From the Ashes

Pulling Jason behind us in our excitement, we duck under the neon-lit sign of the club, Serpentine. Once in, we clutch each other's arms excitedly as we scurry farther into the club, scanning the scene in front of us. The bar is to our right, all the seats practically filled as baristas tend to the Friday night crowd. The dance floor is to our left, packed with dancing bodies moving to the pounding music coming from the DJ's speakers. Booths of seats line the walls all around the dance floor.

"C'mon, let's get some booze in us before we dance!" Kait shouts in my ear over the loud, sultry music, poking at Jason’s arm as a cue to buy us drinks.

"Kait," I groan, grabbing her arm, "Let's dance first. I want to remember this, stupid," I say. In actuality, I'm kind of nervous to drink. My very first drinking experience was horrid, and I'm not too eager to try again. I had drunk too much to begin, and had ended up sick the whole night. It was a terrible experience.

Instead, I pull her toward the dance floor, waving off Jason. She obliges, too excited to not dance.
We worm our way into the sea of bodies, and begin moving to the music. We stay close to each other in the crowd, using our eyes and movements to flirt silently with guys dancing near us.

"This is better, Allie," Kait shouts into my ear, "We'll find other guys to buy drinks for us, I won’t have to pay Jason back!” I laugh at the truth in her words, reaching my arms into the air and running my hands through my cascading curls as I dance. My eyes fall ahead of me to a break in the crowd where I get a straight-shot view of the booths surrounding the room. A certain guy catches my eye, seated with a group of guys and girls. I check him out, despite the other girls obviously flirting with him. He has one of those sexy chiseled chins, and a strong, masculine neck.

His build is fine as hell, I think with a grin. He has the kind of body that looks gorgeous even in a plain T-shirt. On top of it all, he also has that dark-and-captivating look, that is my guilty pleasure in guys, and I admire the way his messy dark hair falls over one of his eyes...

And I mentally punch myself in the gut.

Oh, God, I just checked out Roman, hard core. Way to put a damper on my night by being here, asshole.

I look to see if Kait noticed. At the moment, she’s occupied with an attractive, older guy who’s dancing with her. She’s pressed up against him as they dance, and he leans down to whisper something into her ear. She breaks away from him to come and grab my hand.

"Allie, Seth's gonna buy us some drinks, okay? Me and him if that's alright. Find a guy!" She squeals, not waiting for my reply before letting Seth tug her toward the bar. I want to tell her to be careful... Or guard her drink so no one puts ruffies in it... Or don't go overboard. But she is soon swallowed by the crowd. Sighing, I decide to go sit in a booth. Dancing doesn't seem so appealing to me anymore. Before I go, I glance to Roman's booth one last time. My breath catches in my chest when he stares right back at me, one side of his mouth hitched up into a sly smile. He says something to the girls blocking the exit of the booth seat, and they slide off. His devilish eyes never leave mine as he makes his way to the dance floor.

Oh, beautiful.

I spin away from him, looking for a route of escape. The DJ switches tracks, the music becoming fast and energy-pumping. Shouts of approval rise above the dance floor, and more and more people join the dancing. I become trapped in a sea of grinding, slithering people.
With my time ticking away, and seeing no other option, I grab the arm of the nearest guy, and start to grind on him.

"Well hey, baby," Nearest Guy slurs down at me, sliding his hands onto my sides. I almost gag at the smell of hard liquor on his breath. He looks older, probably a college kid. His hair is dirty blonde, and sheared into an army buzz cut. He is obviously heavily inebriated. I resist the urge to squirm in his grip as his hands travel to my butt.

"Interesting choice of date, there, Allie," a familiar voice sounds behind me. I turn my head to look, the rest of me still attached to Nearest Guy. Roman stands behind me, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his black jeans. He is the only one in the crowd not dancing, and I have to say, it looks very odd. Like a single plant among dozens, the only one not swaying in the breeze.

"Go away, Roman," I shout at him over the music, trying my best to look like I'm enjoying the dance with my shwasted stranger. He just smirks at me in bemusement.

"Is that what you really want?"

Somewhat alarmed at his question, I whip my head back around to face Nearest Guy, hiding my expression from Roman.

"I'm cutting in," Roman tells Nearest Guy.

"Hey, bud... find yer own..." he slurs, rubbing my ass again. I can't help but cringe. A firm pair of hands grip my hips securely, pulling me away from the drunken creep. The guy starts to protest inaudibly, reaching back for me. Roman slides his hands more firmly around my waist as he begins to pull me farther back into the dance floor.

"Sorry, man. She's unavailable right now," Roman shouts to the guy before leading me away. Great. Instead of using a guy to hide from Roman, I manage to find one I needed him to save me from.
Awesome.

Safely away from Nearest Guy, Roman gently begins to dance, his hands still on my waist. I look over my shoulder up at him.

