Thirty Reasons Not to Date a Player

25. He Brings out the Worst in You

Rachel promised me that her birthday party would be small. 

But when I find myself surrounded by a house packed with strangers on Saturday night, I realize that I either heard wrong, or Rachel goes around re-defining parts of the English language.

"I'm so happy you could make it!" she gushes, when I stumble through the door in my heeled combat boots. I had to beg the living daylight out of Mel to get myself a ride over here, because my parents aren't too fond of house parties. To their knowledge, I'm spending the night at Mel's working on a history paper that was never assigned. 

"Happy Birthday," I say, my voice a little strained because she's hugging me so tight. I try to hug her back but the stiff sleeves of my winter coat make it hard for me to bend my arms. My eyes gaze over her shoulder and something jumps inside me when I spot Ryder as he makes his way through a laughing crowd of teenagers. He doesn't see me but I watch as he heads into the kitchen. 

When he comes out with a beer bottle in hand, I realize that this is definitely not an innocent little birthday party. 

"Let me take that for you," Rachel offers, helping me out of my jacket. She tosses it onto a closet nearby. I suddenly feel out of place in my long grey cardigan and jeans. 

"Thanks," I mumble awkwardly. "And, um, this is for you." I hand her a small black bag labeled Sephora. I've never been very good at shopping for other people, so I usually just stick to gift cards. 

"You know me too well," Rachel laughs. "I'm sure I'll love it!" 

I force a small smile. 

"What? I'm not pretending, I swear," she assures me. "Sephora was a great choice." 

My eyes glance toward the living room, where most of the action is happening. "It's not that," I begin, "but are you sure alcohol is a good idea?" 

Rachel waves her arm nonchalantly. "Just chill out, AJ. You don't have to drink if you don't want to."

"Yeah, I don't plan on it," I say with a slight eye roll. After what went down at Steve Parker's Halloween party, getting drunk is the last thing I'll ever do. I'm not about to start strip-dancing on tables or having sex with someone and then not remembering it the next morning. I love my friends, but I certainly don't want to be them. 

"I'm just trying to be a good hostess. Wouldn't want people to get bored and leave before the cake," Rachel explains, as if there's something funny about it. She's probably downed a few drinks already. 

"Yeah," I mutter, not bothering to hide my disapproval. 

Rachel doesn't seem to notice because a group of girls are calling her over. "Enjoy the party, AJ!" She says, before happily walking over to them. The waywardness in her step worries me. 

I would hate to be drunk. I embarrass myself enough when I'm sober. 

Deciding that I can't just stand near the doorway like an idiot, I head into the dining room. There are boxes of pizza, soda, chips, and a massive supply of Heineken and Bud Light sprawled out across the dining table. Carefully taking a paper plate, I serve myself some Doritos.

There is a row of wooden chairs against the wall, and I take a seat on the one that isn't stained by a spilled bottle of Pepsi or littered with used plastic cups. I munch on the chips and feel like a complete loser for the next five minutes or so, until some guy I've never seen before comes up to me and asks if the seat next to mine is taken. 

"Well no, as long as you don't mind the half eaten pizza or the smell of cheap alcohol," I mutter.

He throws his head back and laughs.