“I’m gonna be hungover,” Kennedy sings loudly, linking her arm into mine and Wren’s as we walk along the sidewalk in downtown Salt Lake City, feeling the end of September chill rush through me.
It’s not that cold out as it usually is, but I still regret wearing only a black mini dress and heels.
“I’m gonna be hungover,” Wren harmonises, tugging on my other arm. They both look up at me, waiting for me to finish the line. We’ve been singing this unironically for the last few months after the video the band HAIM, posted on TikTok. They get me singing the last line every time, yet they still look up at me like little puppies, waiting for it.
I finally put them out of their misery.
“I’m gonna drink a bunch of different drinks and I’m gonna be hungover,” I sing back to them, and they cheer, starting the catchy song all over again.
I’m sure people are staring at us, but I’ve done this too many times to care. Nearly every night we go out, the girls insist on singing a song to get us from one place to the other.
We once walked from our apartment to campus singing the ‘All Too Well’ ten minute version by Taylor Swift. No breaks. No interruptions. Just pure and utter chaos. There’s something extremely cathartic about screaming ‘Fuck the patriarchy’ while walking past the frat houses near campus.
Tonight, we’re celebrating the first few weeks of the school year going surprisingly okay. It’s nothing, but we can think of pretty much any excuse to go out. It’s always hard to find a day when we can all go out together because our schedules are a mess again this year, so we’re trying to make our rare night together fun.
We’ve started going to this bar because my family are friends with the owners, so we’re able to get drinks without getting checked for ID. The bar staff always make sure we’re safe and that we don’t drink too much. Overall, it’s a great place to go when we want to have a good time. I need a night off from thinking about everything with my dad and since we made a minor breakthrough with the project, I feel more at ease.
We finally make it to Kiwi, all of our arms linked together. It’s a Friday night, so we’re not shocked that it’s packed in here. The bar has two floors, both resembling Nick Miller’s bar in the show ‘New Girl’ with dark brown accents and burgundy furniture.
The upstairs is where most drinks are served, a jukebox in the corner and where most of the older, rich people hang out. Downstairs is where me and the girls usually go, where there’s is a smaller bar, karaoke machine, booths, and tables full of people dancing and singing.
It reminds me of the kind of restaurant you end up at while on vacation with your family as a kid, when you’re sleepy and tired, the floors are sticky, it’s humid and you know that you’ll be fast asleep on your way back to the hotel. It’s by far one of my favourite feelings. Especially with these girls.
We make our way to the bar, each of us ordering a cocktail to start off, scanning the surroundings as we lean against the bar. These are the kind of places where I meet someone, we have a flirty chat, and it usually ends with me in their bed. I’m willing to see whatever the universe wants to throw in my way, as Kennedy suggested.
I’ve never been a relationship person and when that line started to blur with Jake, I vowed never to cross it again. Being in a relationship is a lot of work and I can’t do that right now. After taking a Buzzfeed quiz with the girls, it confirmed the fact that I’m afraid of abandonment, realising that I won’t be enough to make someone stay. It’s a sickening and pathetic thought, but when you’ve been seen as nothing more than a spoiled millionaire your whole life, it’s hard to convince people to stay because they actually like you and not your family’s money.
I can do as many party tricks as I want, give amazing handjobs, pass every test at the top of the class and I’m still not seen as enough. Not something that people aspire for.
I’m great on paper but the second a guy realises that I’ve got more baggage than they’re put out for, they run the other way. I’m the kind of girl a guy gets before settling down with the bubbly, fun, easy-going, Princess Sunshine girl. I’ve accepted my fate and I’m cool with it.
“Look! The karaoke machine is free,” Kennedy says, pointing to the corner of the bar, which holds a modern karaoke machine and a screen. “Last one there has to do a solo.”
Her last words come out of her mouth in a hurry as she rushes off into that space of the bar, me following after her and Wren being the last one to catch up. It’s not that far of a distance, but Ken loves to make things into a competition and I’m naturally very competitive. Wren’s more of the chill one, not caring too much about having to sing a solo.
“What song should I sing?” Wren asks, looking through the small device attached to the screen. “I know the night just started, but I physically don’t have it in me to go all musical theatre on you tonight.”
“Milesy’s gonna hate that,” I say, laughing.
Her boyfriend is a huge musical theatre fan, which she found out on their vacation to Palm Springs last summer and the torture she gets put through whenever they carpool. Kennedy and Wren laugh before I say, “What are you in the mood for?”
