Toe Tag, You're It

three

The drive to LA didn't take too long. It was roughly 10:30 p.m. on a Thursday night, so it's no surprise that there was no traffic. Our house wasn't too far from the big city, anyway.

I parked about two blocks down from the address that was texted to me an hour ago. Some people had to learn the hard way to never park directly in front of a house party, but I was not one of them. Having an older brother, I already knew of all these loopholes and life hacks. There was no way I was risking my Charger getting trashed by a bunch of drunk college kids. That car, with all its additions and features, probably racked up a higher price than the majority of these kids' tuitions.

College parties are so much different than highschool parties. College students don't want to just smoke a joint and drink until they puke their guts up in a stranger's bathroom; They would much rather snort some coke and party like its 1999... and that's where I come into play.

I never enrolled in college. I don't need it. Hell, I had already become somewhat of a millionaire before I'd even finished highschool. Which I didn't ever officially finish, if I may add. Who needs book smarts when you can join a renowned gang, sell drugs and make more money than any top LA lawyer, right? Damn straight.

Back to the party; Crashing frat parties had become a regular thing for me, seeing as I'd been doing this since I was sixteen. Yeah, a sixteen year old at university frat parties. Pretty fucked up; but hey, at least now I know my way around.

I scan the room for Michael. He's kind of like my "coworker" in this business. He does more of the risky shit... like asking around for new clients. I just deal the shit, make bank, report back to Dre, then split up the dough. This is the life I choose to lead.

I'd finally spotted Michael and to no surprise, he wasn't doing what he was supposed to be. And by that I mean he was chatting up a couple of blondes rather than doing his actual job. Shocker.

As soon as his eyes met mine, he mumbled something to the girls and shuffled over to me cautiously. Michael knows exactly how I can get when things don't go as they should. I guess I gained that lovely trait from Dre.

"Hey, man..." Michael trailed off, a hand making its way through his newly dyed jet black hair. Kid loved to fuck with his hair. Don't ask why. I'm his best friend and I don't even know. In all honesty, I don't think Michael even knows.

As soon as I opened my mouth to speak, his hands came up in surrender as though I was about to knock him out. "Okay, okay, bro... I actually did find clients...." he half stuttered, scratching the back of his neck, "some old, some new."

"Okay, fine," I grumbled, my hand now making its way through my own mop of hair. "List 'em off so I can do my part."

Michael then gave me the grocery list of people who wanted and/or needed cocaine, so the next hour was well spent by me sauntering around whoever-the-fuck's house this was and dealing out whatever needed to be dealt.

Once I was finally done my job, I decided to act like a typical teenage boy at a house party, which included drinking, smoking, and trying to get laid. So, with a cigarette between my teeth and bottle of beer in my hand, I made my way over to a group of girls and did what I do best--apart from drug dealing, that is.

It then dawned on me that I had lost my best friend. Again. This happened at literally every party we attended. We'd get our shit done, drink, hit on hot girls, Michael would get drunk, I'd forget about him, and then I would be: Buzzed, suffocated by half a dozen drunk, horny chicks, and worried for the safety of my dumbass best friend.

I excuse myself from the flock of half-dressed broads and begin my quest to find Michael.

As soon as I leave what seems to be the living room and enter the kitchen, a freshly manicured hand presses against my chest from behind.

"Hey babe," she grins, tracing my jaw with her index finger. Her body is pressed against mine at this point, and frankly, I'm not having any of it.

"Not now, Bella," I groan, rubbing my forehead with the back of the hand that is currently holding onto my beer bottle. "Michael's hammered and wandered off somewhere, I gotta find him."

Seems like a pretty convincing excuse, right? Wrong. Not to Bella. She's so desperate and horny that I could tell her my dick got cut off and I gotta go to the hospital, and she'd still try to get into my pants.

"C'mon babe, wouldn't you rather go upstairs and fool around with me than find your drunken friend?" No. "Pleeease," she continued begging, playing with the collar of my jacket. This bitch can't even keep her hands off me... am I really that irresistible?

"Sorry Bella, Michael is more important to me than a one night stand," I smirked, trying to turn away from her. She flicked a lock of long hair over her shoulder, huffing as her icy eyes pierced through mine.

And that was my cue to go.

As soon as she noticed my full-on rejection, she folded her arms across her chest, clearly aggravated. "It's not a one night stand if it happens every week," she spat at me, the anger very clear in her voice.

"There are plenty more cheerleaders where you came from, babe," I shrugged casually before finally turning on my heel and leaving Bella absolutely devastated. I stopped in my tracks, turning on my heels. I had one more line to degrade her with before continuing my quest to find Michael. "And you know, I would actually look forward to seeing Michael in the morning. Can't really say the same about you." My shot at Bella was oohed by a crowd of guys, and hit the strawberry blonde whore right in the ego. With that, I spun right around, ready to continue searching for Mike.

But my smooth getaway was destroyed the second I walked straight into someone, the contents of her solo cup completely drenching my clothes.