To Be Alone With You

“Don’t be nervous, they’re going to love you,” John murmured as he dragged me into the house, music pulsing from the core like veins pumping blood to a heart. His friends were gathered in a sodden clump in the foyer, soil clinging onto watery white roots. It would be my first time meeting them, his friends and band mates – Alex, Ryan, Garrett and Pat. My heart pounded with nerves as we approached them.

“John-O!” a voice cheered from within them and a boy came forward, not tall but not short, with shaggy brown hair. From what John told me, this was Garrett Nicklesen, the boy who lived in this house. His parents were gone for the weekend, and in turn he’d decided to fill the house with a bunch of drunken high schoolers to keep him company. They greeted each other with pats on the back and light punches to the shoulder.

“Is this her?” another asked, with a long nose and wild hair. Ryan, I’d learned, Ryan Osterman. John had spent the whole ride to Garrett’s explaining his friends, to the point where they no longer required introductions.

“Yeah, guys this is Josselyn,” John introduced proudly, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Josselyn, this is Alex, Ryan, Garrett and Pat.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” I greeted meekly, putting on my best smile as they examined me with intrigued eyes. John squeezed my shoulder encouragingly.

“Shall we get you a drink?” Garrett offered. And he lead me into the kitchen, handing me a poisonous concoction of whatever the hell was in the fridge. I drank and drank and drank, sloppily so, until I was all over the place. John rubbed my back as I hunched over the toilet in the bathroom hours later, throwing up everything in me, an effort to regain sobriety and get all the alcohol out of my system.

“This is an awful first impression, I’m so sorry,” I sobbed into the bowl as John’s fingers gingerly traced my spine. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Josselyn,” he hummed softly, perhaps just as drunk as me but able to handle himself much better. “Josselyn listen to me. They like you a lot. I promise. People puke sometimes. Shit happens. And even if they didn’t like you, they’d have to deal with it. You’re not going anywhere.”

And as the last little dribble of vomit heaved from my nearly empty stomach, I couldn’t help but feel like the most important thing in John O’Callaghan’s life, thoroughly drunk or not.



“Nice place,” Garrett muttered as I held the door open for them to enter. I couldn’t quite differentiate between sarcasm and honesty in the tone of his voice as the guys looked around the place. Charlotte had cleaned up before she left that morning and the place was spotless – every kitschy collectable and piece of artwork in its place, throw blankets folded neatly, and wine glasses cleaned and tucked away. I caught a small smile on Kennedy’s face as he ran his fingers over a clay elephant my grandparents brought me from India.

“Thanks,” I replied forcedly to Garrett, not sure how to respond. “You guys can help yourself to food or drinks or whatever. My alcohol is in the cupboard above the fridge. I’m gonna go change.”

I stole away to my room and closed the door behind me, exhaling sharply and pressing myself against the wall in an attempt to regain my bearings. It wasn’t a bad decision to go out drinking with them, right? They were people from my hometown first, some were friends once a long time ago, and they asked me to go. But then again, they were my clients now, and I was trying to hard to be professional. And if John found out, he would be absolutely furious…

Shaking the thoughts from my mind, I crossed the room to my closet with determination. Fuck John O’Callaghan and what would make him upset. He needed to grow up and move on with his life; stop being so stuck in the past and stuck on me. I deserved a night out with a slew of attractive men,
whether or not they were his friends. Just being in their presence made me feel like a million bucks.

I pulled an outfit from my closet that made me look seemingly libidinous: a dark floral bralet and a high waisted, lacy black skirt that formed to my every curve. Mussing my hair with my hands and applying another coat of lipstick and perfume, I slid back into the kitchen, strappy shoes in hand. The boys were standing around the table, taking pulls from a handle of 151 along with a beer in each of their hands. When their eyes landed on me, they widened and I couldn’t help but feel a little smirk play up on my lips.

“You look… nice,” Pat breathed awkwardly. I laughed in return, grabbing my camera from the nearby chair and snapping a photo of them with their bottles.

“Enough with the photos, Josselyn,” Kennedy teased, approaching me and stealing the camera out of my hands. He turned it quick enough to capture a picture of me for once – me giggling and blushing from the sudden attention. “We’ve got places to go and you’re two shots behind.”

“You can’t go anywhere without your tour guide,” I quipped in response, taking the bottle from Jared’s hands and taking a long swig, I resisted the urge to cough and sputter as the liquid fire trailed down my throat – 151 had that effect and I’d foolishly forgotten.

We sat around and talked for awhile, drinking and laughing like old friends. Even though I’d just met Jared and Kennedy and it had been years since I talked to Garrett and Pat, we fell into place very quickly. At least for the most part – Garrett was fairly resistant to the idea of us getting along, but generally laughed at my jokes and wasn’t rude when I spoke.

“Where are we going then, fearless leader?” he asked, stroking the ginger stubble growing on his cheeks. I took the beer from his hand and downed a couple quick sips. Kennedy was wandering off to look at my apartment some more, his focus landing on the corner bookshelf.

“I want to get you guys back into the heart of Manhattan and absolutely out of Brooklyn,” I replied. “I mean, I love Brooklyn, don’t get me wrong. But if I’m going to give you a tour of the New York City bar scene, we are absolutely going to Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hell’s Kitchen?” Garrett repeated skeptically, downing the rest of his beer and tossing it in the recycling bin.

