One of the Guys (A Ryan Reynolds fanfic)

Chapter One: The Barman Giveth and the Barman Taketh Away

"Oh, this is going to be brutal. Like 'look, Ma! No hands!' brutal." I couldn't help whisper under my breath as Oli pushed her way through the crowd. She was a Hobbit awash in a sea of sweaty dudes. Always armpit height. Poor kid. I could see from across the bar that her brow was furrowed. Her sandy brown hair was swept to the side and as erratic as I'm sure her day had been.

My date for the night stood in front of me. Boobs and giggles. Drunk me had a type. He made poor life choices. She wiggled, I guess you could call it, like a fish with polio. It was all wrong but part of me, the shameful part, thought it was so right.

Oli rounded her like she had the plague and took the glass out of my hand. I watched her cheek twitch as the vodka disappeared into her gapping maw.

"Jesus, Mary, and Taylor Hanson. Go easy on that shit. You know how you get when you get white girl wasted. You lose your shoes and then cry that your feet are dirty. I have to carry you out like I'm Prince Charming or some shit. Oh, and you bite." I remarked as she lifted the glass and tapped it, ordering another.

"You're not my real dad." She murmured, pushing me off my stool with a nudge of her hip.

"No, if I was, what I think about doing to you most days would land me in a special ring of hell." I shrugged and leaned in on my forearms.

Olivia S. Grant was my best friend. Had been for years. I could hardly remember a time when she wasn't. She was this little ball of fire that could drink a guy under the table and then beat his ass for getting too handsy. It was how we met actually. What can I say? Sober me made poor life choices too. It couldn't be helped. She was little in the middle but had much back. I'm an ass guy. It seemed like a compliment to grab a handful and give it a little jiggle. Just a little. Too much and it's an insult. After picking myself off of the ground and checking my teeth for strays, I cracked a joke and she brought me a bag of ice. Since then, we were inseparable. Besties. Matching tattoos and decoder rings.

I could feel it in the air around her that bringing some random girl to our spot tonight was probably not my best move. It was this shitty little dive on the edge of Hollywood. Years ago it was the only place that we could afford and it just somehow became our Batcave. Ya know, if the Batcave had concrete floors, buckling wooden tables, lopsided stools and a bar that sagged worse than the waitress's tits. But what's done is done. I could only go forward and count my limbs in the morning.

I plucked the edge of her plain white cotton sundress and gave it a snap. "You wanna talk about it?"

"Nope." I watched her fingers collect our shots from the waitress. There was a slight hesitation on whether or not she was going to share them. I gave her a soft smile and took one from her.

"Alright then, Chatty Cathy. You wanna tell me what you think?" I clinked my glass off of hers and motioned to.. Denise? Dorian.. Diana?

"I think that if she goes down any further on that bottle we're going to have to start charging admission at the table." There she was. That tiny hellcat of mine. She smirked over the rim of her shot and I felt my gut clench a bit. Always happened when I was around her or ate Mexican street food. She had these little dimples that flashed.. which made your eyes travel to her cheeks which were flecked with freckles. Her grey eyes glittered like fucking diamonds and squinted when she was being mischievous. Fuck me sideways. I was a bitch deep down.

I turned my eyes to the woman of the hour and sure enough she was all snake hips and inhaling that bottle in way that I assumed was a promise for later. It was like someone released one of Mr. Rogers' marionettes from the Land of Make Believe and gave her a spandex dress and an X rating. Mark me down as both scared and horny.