AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m not used to this role of mothering friend who prevents others from making fools of themselves.I’musually the drunken fool, Kate the responsible one, and after tonight, I have a newfound respect for my friend. This isexhausting.
I’m not saying I’ve been an angel all night; I've knocked back more than one cocktail and belted Nelly Furtado loud enough to draw glares. But I haven't attempted to put on a Burlesque show or accost any unworthy men like my pretty blonde friend, and I’m careful with my alcohol intake since I don’t even really know where we are.
It's an off-campus bar, somewhere Pen frequents with her artsy, slightly pretentious film major friends. A dimly lit, kind of grungy place, all funky decor and overpriced cocktails consisting of liquor I can't pronounce. Lucky for me and my pitiful bank account, Pen insists on paying.
With her dad’s credit card.
Because I’m the one who dragged you out,she claims but I know a little something about daddy issues, and tonight, she reeks of them.
“The film industry isn't a reliable career,” Pen mimics her father’s low baritone, her impression surprisingly accurate. Slumped across from me, she huffs in annoyance, her bangs flying out of place with the heavy breath. “It’s sofrustrating. I don’t wanna be a stuffy old lawyer. No offense.”
“Hey, I don’t wanna be a stuffy old lawyer either.” A young, hot, successful one is way more preferable. I think; I’m a little fuzzy on the whole career thing.
Amidst a myriad of grumbled complaints, Pen knocks back her umpteenth drink, slipping from the booth and searching for another the moment the glass is empty. I keep an eagle eye on her as she stumbles her way to the bar.
Only my phone buzzing in my pocket can distract me. It’s embarrassing, how quickly I fish it out, how much I deflate when the text is from some random past hookup rather than the guy I actually want blowing up my phone.
It's pathetic, how attached I'm becoming to Jackson. We’ve talked every day since our date. Seen each other almost every day. I should have gotten my fill by now. Yet the temptation for more is so fucking strong, I can barely hold myself back. Hell, the main reason I came out tonight was to try to prove that I could survive one Jackson-less night. That I'm not completely and utterly under his paint-stained thumb.
As I squint at his contact indecisively, I realize I’m failing miserably.
To somewhat satisfy my Jackson craving, I read over the unanswered text he sent earlier today. The one asking what I'm doing tonight, which I ignored because I knew my weak self would've folded and invited him out in five seconds flat. I haven't gotten anything else from him since, so maybe he's not as itching to talk to me as I am him.
The decision is made for me when a loud, drunken cackle calls for my full attention. Dropping my phone on the table, I glance aside with a groan, already expecting the worst.
It's a welcome surprise when I find my friend not attempting to get topless on the bar. The two guys occupying her are a little less welcome. Pretty good looking guys. Very clean cut.
Not quite my type anymore.
Pen catches my eye and winks before sauntering over, new drinks in hand and new pals on her tail. I'm a little disgruntled, not entirely keen on being a third wheel or having to politely deflect any unwanted advances, but I push it aside, replacing my frown with a polite smile.
Pen introduces the guys as they slide into our booth, one beside Pen and the other next to me, but their names are forgotten within milliseconds. I zone out of their conversation almost immediately, choosing to occupy myself by playing with the straw of my too-sweet fruity drink, avoiding eye contact with my phone, and ignoring Pen and her guy drooling all over each other. I'm seconds away from creating an excuse to bail when a clearing throat catches my attention.
“Sorry for ruining your guys’ night.”
I eye the guy beside me. Aaron, I think Pen said his name was, looks as unhappy with the new arrangement as I am, and I find some comfort in that. “That's okay.”
“You come here often?”
I can't help but laugh. “Was that a line?”
Possibly-Aaron cringes. “Bad?”
“Awful.”
Maybe I’m going soft but I take pity on the guy. I indulge in his attempts at conversation and I quickly learn Definitely-Aaron is not all that bad. Sure, he throws the occasional flirtatious comment my way but when I evade them stealthily and politely, he retreats gracefully.
“I'm guessing you have a boyfriend?” At my questioning stare, he shrugs. “Either that or you're just really not interested in me.”
“I have a…” I'm not sure what I have. A guy I went on one official date with but have spent almost every waking moment with for God knows how long? How do you describe that? How do you describe Oscar fucking Jackson in five words or less? I sure as hell don't know how to do it without ending up praising the boy to the high heavens for an hour like a blithering, lovesick fool. So, I improvise. “Something.”
And that’s enough, apparently.
From that point forward, Aaron is nothing but respectful. He doesn't try to hit on me again, and any awkwardness ebbs away until we're actually having a decent conversation.
Pen is taking the opposite approach. She's all over her guy, and he's all over her. A spark of jealousy ignites in my stomach, and I tap my nails against my phone case as if that will summon who I'd prefer to be hitting on me right now.
Get a fucking grip, Luna.
