"What's a sweet woman like you doing here all by herself?" His voice is low and raspy, it's hot. He reaches down and tucks a strand of my hair behind my left ear, waiting for my reply.
"I'm not sweet. Go back to your table." I tell him firmly. A gl...
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Vodka. Weed. Sweat. Cheap perfume. The four things that everyone smells during a night on the strip.
Zayn hadn't been kidding when he said I owe him drinks but I hadn't anticipated that those drinks would turn into a night of shots, beers, cigarettes and crappy club music.
Which is why I currently find myself slumping against a sticky burgundy velvet sofa watching Zayn dance with his choice of oddly flexible females.
I bring the joint that's resting in my right hand up to my lips, taking a long, slow drag. Some guy is sat beside me, with a leggy blonde practically riding him here and now. I shuffle up to the edge of the couch, as far away from them as possible. God, I hate PDA.
They inch closer to me, spreading out across the sofa as they eat each other's faces. It's when they start practically moaning in my ear that I finally shove them away and stand up.
"What the fuck?!" The man complains as he repositions the woman on his lap.
I roll my eyes ignoring them as I walk away but not before flicking the end of my joint at their feet; call me petty but they deserve it.
The woman shouts after me smugly as I walk, "if you're jealous you could've just said."
I scoff to myself not looking back to prevent giving her the satisfaction of getting to me. Jealous of that skank and her shitty boyfriend? I don't think so, maybe I should tell her that only half an hour ago did I see him hitting on some even younger woman.
I take myself to the bar, settling on a stool and waving over the usual bartender, Axel. I watch as he finishes off serving someone else, his wavy black hair flopping over his forehead, into his eyes.
Axel enjoys being my personal eye candy and his boyfriend doesn't mind so it's a win, win situation.
He makes his way in front of me, "what can I get you, sweet thing?"
I half laugh, half scoff at his nickname, "come on axe, you do better than that."
"Okay, okay, how about buttercup?" Axel offers instead, the right side of his mouth lifting.
"Worse." I tell him curtly with a grimace.
"We'll call it a work in progress. Vodka tonic?" He asks hopefully.
"You already know the answer to that."
"Fine, straight it is. You need to drink less." He lectures and pours me a few straight shots. I can't help but glance over the different coloured tattoos he has across his arms and creeping up, out of his shirt and over his neck. They're intricate and beautiful, they look almost delicate ironically.
He arranges my drinks on the bar top, standing in front of me as if to shame me from drinking them. Obviously it won't work.
I tip the first two back, keeping eye contact with Axel as he shakes his head. To say he's a bartender, he's very unenthusiastic about my drinking.
