washed-up whale.

"Cowboy? I'm offended," he exclaimed with a chuckle.

I didn't mean to offend him, but when I am this intoxicated there's no telling what I am capable of. I do know that blabbering the truth and the thoughts in my mind are a few of those capabilities.

Turning around completely, I wrap my arms around his neck. I forget about the frigid bottle of beer in his grasp. The water vapor droplets land right on the tip edge of my back.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I'm from Cali."

Unfortunately, there is no way to hold my incompetent laughter. Everything seemed hilarious in this state. "Lucky you. My dad's side is from California. But you? You don't quite fit the bill," I tease.

He chugs a gulp of his beer and agrees with a proud grin. "You got me. You're good at this."

"Naturally," I declare. "So, where are you really from?"

"Texas. Born and raised. Though, I'm living in San Francisco, currently."

I flip my hair and shift to the side. There's this girl who looks like she's had enough drinks for each person here. I don't want us to end up as one of the poor souls she's knocked down. "What brings you to Southern Florida?" I pose.

"Real Estate," he responded.

I hummed. "Impressive."

Those pink lips of his glides close to my neckline. The warmness of his breath captivates me. "Never have I been so candid with a girl like you," he tells me, but I hear a vibration of a ringer shatters the moment.

Pulling out my phone, again, I receive a very displeasing text message from Boston. In total, I believe there are about eleven ignore messages from him and I did not respond to a single one. The handsome Texan gentleman leans in close and scopes my screen. Normally, I would scowl at him for foraying my privacy, but I'm too unfocused to care.

Standing over my shoulder, he asks, "Is that your boyfriend?"

I scoff. "No, definitely not. It's a lot to explain."

"What? Is he bothering you?" I nod slightly. "Hand it over. Let me handle this."

With my permission, he opens up my camera feature. A few taps later, he boosts it to meet his level. By surprise, his lips press to mine. Our kiss is both gentle and insistent. Damn. I never realized how long it's been since I've kissed someone. Work had consumed so much of my time that I didn't even have time for a quick fling.

This felt like a reward.

"Why don't we send this to him? Scare him off a bit, yeah?" he inquired.

I don't hesitate to press send.

I threw the device into my clutch and observed around. Suddenly, the idea of dancing and partying with a bunch of strangers seems tiresome.

"You want to get out of here? Have some real fun," I suggested.

Frankly, I had no idea what I was doing. I hardly know this man. And I don't even know his name. But tonight, I wanted to let go and blame Boston for all this pent-up stress. Thanks to him, I knew I'd do anything in my power to avoid him. But also, I could thank him for the night I was about to have with this mysterious cowboy from San Francisco.

Not a trace of remorse drove my mind as I chugged down the rest of his beer. I knew I had attained an intake limit. Grabbing my hand, he guides us out of the club. Outside, the dewy twilight air pollutes our nostrils. I can feel the liquid taking full effect on my body. In that instant, I laugh as the alcohol drowns me out.

____

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING. PLEASE VOTE | COMMENT | SHARE & ADD TO LIBRARY.