Florida may have been thirty degrees warmer than other states, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t freezing. And dressing sexy in cold weather was about as hard as memorizing the periodic table in an hour, something she’d had to do before her first Organic Chemistry quiz last year. The air was too chilly to get away with not wearing a coat, and the season made her collection of miniskirts totally obsolete. Which was a shame since she’d spent a shitload on them in high school, courtesy of her old, glamorous job at the Smoothie Hut.
Shayler opened the first drawer in the bathroom and took out a large Ziploc bag that was full of her makeup. Sometime in the last week, she’d lost her fuzzy pink makeup bag—but not her actual makeup. The thing had been ancient, though, so she didn’t bother searching for it.
Keeping her eyes and mouth open, Shayler ran a black pencil under her eyelid. Tonight was going to be a blast, unless Vivian was whining about her on-again, off-again girlfriend and Whitney was stoned out of her mind. She rolled her eyes at the thought. Shayler couldn’t imagine smoking weed so often, especially after the time she’d tried it in high school. It’d made her comatose and hungry, and if that was what she wanted, she’d just sneak a Xanax from Rebecca’s mom.
Whitney was worse than that, too. Whenever she smoked it up with her boyfriend, who looked like the type of guy who spent his nights lurking outside of Taco Bells, Whitney would end up grumbling and laughing to herself for hours, until she’d inevitably fall asleep at eleven o’clock with her hand in a maraschino cherry jar. And lately, Shayler had been the one having to clean up the mess.
In fact, she mused as she pressed a curler onto her lashes, she’d been entirely too sober recently, which meant she was the one waking up at eight and getting roommates water and Advil. And that was so not how she wanted to spend her twenties.
There was a light knocking on the door, and Shayler knew it was Vivian. “Move it, Shay. Sarah is meeting us there at ten, and you know she gets pissed when we’re late.”
“I thought you guys broke up?” Shayler asked, using her elbow and foot to pull the door open. She finished up her mascara while using her left hand to spritz body spray all over.
Vivian ran a hand through her shoulder-length, white-blonde hair. “We got back together yesterday.”
“If she’s a bitch tonight, I’m gonna kick her right in the vagina.”
“Ha-ha. Be nice. It was my fault this time.”
“Please, she always says it’s your fault. I don’t know why you stick with her. There are thousands of girls on this campus who would love to spend the night getting some scissor action.”
“All right, one, scissoring isn’t a thing that usually happens. You watch too much porn. Two, I’m looking for a relationship, not for some co-ed who wants to experiment so they can brag about it during their fiftieth birthday party to remind them self they were young once.”
“You used to like flings,” Shayler pointed out as she stepped into her strappy heels and exited the small bathroom.
“I used to flash my boobs whenever I was drunk, too. Gotta grow up sometime.”
Shayler huffed. When had her roommates turned into spinsters? Sure, they were all seniors who’d finally chosen their majors, but that didn’t mean the party had to stop. If she didn’t stay on top of them, they’d start refusing to leave the apartment in favor of Netflix and Chill. She shivered with disgust.
“Where’s Whit?” Vivian asked Gigi.
Gigi was sprawled out on the couch, her dress scrunched up on the right. Neon-orange panties again, Shayler noted. That was the third time that week Gigi had gone with granny panties over her old lacey thongs. Gigi chomped down on a piece of gum and shrugged. “Dunno. She’s been in her room for a couple hours.”
Shayler whipped around to face Vivian. “You guys share a room. Haven’t you checked on her?”
“I got my clothes out early. I didn’t wanna run into her and Germy getting high and making out.”
Shayler balled her hands into fists. Whitney never stayed in her room for more than twenty or thirty minutes. “Someone has to check on her.”
“Not it,” Vivian said.
“Why?”
“Yesterday I yelled at her for getting mustard all over my boots, and she just giggled at me and passed out on my laptop.”
Shayler groaned and narrowed her gaze on Gigi. “You.”
“No. Way. You were the one holding us up. You go.”