“It’s a neighborhood,” I clarified, downing another excruciating shot of over-proof rum. “Lots of bars and clubs and people. It’ll be a good time, I promise. Let’s go hail a cab and get this show on the road, shall we?”

The guys nodded and collected themselves while I pulled on my shoes, slinging my bag over my shoulder. As we went to the door, Kennedy hung back, still examining all the books stuffed tightly into the shelves.

“Ken, are you coming?” I asked quietly, not wanting to interrupt. Books were so important to me, and I was pleased that he was so interested in my collection. His head quickly snapped to me, an embarrassed look on his face.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, finishing the rest of his beer and discarding it on the way. “Sorry about that. You have a great collection.”

“Thanks,” I said shyly, leaning against the door frame. “You have a favorite?”

“In your collection?” he asked. “Chekov, specifically. You have a lot by Russian writers.”

“I was working on a minor once,” I explained, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I love Russian lit. But that doesn’t matter now. C’mon, the guys are waiting. We can talk about this kind of stuff some other day.”

He followed me down the stairs to the curb where the guys were waiting impatiently, trying to hail a cab. Pat’s gangly, waving arms finally caught the sight of a big yellow van that kindly stopped to pick us up. We piled in, packed tightly, and Jared and Garrett proceeded to break into a sing-along to the Katy Perry song on the radio. Kennedy’s hazel eyes followed me the whole time.

I lead us into the first bar, a good starter New York City bar, filled with screaming Yankees fans watching the game. Pat seemed overwhelmed with the amount of men shouting aimlessly at each other. I quickly ordered up a round of beers and distributed them to the men around me.

“Let your education begin,” I introduced excitedly, gesturing around.

“Prepared to be out-drank like you were in high school?” Garrett challenged, raising his glass to me. I smirked, raising my glass in return.

“I could drink you under the table, Nickelsen.”

“Chug your beer, then,” he said with a smirking grin. I raised my eyebrows in surprise, my grip tightening around the amber liquid.

“On your mark,” I responded.

“Go!”

Cheers rose from the bar as they watched us and watched the game, everyone in the bar watching something else, Kennedy watching me. I could feel it the whole time as I choked down my pale ale, faster and faster, struggling to beat Garrett at his own game. I couldn’t be embarrassed in front of him again.

“Done!” a voice cried out just as I was finishing my last few gulps. I lowered my glass in defeat only to see that Garrett was still drinking. I looked around to see where the voice had come from and discovered it was Pat, smiling triumphantly, holding his empty glass. I fell into a fit of laughter and hugged the lanky boy, kissing him on the cheek.

The guys fell into place at the bar, yelling and cheering all the while, finishing their beers and in position to order new ones. But just as they went to do so, I pulled them away, dragging them to the next bar in my lineup. That was part of the New York bar scene; you never want to get too comfortable, otherwise you could fall into a rut. With all the places to go and people to see, a rut was a great tragedy.

We grew drunker and drunker with each bar we stumbled into – clubs, themed bars, you name it, we attempted to see it with swirling vision. We finally ended up at my favorite bar, a dark and musky place towards the end of the crawl, filled with people and drinks. Kennedy and I sat at the bar, sharing a tall Long Island Iced Tea, even though we probably didn’t need any more drinks. His watchful eyes were glazed over but still attentive.

“Josselyn, I have something I need to tell you,” he slurred, sloshing a little of the drink onto the bar counter. I snatched it from his hands and took a long, protective sip.

“What’s that?” I questioned. My head felt heavy.

“Ever since I first saw you, I’ve thought you were so beautiful,” he stammered, leaning into me, our knees knocking like boats against a dock when the tide came in. “You’re so interesting and funny and god damn it, did I mention you’re beautiful?”

I giggled shyly, not realizing the ramifications of what Kennedy had just confessed. All I could feel was the warmth of all the booze in my stomach and the attentive glow of Kennedy’s words – I felt like starshine, like someone important.

“I’ve noticed you watching me all day,” I hiccupped, taking another sip. The things I would normally say sober had an unnerving tendency to slip out when I was inebriated.

“I can’t look away,” he murmured, his voice throaty and undeniably sexy. “I’m sorry if this is bold, especially with whatever the fuck happened between you and John, but I really can’t help myself.”

Normally I would have blanched at the thought of John. I should have thought of him as I lead Kennedy to the dark corner of the dance floor, his hand on my hip, tracing the thin crescent of skin peeking from between my clothes with his callused fingers. In my right mind, I would have never pressed my body to Kennedy’s, the boy who clearly liked me but was also best friends with the man who I had a past with. But then, with the music blaring around us and my blood pumping with alcohol, I didn’t care.

“You look so good tonight,” he hummed in my ear as we danced, our bodies grazing each other to the beat of the song. His hands were all over my waist, like he felt he had to hold but couldn’t quite find his bearings. He was being so sexy with me, his lips brushing against my ear so lightly, his breath hot on the back of my neck. I couldn’t help myself.

“If that’s so,” I said back, “Then you should prove it and kiss me.”

In a chaotic burst of drunken lust, Kennedy pulled me to him and planted his lips firmly on mine. My heart pounded in my chest, like a thousand tiny birds were fighting to escape my ribcage, and I fell into him. It wasn’t until I pulled away that I noticed John O’Callaghan watching us from the door.