One Night Stand [ ON HOLD/POSSIBLE REWRITE ]

1

            The clubs smell wafted over me as soon as my best friend pulled me through the door after flashing the guard his fake ID. Vodka, cigarettes, sweat – all three smells overpowering the small stench of cologne. Even Owen's strong citrus scent couldn't beat the clubs odor. 

            Owen asked if I wanted to dance, but I saw him ogling a petite brunette on the dance floor and insisted he went without me. I knew he didn't want to leave me alone after what happened the last time I was here. 

            "I'll be fine." I reassured him. Quickly placing a kiss on my cheek, Owen made him way over to the girl, who, just now, seemed to notice him. She smiled seductively up at him when he wrapped his arm around her small waist, pulling their bodies closer together. I smiled, noticing the genuine smile playing on his lips.

            I made my way over to the bar. Not specifically for a drink, but to be able to sit somewhere without feeling like the lame girl sitting all alone. Despite my actual intentions, I asked the bartender for a drink. 

            Drinking wasn't an everyday – or every month – thing for me. I drank at weddings. That was it. Frankly, I don't know why I asked for anything, let alone a shot. The thing that surprised me most, though, was that I wasn't going to have anything to follow it or to mix it with. It was going to be plain. I've heard from Owen and a couple of his football buddies, that taking a shot alone was just awful – the taste was awful. 

            I sat, watching the bartender make my drink. I didn't know what he was doing, to be honest; I had asked for a surprise. I couldn't wait to find out what kind of drink it was. He had mixed some rum, butterscotch schnapps, and Irish cream together. I didn't want to ask the bartender what he was making because I didn't want sound stupid or inexperienced, so I knew I'd have to wait until I saw Owen again. 

            Sliding the drink over to me, the bartender says, "Here you go, sweet cheeks." He couldn't have been any older than twenty-two, I noticed, shoving my fake ID into my back pocket.

            I smiled back at him, my smile hardly as happy or wide as his. 

            "Hey!" a tall, brunette called a few seats to the right of me. The bartender, or Beau, as his nametag stated, glanced over at the girl, an annoyed sigh escaping his full, pink lips. Beau took a step back from the bar, the tips of his long, tan fingers still lingering on the dark brown counter.

            "Is she that bad?" I cocked an eyebrow at him. Beau closed his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

            "She's awful," he mumbled, looking over at her and held up one finger, indicating he'll be there in a minute. "This is her tenth time coming over in the last five minutes. She keeps climbing over the bar an unbuttoning my pants."

            "Can't blame her," I muttered under my breath, raking my brown eyes over his body. His tight, black shirt hugged his muscles perfectly. Beau's sic-pack was just barely visible through his shirt. I couldn't help but let my gaze linger on his chest for just a bit longer.

            A smirk suddenly replaced his frighten expression, his eyes moving from the brunette and landing on me. "What was that?" he asked. I knew he had heard me. The look on his face proved it. He was just like any other guy I'd met at any club – he always needed a repeat to boost his ego up a notch. If I was still a junior in high school, I probably would have pulled a sour face, shook my head in disgust, and walked away to find Owen so he could take me home while I went on and on about how annoying boys were (including himself, at points in time). 

            Rolling my eyes, I let a smirk form on my lips. We just kind of stared at each other. I couldn't help it, his blue eyes were mesmerizingly beautiful.