Hard to Handle (A 1D Story)

Ch. 8 - Clubbing In WeHo

Chapter 8 - Clubbing In WeHo

“Are you bloody kidding me?” Zayn’s dark eyes widened at me in the taxi. “It’s a gay nightclub?”

“Yes,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “It’s West Hollywood, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know!” His voice was reaching a dangerously high pitch. “Those words mean nothing to me; I’m not from around here!” In the mirror, I saw the taxi driver stifle a laugh.

“Calm down,” I said, patting his shoulder. “My straight girlfriends and I go all the time! Not to mention, it’s my favorite club in all of LA, pretty much. It’s practically all straight girls and gay guys – so really, I’m doing you a favor! There’ll be no competition for you.”

This mollified him a bit, but then he realized, “But that also means they’ll assume I’m gay.”

“Exactly. They’ll have no inhibitions!” It was true. I loved the guys at Fury because I felt so at ease dancing with them. “Trust me on this one, Zayn. Girls are more likely to dance with you if they think you’re gay – and then when you tell them you’re straight, they’ll already have broken the ice!”

He was silent for a while. “I guess.”

“And are you planning on telling them who you really are?”

Again, long silence. “I was.”

“Don’t.” I put my chin on his seat to get him to look at me. “Please. If you want to go back with someone – go to her place. Text me the address and I’ll pick you up in the morning – though I’m almost certain I’d be going to UCLA.”

He finally gave in and laughed. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “This place had better be good.”

“Oh, it is.”

When the taxi driver dropped us off in front of Fury, I had to get out before Zayn (that baby).

“Zayn,” I chastised him sharply as he gave a guy with a green Mohawk a suspicious glance. “Stop it. Let’s go.”

He instinctively grabbed my hand and I giggled. Line was short and cover was low (Zayn, true gentleman, paid mine), so we made it in even though most of the party-goers had already been there for a good hour or two.

“Bar,” Zayn mouthed over the Top 40 music and pointed. I nodded and followed. Being the pretty boy he was, Zayn got the attention of the male bartender almost immediately.

“What are you drinking?” he asked me.

“151 and Malibu, please. Thanks Zayn.” I usually didn’t let friends buy me drinks, but seeing as Zayn was a millionaire, I decided to make an exception. He ordered a tequila shot (using my ID, of course), and I gave him a look when we got our drinks.

“What? I need to be drunker for this.” He gestured around, and I stuck my tongue out. “And look who’s judging – that’s going to be your only one, right?”

“Incorrect,” I grinned back, playing it cool. I didn’t mention that I’d probably only get one more mixed drink in a half hour, and I’d be set for the whole rest of the night…

“Oh my god! Jennifer?!”

My heart stopped. I saw Zayn shoot me a concerned look as the girl who’d screeched my name pushed through a couple of people towards me. I recognized her as a girl a year below me who I’d known from a few of my classes. She was tiny and frail, and wearing a cutout red dress.

“Kathleen!” I put on a stiff smile and accepted her hug. No matter how much I liked someone, it was always awkward for me to run into people I knew at clubs. It was almost inevitable here, of course – Fury being a UCLA kid’s favorite. “How are you?”