Life of Max ✔️

One

MAX

Paris is fucking great.

There's a sea of European girls willing to come with me to my dad's penthouse at any time, and I'm drinking so much booze I'm honestly worried I'm going to die of alcohol poisoning. It's a dream come true.

I think most of it is because I'm Mr. Johnson's son, though, but I don't mind. I'm living in paradise, and I'm so going over here the second I'm done with college.

My dad is never home, anyway, so I've basically got his huge ass penthouse all to myself.

I can't help but wonder how everyone is doing at home, though, and by everyone, I really mean Ives. And maybe Brad, but I've been talking to Brad now and then over the phone, so I know he's fine. I've texted Harry a few times too, but he refuses to tell me anything. He says he's loyal to Dean, and he doesn't want to encourage my interest in his friend's girlfriend.

So I guess they're together now. For real. She's not just interested in him, they're together.

I've realized I can really live my best life without being with her, which is great, but I still want to be her friend. I think. It's honestly not that bad thinking about her with Dean. They're good together, and I honestly think that he's got a lot more to offer her than I do. I'm just a pussy, who didn't go for it when I had the chance.

I'll just keep fucking girls every weekend, drink until I can't stand up straight, and smoke weed mixed with some other shit that makes me stupid high, so that I won't remember if I think about her.

Not a big deal.

The club is filled with strobe lights and smoke from everyone's joints and bongs. The ceiling is made of glass, and I can see right through it, to the stars, if I want to. But I don't. The interior screams money; red leather everywhere, studded with golden buttons, the table tops are probably some expensive mahogany, with at least five coats of the priciest, shiny shit on top.

I hate it.

I blow rings of smoke out of my mouth, and watch as the girl next to me is chatting about something very excitedly in her very broken accent. It's kind of hot, but it's getting boring.

I'm actually looking forward to coming back home soon. If I were older, like my dad, I would have loved this. I'm going back when I'm free of college and responsibilities, so I can thoroughly enjoy this life.

The girl suddenly gets up on my lap and starts kissing my cheeks when she obviously notices I'm not interested in what she's talking about, and I feel her hands start to rub my cock outside my jeans.

I take another hit of my joint, and blow it into her face when she reaches for it with her lips. She isn't getting any of this good shit. It's all for me.

As she pouts, I roll my eyes at her, and get up from my seat, pushing her off of me.

She's not that pretty anyway.

I walk through the club, and approach the bar, as I see my dad and some familiar models crowding him, all doing shots. I see him with the same entourage of girls every night. They're all tall, skinny, and I think he prefers blondes.

I walk past them to get to the bar, and order myself another drink. This place is packed with wealthy people, and I don't think the police ever goes in here, for some reason, since I've both seen and tasted absinthe in here a few times. And, well, marijuana isn't exactly legal in France either, so...

I put my blunt between my lips and take another drag as I motion for the bartender to refill my glass of bourbon. While absinthe has the highest alcohol percentage, and the biggest risk of seeing things that aren't here, I tend to opt for something I know. Just to be a little smart. I'd love to hallucinate right about now, but I should probably head home soon.