“Something sad,” she replies, and I raise my eyebrows. “I’m fine, before you ask. Sad music always hits differently.” I nod and she scrolls through the list again. “I’m thinking Adele. I am so ready to serenade you.”
Less than a minute later, Kennedy and I are slow dancing to Wren terribly singing ‘All I Ask’ as the whole of the bar sings along with her. She misses nearly every high note and Kennedy and I try our hardest not to laugh, feigning sadness as we dance like two lovers going through a breakup. When she hits the bridge, we can’t help it anymore and we start to laugh, falling apart in each other’s arms.
Do you ever just look at your friends and think, wow, I am so lucky to have them? Because I think that every time I look at them. It’s hard to even put into words the feeling that I get when I spend time around these two. I love watching Kennedy talk with her hands about fictional characters and watch Wren cry to Phoebe Bridgers songs. I love the childlike joy on Kennedy’s face anytime anyone mentions something she loves and the blush on Wren’s cheeks when she talks about her boyfriend. They make the most mundane activities fun. We can spend hours talking about the same topic and I will never get bored. They turn a sweaty bar full of twenty-somethings into a concert and I love them for it.
Kennedy is trying to catch her breath as the song ends and Wren steps down from the elevated surface and embraces us as the crowd cheers her on.
“That was incredible,” I say, hugging her tight to me. She’s all sweaty and puffy-faced, looking how she does after a training session on the ice.
“Why, thank you,” she says coyly, giving us a curtsy, but it’s more of a bow since she’s wearing shorts and a tank top. “I think I’ve traumatised people with that performance.”
“The only person you’ve traumatised is Evan. He’s looking over here like his life has just flashed before his eyes,” Kennedy says, nodding her head back towards the bar. She nudges me. “This is closest to the sad I-Miss-Scarlett face you’re going to get.”
Jesus, how did I not notice him before? And he’s staring right at us.
He’s dressed casually in a white button down, some of his chest exposed, and black dress pants, his arms crossed against his chest and his ankles crossed. I shouldn’t be surprised to see him here.
I’ve seen him around here a few times, but he never stays for long. He sits here on his own, staring at his drink for a couple of minutes before leaving. I can deal with ignoring him and having a good time, knowing that he’s judging me from a distance. But tonight, his eyes are on us, and I hate it.
“How long has he been there?” I ask, turning back to Kennedy, feeling the heat of his gaze on the back of my neck.
“I saw him when we came in. He’s kinda been watching us. No biggie,” she replies, brushing it off as she scrolls through her phone. She turns to Wren who is downing a bottle of water. “I’ve got to show you the video I took. I’ve already sent it to Lover Boy, so don’t worry.”
Wren laughs. “He’s going to think I’m drunk already,” she says, pulling Kennedy’s phone into her hand.
I turn back around, ready to tell Branson to bring his sad vibes somewhere else. What is it with him always scowling like somebody has personally offended him by having fun? I don’t have any time to think about it before I collide into someone’s chest.
“Jesus, can you watch where you’re going,” I mutter, pulling myself out of this stranger’s weirdly comforting smell. It reminds me of Gio’s house, woody and homey. Still, I don’t exactly want to nuzzle my face in it right now.
“Clearly not,” the guy murmurs, his voice deep and sultry that it runs through me like honey, feeling it low and tight in my stomach. I look up at him.
Holy shit.
He’s gorgeous. Like, Calvin Klien model level of gorgeous.
He looks like a young Henry Cavill – all dark features, sharp jaw, but a kind and smooth face. His eyes are a bright brown colour that pairs well with the tight black shirt he’s wearing. And his chest is hard and firm. Frankly, it’s unfair for him to look this good.
“You alright?” he asks me, steadying me with his firm grip on my elbow.
I shake my head and when I see his head tilt with a smirk, I nod. How am I getting tongue tied over a guy I just met? I never get tongue tied. Ever. I’m not supposed to. It’s undeniably out of character for me. I’ve got tongue tied over one guy, Jake, and well…you know how that ended.
So, I blurt out, “You can’t just go around with all that,” gesturing to his chest, “and not expect people to bump into it.”
“You calling my chest an ‘it,’ darling?” he asks playfully.
Game changer or game over? I can’t decide. I shake my head again, trying to get rid of all the filthy things I can imagine him saying in that accent.
“‘Darling?’ Are you serious? You just bumped into me. The least you can do is apologise,” I say, instantly getting defensive.
