Sleeping With the Professor

3

Becca and I walk through the doors of the nightclub. The music pounding against my chest. Immediately I feel claustrophobic. "Do you need a drink?" Becca asks me in a loud voice that I can barely decipher over the EDM tunes radiating around us.

"I don't have a fake ID," I yell back.

"I do," she winks at me and I laugh

"Get me a shot."

I trail behind her, leaving a slight gap between us. Once she reaches the counter I turn around and scan the crowd. People's bodies grind against each other, leaving nothing to the imagination. People are basically having sex in front of me.

"Here," Becca taps the shot glass against my shoulder. Spinning to face her she holds three more in her hand. When she notices me looking she addresses the unspoken question. "I figured why do one when we can take two shots," she shrugs and downs one of the glasses in her hand.

I do the same, the alcohol burning the back of my throat. I only got into my parents liquor twice. It was with my old friend who ditched me senior year for her popular jock boyfriend. We had gotten so drunk that night, making it nearly impossible to hide the fact that I had snuck in a bottle of whiskey into my room. When I say my parents never let me live that one down, they never did. The second time was after my disappearance. Shuddering at the memories I look at my new friend.

Rebecca hands me the second shot and it goes down easier this time. The effects of the strong liquor are already affecting me. I feel the substance surge through my veins and my memories fade, with hope that new ones will replenish themselves in the upcoming months. I can check one thing off my college bucket list.

Looking over at Becca, I notice she is gazing towards a guy a few feet away from us. "Go talk to him," I shove her slightly.

"Are you sure you'll be okay alone?" She asks, her stare unwavering with ebullient posture.

"Yes, text me if anything happens, go," I shove her harder this time and she looks back at me menacingly before heading in his direction. But the confident young girl returns as she continues to walk. Her hips vivaciously swinging from side to side.

I decide to take my shot glasses to the bar so I didn't break them. Knowing me, the biggest klutz, I'd drop them somehow. As the glasses clink against the wooden counter, a brooding shadow turns towards me.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The mystery man's deep voice reverberates through my skull and my knees are weak before even glancing his way. Fuck alcohol.

Cautiously turning my head in his direction, I'm met with the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on. He's wearing a blue, button-up shirt with his sleeves rolled past his elbows. It's paired with tight-fitting khakis. A working man. "If you insist-," I pause, waiting for him to tell me his name.

"Drake," he extends a hand that I gladly take. But I wouldn't exactly call it a handshake. Our hands met, our thumbs the only thing anchoring us together.

His rough skin tickles my own and I try not to laugh as I say, "Lilly." I also can't help but admire the dozens of tattoos that line his arms. A working man, with a bad side?

"Beautiful name," his deep brown eyes gaze into my own adamantly, unwavering, overflowing with confidence. He ushers the bartender over, "Beer?" After nodding, he proceeds to tell the bored-out-of-his-mind man behind the counter what we'd like to order. Once two chilled bottles were set down in front of us, I took a seat whilst holding onto the beer with a strong grip. "What's a beautiful girl like you doing at a shabby place like this?" He takes a sip without breaking eye contact.