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“Really? Is it as boring as the stereotypes say?”
I take a tentative sip of the champagne she’d handed me and force myself not to gag. God that’s terrible. “Yep. Pretty much.”
“I’m from Seattle. Yes, it rains all the fucking time. No, I don’t know Edward Cullen or Christian Grey or the people from Grey’s Anatomy,” she says as if she says that every time she tells someone where she’s from.
I laugh at her joke. “I’ve never been to Seattle but it’s on my list. I want to see the Space Needle and go to that market everyone talks about.” I close my eyes, picturing the red letters in the sign.
“Pike Place? It’s not that cool.” She scrunches her nose in disgust as if she’s just heard a terrible dad joke.
“Still, it’s something renowned.” I shrug.
“Fine, we can go or whatever.”
And I almost choke on my drink as I hear the undertone of her comment. We are besties now and you can come home with me for breaks!
“Right, well, it was really nice to meet you, Peyton. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I begin to shut the door when she stops it with her foot and hands me the bottle of champagne.
“I’m just right down the hall in 408 when you decide to stop being lame and pretending that you have anything to do tonight. I have tequila, and the starting lineup of the boy’s soccer team.” She gives me a wink. “Ciao, Bella!” She skips back to her apartment and flings open the door dramatically, letting the sounds of Kendrick Lamar float out into the hall.
I’m still momentarily speechless; having heard my native language thrown out there as well as the nickname my mother calls me. I know that non-Italians used the phrase often, but it still throws me whenever I hear it.
I look down at my arm again.
Life goes on, Bella.
I could either sit in this apartment and mope over he who shall not be named or I could embrace this new adventure, even if it isn’t hiking in Santorini. It takes me about thirty seconds to come up with my decision before I take a swig from the bottle.
“Ugh! First things first, teach Peyton what decent champagne is.”
I wrap the final strand of my newly highlighted hair around the wand before unplugging it from the wall in my tiny bathroom. There is barely enough room for me in here; heaven forbid I ever have a guy in here with me. My heart thumps and so does my sex. I am not ready for that! my heart tells me. But I am! my sex responds. The space between my legs has felt a dull hum ever since the words boys soccer team fell from Peyton’s lips.
Well, at least I’m not totally broken.
I let out a sigh as I take in my reflection in the mirror.
Okay, Sky, Peyton is nice. Maybe at least try and make friends?It’s time to let your guard down a little. Not everyone is going to screw you over like… my heart slams into my ribcage and my stomach turns. I’m not sure if it’s from the champagne or the thoughts of walking in on my ex with some girl’s legs wrapped around his face.
Ugh.
The white, off the shoulder top I’m wearing is the perfect contrast to my tan skin that I got by nature, not by bottle. Tucked into a pair of black shorts and sandals that tie up my leg, I’m not sure what look I’m going for exactly, but I look hot. My honey blonde hair that I had recently chopped off to shoulder length—spurred on by the words, “a woman who changes her hair is about to change her life”—bounces as I make my way down the hall. I have a clutch armed with the necessities in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. Sure, Peyton said they had alcohol, but I was taught to never show up anywhere empty handed.
I knock on the door and when it opens a billow of marijuana smoke floats out around me into the hallway. I wave a hand across my face. “Skyler! Sorry about that.” Peyton waves the smoke away and drags me inside. “You came!”
“Yeah, uh…my friends flaked.”
“Ugh, bitches! Well, I’m so glad you’re here! Guys, guys!” She tries to quiet the noise and, while some of the guys turn their attention to her, most continue what they’re doing. I notice although her apartment is about the same size as mine, it looks way bigger. She has a table pushed against the wall where four guys are playing beer pong. Shot glasses litter the bar in the kitchen as people play what I believe to be Quarters. There’s an array of playing cards on her IKEA coffee table, and four people surrounding it as they try not to crack the beer in the center. “This is Skyler, my new neighbor. Everyone say hi!”
Most of them say hi and wave as if this was that bar where everyone knows your name. I smile, and wave back, slightly intimidated at being put on the spot. I’m not shy, far from it, but being around people I don’t know, in an unfamiliar city, without so much as a wing woman or at the very least one person I know well, makes me a bit uneasy. I’m ashamed to admit I miss my mom, miss home, miss…I squeeze my eyes shut. No, Sky.
“Let’s get you a drink, huh?”
“Oh, I brought something,” I say as I hand her the Grey Goose.
“Oh fancy! I’m not wasting this on these assholes. You and I can drink this tomorrow in our mimosas,” she says as I follow her into the kitchen.
“Mimosas have champagne…” It’s more of a statement but it comes out like a question.
“You’ve never had them with vodka? Oh, girl, it’ll change your life.” She turns towards me and bounces on her toes like she’s dying to share a secret with me.
