The Ruby Sessions

Part III | If Two's Company, and Three's a Crowd, Then...?

It's late, ungodly late. You're piling into a nondescript black Volkswagen van, bright pops of light from the Paps blinding you the whole way. You climb into the van, holding your dress down your ass, as to not accidentally give the Daily Mail something to run tomorrow. Ed is behind you, anyway, so hopefully he blocks the view a bit.

James and his girlfriend, Claire, are in the van already as you climb in and claim a seat, Ed's hands reluctant to let you go as he follows you into the vehicle. Kev slides the van door shut and finally, relief from the constant bombardment of camera flashes and douchebags yelling things out.

James has somehow procured a bottle of bubbly, and he pops it open as the driver pulls away from the club. "Cheers!" He shouts, his signature jovial-with-a-side-of-sarcasm tone filling the confines of the van. James takes a long swig of the champagne and passes the bottle to Claire.

She looks electrically hot in her club outfit; a white halter top, featuring a plunging neckline, tucked into a charcoal gray high-waisted skirt. Her skirt is short but she's paired it with these sultry over-the-knee boots in a deep scarlet color. Her body is adorned in spindly silver jewelry, bangles up both of her wrists, a delicate, long silver chain necklace chasing her deep neck-line, silver hoops in both of her ears. Her blonde hair is coiffed in the ultimate beach wave, and for just a moment, you're envious of her fair features, so drastically different from your dark ones. She's tall, thin, leggy, blonde with sapphire blue eyes.

She's the exact opposite of you: on the petite side, busty, full hips - you've got an hourglass figure that's, thankfully, "on trend" now, but it wasn't always that way. Your rich, dark hair is the deepest shade of brown, nearly black depending on the lighting. Your mahogany brown eyes are speckled with little flakes of gold. You weren't feeling super sexy when you dressed for the evening, so you stuck with a safe favorite: a sheer black lace bodysuit, long sleeved, tucked into high-waisted black jeans that clung to you like a second skin. You casually grabbed a random pair of strappy black heels on your way out the door, having spent most of your allotted time on your hair & makeup, the perfectionist in you getting caught up in the ultimate blown-out smokey eyeshadow look. You'd tried to get some volume in the roots of your hair, but, for the most part is just hung down in long, straight sheets.

It's Ed's turn for champagne next, and you can see his adam's apple moving in succession with each glug of the blubby that he swallows down. He's in rare form tonight, likely egged on by James' party antics. You haven't seen him so tipsy in a while.

James had semi-recently gone through a divorce, and was enthusiastic about being back on the party circuit.

Ed cries out, "Who's up for the after party?!", His animated hands coming to life as they so often did.

You groaned, your tired feet sore from the shoes you had worn all night. Ed & James had resigned pretty early on in the night to getting totally pissed, so you & Claire had hit the dance floor for most of the night, fending off advancing men by grinding up on each other, arms thrown around one another's neck, insisting he wasn't either of your type.

It's not to say that you hadn't had your fair share of alcohol either, though. You were definitely feeling good, thanks to an endless wave of gin & tonics that always happened to find their way into your hand, courtesy of your lovely, instigator of a boyfriend.

James' face lights up as Ed mentions "After Party", and you hate to be the party pooper, but you speak up. "Abso not, lovies, my feet are fucking killing me."

Claire pipes in, "Oh God, same, I am dying to get these boots off.. ugh."

Ed pouts momentarily, just for a second, and then the lightbulb pops in. "Baby, can we at least go home and keep the party going there? You two can get into your sweats?"