“I’m not holding anyone up if Whit isn’t out yet!”
“I’m not moving until we leave this freaking place, so you do it. Or we leave her behind.”
Since their first year as roommates, they’d made and kept one promise. Unless someone had actual plans, they all spent their weekend nights together. That way, no one ever felt left out and one of them wouldn’t end up spending her Friday night eating a gallon of ice cream and stalking the Bravo channel. It’d been two years since they’d come up with the agreement, and Shayler wasn’t about to be the first to break it.
She gave her roommates the middle finger and marched to the room that was before hers. It opened with a squeak, and through the darkness, she spotted Whitney on the first bed, shaking with sobs. Scrunching her nose, Shayler stepped forward. Whitney’s cries were awful, like starving orphan kittens begging for milk. She took a seat on the edge, hoping this wouldn’t take too long.
“What’s up, Whit?”
Whitney’s soft mewls continued until she took an exaggerated breath. “H-he d-d-doesn’t love me anymore.” The howls began again.
“Who, Germy? I mean, Jeremy?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then screw him. Come out with us.”
“Don’t you get it, Shayler? I loved him. He left me!” Whitney peeled her head away from the pillow. Her perfectly tanned skin was splotchy, and mascara ran down her cheeks like she was auditioning to be Lauren Conrad’s replacement on a new generation of The Hills.
“Why’d he leave?”
Whitney sniffled. “I told him I couldn’t buy weed anymore because of my internship. They drug test randomly, so I can’t be around the stuff.”
“And he left you for that?” Shayler’s pulse pounded. Whitney had dedicated the last five months to a greasy douchebag who left her for not buying his stash? She wanted to hunt him down and shove her stiletto right into his asshole.
“He said we just have different ideals, and he can’t do it anymore.”
“Get up,” Shayler commanded, tugging her roommate out of her sheets until she stood in front of her.
“I don’t want to go out, Shay. I wanna stay home.”
“You know the agreement, Whit. No can do. Go throw on something cute, and let’s get laid tonight.”
Whitney bit her lip. “It has been three months since I’ve had an orgasm.”
“See? You deserve to have a fun time. Otherwise, you’ll turn into a mopey snoozeball, and you know I can’t let that happen.”
Her roommate grinned, but Shayler could tell it was forced. “All right. Fine.”
As Shayler went back to the living room, she explained the situation to her other roommates. It didn’t even take five minutes for them to agree on the day they’d all key Germy’s car.
Chapter Three
The ride to Club Social was cramped and uncomfortable. Since the four of them never wanted to take separate cars, and they definitely didn’t want to ride upfront with whatever creepy stranger Uber had sent, they spent the fifteen-minute drive hunched together in the back. Thank God Shayler was short, and Vivian was like fifty pounds soaking wet.
“Here you are,” the guy said, two fists clutching his steering wheel like he was afraid to let go. As they started to spill out of the car, he turned. “Just so you know, you shouldn’t all sit in the back next time. It’s dangerous.”
Shayler passed him six five-dollar bills. “So is cramming your junk into skinny jeans. Hope you don’t want kids.”
She and her roommates cracked up, strutting alongside the
building until they were in the back of the line. After a quick pregame of two shots each, they were all feeling pretty good. Though, the alcohol did little to drown out Shayler’s impatience. She craned her neck to spot the front, but it wasn’t moving. She stuck her hands on her hips, blowing one of her curls away from her face.
Though she frequented the place enough, Shayler had never been given the gift of skipping the line. The bouncers at Club Social were rigid and didn’t dare lift the chain for anyone who wasn’t in the front. She figured they’d been losers in school and liked the power trip. That or they thought unclipping a chain was equal to being a state senator or something. Shayler crossed her arms as the wind picked up. Her fake leather jacket wasn’t nearly warm enough, she thought as the air seeped through the material and into her veins.