He clears his throat. “You’re right. I’m sorry my that got in the way of your night,” he says cooly. I can tell he’s fighting a smile at how ridiculous this is, but I can’t help but smile too. He holds out his hand. “Maxwell Grant, but most of my friends call me Max.”
I take his hand in mine. I’ve learnt how to shake a person’s hand. More like I forced my brothers to teach me the best way to do so to seem intimidating. So, I pull his large hand into mine and squeeze it and watch the surprise flash across his face.
“Scarlett,” I say back, letting go of his hand.
“Nope,” I say. I’ve learnt that if they don’t introduce themselves to me first, they’re more likely to have no idea who I am. He’s lucky he bumped into me on accident. I’d be damned if I ever give a man the satisfaction of thinking they know me by judging me off my last name. “So, Maxwell, is this a usual thing for you? Just bumping into girls and not apologising.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I said you can call me ‘Max’ and I did apologise eventually.”
“You said your friends call you ‘Max,’” I retort, feigning confusion.
He holds my stare, a strange fire igniting in my lower stomach. I can’t remember the last time talking to a guy has excited me so much. If Kennedy could hear this, she’d be all over it, believing that the universe sent him to me.
Fuck it.
He leans into me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him because fuck, he’s tall. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, twirling it in his hand. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“I’ll get it,” I say, shaking my head. I know I just met the guy and it’s a nicer gesture, but I know better than letting a technical stranger buy me a drink. Who knows what he could do to it. He quirks an eyebrow and he thinks it’s better not to ask and passes me two twenties.
It’s partly a pathetic excuse to collect my wits, but it’s an excuse, nonetheless. I watch the smile creep on his face and it’s fucking adorable as he nods over to the bar. Which is concerning contrasting his very bad boy, I’ll-fuck-you-into-next-week kind of energy. I pat him on the shoulder, slipping past him to get to the bar and – of course – Evan is still there.
“New friend?” he asks when I reach the bar, nodding over to where I left Max in the crowd. Evan’s leaning his back against the bar while I face the other way, waiting for a bartender to turn up.
“What happened to ‘Hello?” I ask, not sure why he wants to suddenly be involved in my personal life.
He shrugs. “Just making polite conversation.”
“That’s not how you make conversation, Branson. They usually start with nice greetings,” I say sweetly, as if I’m talking to a baby. He scoffs. “We agreed to help each other with school and my family. What I do outside of that is none of your business. Plus, I’m with Kennedy and Wren, I don’t need you babying me.”
He turns to me, setting his dark green eyes on me, resting one arm on the bar. “That’s even more of a reason for me to be here. If Wren’s here, Miles would kill me if I didn’t stay and watch over you.”
I actually laugh at that. “‘Watch over us?’ God, Branson, what kind of mafia movie are you in? We’re independent women in our twenties. We can handle ourselves.”
“If I’m going to sit here and drink while you guys break everyone eardrums with the karaoke machine, the least I can do for the common good is make sure you don’t break something or yourselves,” he explains, nodding to where Kennedy has somehow wrestled the karaoke machine again. That woman needs to learn how to keep still. “I’ll stay out of your way, but I’m not leaving.”
God, why is he being such a party pooper? Before the project, I could have fun and mess about. Now he feels like a bodyguard. And not the fun, sexy kind.
I groan. “You need to loosen up, Branson. Why don’t you turn your frown upside down and go find some girl to take home? You’re ruining my vibe.”
He swallows, thinking for a second and my drinks arrive, so I pick them up, one in each hand. “Maybe I will,” he challenges.
“Maybe you should,” I call, my back turned to him as I saunter back over to Max.
This is the kind of fun I need.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good night at home like the next girl, but being here, under the dark lighting with good music playing, I feel at home. It also helps that I’m dancing next to a really hot guy who hasn’t tried to rip my clothes off yet. It’s been a good night all around.
I ask Max what year of college he’s in and when he tells me he’s a junior like me, I feel myself start to relax. He asks me about school, and I ramble like a fool about my business classes, and he does the same about his literature degree. I find smart men so fucking sexy, so I don’t miss the leap my heart does when he easily tells me some of his favourite authors.
I apologise for being rude to him when we first met and he assures me that its fine, and even when I blurt out my addiction to reality TV shows, he doesn’t seem phased.
Instead, he pulls me closer into him, so our fronts are almost touching. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any more perfect,” he murmurs. God, these British guys really have a way with words.