"What would make you think I want to dance with you like this?" I hiss at him. He spins me around by the waist, our hips bumping against each other briefly. The packed dance floor and moving bodies around us cause us to be chest to chest. My eye level lines up with Roman's collar bone. He tilts his head down to smirk at me behind his bangs.

"That better?" He shouts in my ear.

He uses his hands to guide my hips, firmly but gently, to soft-core grind against him. If there were a term for it, it would most likely be considered casual grinding. Like something you do while striking a perfectly normal conversation.

"Not trying to avoid me, were you?" he asks slyly. I look up at him, my traitorous heart still flitting wildly from the proximity of our bodies, and now our faces as we talk. I hate how much he seems to read me so well. Or... maybe it was kind of obvious, at my last-second choice of guy.

"Why would you think that?" I shout flatly. Roman's chest rumbles against mine as he chuckles.

"So would this be a bad time to discuss our summer project?" he ventures with a smirk, easing his hand to the flat of my back. I notice that my own hands have joined my heart in mutiny, and rest gently against the edges of Roman's firm chest, fingers curled lightly against his biceps.

Traitors.

"Boat building. Have to get supplies."

"Is that all you wanted to talk about earlier at school?"

"Suddenly want to talk about it now, since you didn’t want to earlier at school?" I shout sharply up at him. He gives me a famous smirk, his favorite reply. Tilting his head back up and looking away from me, he purses his lips slightly before replying verbally. He uses his teeth to fiddle with his snakebite piercings briefly, which are black today. My heart shudders in my chest as my attention is drawn to his mouth, and I shamelessly stare while his gaze is elsewhere. His lips are wide and supple, in a chiseled way, and I can't help but imagine what his piercings would feel like against my own lips.

Roman's gaze flickers back to me, and my eyes quickly dart away. I can almost feel his smirk burning into me. Or maybe that's just my cheeks.

"Let me buy you a drink, Allie. You need to loosen up."

"If I wanted a drink, I'd buy it myself."

"Funny, I thought I was one of the few who had a fake ID around here. Come on," he shouts. He slides away from me, and begins to move through the crowd. Wanting to get off the dance floor myself, I slink away in his wake. Once seated at the bar, I scan the faces around us for Kait or Jason.

"What'll it be, Roman?" a barista with a startlingly low-cut shirt asks flirtatiously. I pause in my search to suppress a snort.

Ah, first name basis. He must come here often.

"A shot of Jack for me. Strawberry daiquiri for the lady." I spot Kaitlin as the barista pulls glasses out from under the bar. She's seated on Seth's lap, laughing like an idiot at anything and everything, obviously drunk off her ass. I worry that she doesn't get sick.

"Do you know that guy?" I ask Roman, still looking over at Kaitlin from across the bar. Roman leans into me to look, not seeming to notice the contact.

"Seth?"

"Yeah, I think."

"Yes. Why?"

"Is he... a good guy? I just want Kait to be taken care of." Roman's mouth tugs up into a half-mouthed smile.

"She's in good hands, don't worry yourself over her, Uh-lay-thee-uh," he says my name with slow, teasing deliberance. Sighing, I rest my elbows on the counter before cupping my face in my hand.

"You better be right, Speed.”

Our drinks are delivered to us, and Roman thanks the waitress with his disgustingly effective charm.
He tips back his shot as I stare at my fruity pink drink. Placing the empty glass on the counter with a ting, Roman leans to whisper into my ear.

"That's called a drink. Here's a straw."

"Shut up."

"Well, what's the problem, then?" he croons, picking up the glass to take a testing sip. "It’s good, nice and sweet. I got it for you ‘cause I'm pretty sure you'd like it."

"Roman..." I say softly, my stomach knotting as I stare down at the alcoholic beverage. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, so I continue. "I've only ever drunk once... and I got really sick. I don't really want to try it again."

"What did you drink?"

"Pepsi shots with vodka."

"How many?"

"Like, a quarter of the bottle. I don't know, it was in a glass. Washed it all down by chugging a bottle of beer."

This incident had happened at Kait’s house in the middle of the night about a year ago, prompted by her and Jason over the fact that I had never been drunk before.

"Vodka, nice. Just sip this slowly, take it gently and you'll be all right. Nice and easy, we won't go overboard. I promise."

If there is anything I will ever learn about myself, it is to never ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, trust anyone with persuading me into drinking alcohol.

That said, four Strawberry Daiquiris and two Margaritas later, I find myself with my head in the shitter. After the Daiquiris, Roman had left, no doubt, to buy more drinks for other unsuspecting girls, and here I was alone, holding back my own hair. Well, essentially alone. I had toilet mates in the stalls beside me, doing as I was. Shaking, I flush for the third time and wipe my mouth with toilet paper. Groaning, I hold my stomach. Every time I move my eyes, the room waves and spins.

I hate your ass so much.