At least the bright lights above the faux-brick warehouse were turned on, allowing for some entertaining people-watching. Immediately, Shayler spotted three hot guys in front of them, and one was just her type. Tight shirt, bulging muscles, loose jeans, suspiciously bulging bulge. She smiled to herself. It’d been almost three weeks since she’d gotten laid, but she had a feeling that’d change tonight.
He turned and brushed a lock of wavy black hair away from his face. Shayler managed to catch his gaze and smile, and then turned away bashfully and stuck out her hip to accentuate her curves. Men were so simple when it came to their dicks.
“If they have that fake-ass EDM DJ again, we’re leaving,” Gigi said, flicking a piece of lint off her black sweater.
“It’s Friday night. Do you expect them to turn on the radio?” Vivian asked.
Gigi groaned. “If I wanted to listen to hyper toddler tunes, I’d take shrooms and go to a Calvin Harris concert.”
Shayler snorted, and Whitney opened her mouth to argue. “Harris is total, generic EDM. You need to listen to the real stuff.”
“Don’t give me another playlist full of artists with names like DJ Shaggy Frog Cancer. I’ll be pissed.”
“You’re always pissed, Gigi,” Shayler said.
Gigi nodded. “True.”
The four of them burst into laughter, but this time, it wasn’t genuine. Shayler knew it was for the targets they’d all locked on, hoping to garner some interest before they were lost to the darkness and massive crowds. She bit her lip, hoping the guy she’d picked was watching.
Minutes passed, and they shuffled forward slowly. After an hour, they were finally at the front. Shayler bounced up and down, eyeing the silver chain that dangled in front of them, stopping her from getting tipsy and finding someone sexy to spend the night with. So much power for a braid of metal.
“How many?” the bouncer asked, eyeing Shayler with what felt like apathy.
She beamed at him. “Four.”
“All right. Come in.”
He lifted the chain, and Shayler’s body flooded with warmth. He’d seemed uninterested, but he’d let them in without bothering to ID. Score. Her steps were in sync with her roommates’ as they took their time to assess the entrance and bar to the right.
Club Social looked exactly the same as it always did. Blue, green, and purple lights pulsed in tune with the music that pounded through the speakers, and between the people talking and the song playing, Shayler couldn’t hear her own thoughts. Her heart slowed as she got used to the bass, and they pushed their way to the bar.
Three bartenders were on duty, and Shayler was careful in her choice to approach the cutest. The attractive ones loved having their egos stroked and, on a good night, would dish out free drinks if she showed enough cleavage. She shrugged off her jacket, tied it around her waist, and leaned on the bar.
He paused in front of her, resting on the counter with one hand and revealing a full sleeve of tattoos. “What d’you need?”
“What would you recommend?” she asked, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.
Instead of smiling, he frowned. “If you don’t know what you want, step aside and let someone else order.”
Shayler ran her tongue over her teeth. No bartender had ever looked right through her before. “Four tequila shots, make them doubles, and four Long Islands.”
He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like classy as he walked away to make the drinks. Shayler’s mouth dropped open and she turned to her friends, but they weren’t paying attention. She hopped onto a stool and crossed her arms, waiting to snatch the mind-numbing drinks so she could get the way hell away from him. People were being such dicks lately. She wondered if there was a full moon or something.
He brought the beverages over with a grunt, taking Shayler’s credit card before she could set it on the counter. She watched as he swiped it roughly and shoved a receipt in front of her. As slowly as she could, she wrote a single dollar in the tip option. With a smug glance, she threw it back at him before shuffling to the side of the bar and sliding her friends their drinks.
Vivian raised a small glass. “Shots?”
“Duh.”
Shayler tossed the tequila back, not bothering to make two rounds out of it. While her roommates sputtered about not having limes or salt, Shayler dove into her Long Island. No cheaper, better way to maintain a buzz all night, and that was something she was desperate for right now.
They made their way around the club, drinks in hand, while Shayler searched for the hottie from earlier. As she drank, heat crept up from her toes and rushed straight to her brain. One more sip, and her frustrations fell away. Now, all she had to do was find Tight T-shirt Guy. She sashayed beside Whitney who looked worse by the minute.