Because my life is becoming more and more like a movie each day, the second the atmosphere shifts in our relationship from friendly to flirty, the music also changes to one of my favourite songs; ‘She’ by Harry Styles.
As Max tightens his grip around my waist, pulling me further into him, I lock my hands around his neck, loving the way our bodies fit together. We feel like two pieces of a puzzle, each open piece of us fitting to complete the other. And he smells so fucking good that I just want it all over me.
We’re hardly even dancing anymore. We’re just pressed against each other, my head resting on his shoulder as I close my eyes for a second, letting myself be taken away in the moment as the song builds. It’s hardly a slow song, but as the song picks up, it starts to feel dirty, and I love it.
When I open my eyes I’m staring directly at Evan. He’s moved from his spot next to the bar and is instead standing a few feet away from me as everyone dances around him. My heartbeat immediately picks up. He stands there, hands in his pockets, face emotionless as he stares directly into my eyes.
I challenge him with my eyes to stop looking at me, seeing how far he’s going to push it until he finally drops his gaze.
Even when my body is completely pressed to Max’s and I can feel his bulge in his jeans, Evan doesn’t look away. I grip onto the back of Max’s head tighter, hating the way he’s looking at me, but I can’t stop looking back. Even as I try to tell my eyes to move, they just can’t.
Max turns back, glancing over his shoulder, no doubt noticing the intense staring contest that is taking place and then he turns back to me and I lean up off his chest to move my attention to him, my front still crushed to his. “What’s the deal with him? Does he fancy you or something?”
“No,” I say quickly, looking up into his eyes that flash with something I can’t quite place. “Are you jealous?”
“Scarlett,” he presses, spinning me out and then he pulls me back in again, clasping his hand around my waist. “Have you seen yourself? You’re fucking stunning. I wouldn’t be surprised, that’s all.”
Am I blushing right now? No. I can’t be.
I’ve been complimented by guys before, but I don’t know why the way Max’s says it runs through my body like honey and makes me feel weak in the knees.
“We’re just working on a project for class,” I say, my voice betraying me as it sounds shaky when he presses me into him again. “And my best friend’s boyfriend is his roommate so we kind of have to see each other all the time.”
He hums, murmuring, “That sounds awful.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say back. “I mean, just looking at him makes me mad.”
“I can tell,” he laughs. “You’re squeezing my neck pretty hard.”
“Shit. Sorry.” I detangle my arms from around his neck, but he catches my wrists, pinning his darkened eyes on me, slowly easing them back up onto him and I clasp my hands behind his neck loosely this time. He smiles down at me, a dimple popping out on his right cheek, and it almost undoes me.
“It’s okay. I like it when a girl’s a bit rough.”
“Yeah?” I ask, tilting my head to the side. I can tell he’s about to kiss me, but I want to be in control, to be the person to make the first move. A reckless part of me knows that Evan’s watching, and I want to push him again, see if he’ll finally stop watching over us and I crash my mouth to Max’s.
He wraps one hand around my neck, pulling me further into him until there is no more room for me to go. My breasts are flush against his chest now and I swallow the groan he makes as I rock my hips against his, loving the feeling that he has over me. He wraps his hand tighter around my neck, curling into my hair as he deepens the kiss and I open my eyes as I gasp at how good it feels.
When my vision clears I catch Evan just…staring.
What the fuck is his problem? I thought the kiss would at least scare him off a little, not spur him on. Instead, there’s a little more emotion in his face this time. Anger, maybe? I flip him off behind Max’s back, still kissing him, before tugging on Max’s shirt because holy shit, he really knows how to kiss.
When I come down from the high, panting and staring up at him, his lips are swollen, his brown eyes dilated. This is how I like men to look; dishevelled and still hungry.
I look over his shoulder, hoping to catch Evan’s reaction, but he’s gone. I look back at Max and I can’t help but smile at his shocked face, loving the fact that I did that to him.
“Do you kiss all of your new friends like that?” he asks, his hand still curled in the back of my neck, and I melt into his touch.
Maybe it’s the shitty week I’ve had or the fact that I’ve been feeling out of control recently or the very weird encounter with Evan, but I lean up on my tiptoes, press another kiss to his cheek and whisper, “Just the ones I want to see again.”
I can do this, right? I can have a no-strings-attached relationship with this gorgeous human as some stability over the next few weeks. I’m not expecting to fall madly in love with him. I know, just by looking at him and feeling him, that we’ll be a good match for what I want right now.