“What’s up, Whit?” Shayler asked, noticing that her friend hadn’t been drinking her alcoholic tea.
“I don’t know. I just don’t wanna be here.”
“But it’s the club. You love it here!”
“Yeah, but I’m usually high. This is so … sad.”
“Sad?” Shayler raised a brow and herded her friend to the left, where she found the group of guys from earlier.
“It’s like a horde of college students who come here in groups to grind on strangers in order to find their soulmate. It’s weird.”
“You’re kind of being a downer, Whit,” Shayler said. What the hell had happened to the girl who’d once laughed for fifteen minutes over a crooked French fry?
“My boyfriend just dumped me, Shayler. You should’ve let me stay home.”
“So you can call Jeremy and beg for forgiveness? No fucking way.”
“It’s better than being here.”
Shayler groaned and checked behind Whitney’s slouching body. Tight T-Shirt Guy was about twelve feet away. What could she do? If she were Rebecca, she’d contemplate her current options and write them down on a cocktail napkin. Then again, if she were Rebecca, she wouldn’t even be in a club. She’d be curled up on her boyfriend’s bed, watching some dumb show about knights and dragons like they were parents who’d just gotten their baby to go to sleep.
Swallowing bile, she put a hand on Whitney’s shoulder. “Go ahead. I’m not forcing you stay. You came with us, and that was the pact. But don’t call your dealer and smoke pot with Germy all night. You just got that kick-ass internship, and you can’t screw it up over some puny punk.”
“Thanks, Shay.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Will you tell Viv and Gigi I Uber-ed?”
“Duh.”
Shayler chugged the rest of her drink as she watched Whitney trudge out of the club. She shook her head. Relationships were such a waste. So much drama and so many tears to be tied down with someone else.
Alcohol sloshed in her stomach and coated her brain. Feeling more confident—and a tad wobbly—Shayler pushed forward until she was next to the group of bros. She winked at Tight T-shirt Guy.
“Hey.”
His jaw had a small cleft that looked extremely lickable, and his large hand was spread around a pint of beer. The sight of him was so manly that Shayler nearly needed a change of panties. Clearly, she’d passed the
stage of desperation and feared for what was to come if she didn’t get him into bed. Then she laughed because of fucking course he’d want to take her home with him.
“Hi.” He flashed her a quick grin before turning back to his friends.
Shayler tilted her head, scanned the room, and checked her boobs. The girls were both out and ready to play. Her ass looked incredible in her dark-wash jeans. What the hell was the problem? She sniffed her underarm, but the only thing she smelled was her lavender deodorant and citrus body spray.
“I didn’t peg you for a light beer man,” she mentioned, stepping closer so that her boob brushed against his arm.
He examined his glass before glancing at her. “You can tell?”
She shrugged and giggled. “It was just a guess so I could get you to talk to me.”
If she hated anything about the mating process, it was having to play dumb. Light beer was like three shades lighter than normal beer, but she couldn’t bring that up without making him feel like an idiot. And if he felt like an idiot, there was a good chance she’d go to sleep without penetration, which was the opposite of her goal for the night.
“Oh.”
She frowned. “Um, did you wanna buy me a drink?”
“Actually, I’m good.”
“What?”
“What what?”
Shayler blinked, her stomach retreating inside itself as though that were somehow possible. “What do you mean you’re good?”
His eyes widened and he smacked his friend for help, but his pack of bros remained silent. Shayler didn’t care if she looked crazy, she was sick of being turned down.
“I don’t think you’re right for me.”
She wanted to tug on her hair and screech. Instead, she dug her foot into the ground and exhaled. “Why not? You’ve been staring at my tits for the last five minutes, so—”
“Look, you’re hot, but I’ve seen you around.”
“Seen … me … around?”
“Yeah, seen you going home with guys.”
“And that’s why I’m not right for you?”
“Yeah, it’s a little too…” He paused.
Shayler scrunched her hands into fists so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palm. “Too what?”
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