Is This Love?

I dropped Flame back at the office, not even watching him walking away before I was speeding off once more. When Tom texts you for plans for the weekend you best show up in half an hour after he mentioned it or he assumes that you’re not interested in going. I don’t know why, but that’s just how he works, and not having a job to go do means when he wants to do something all he has to do is crawl of my sofa or out of the bed I’m lending to him.

I showed at the apartment we share, the one I pay for completely. I’m rather proud of it for a first place, with its own guard, friendly receptionist which I may or may not have gotten off with a few times. Marble counters and pillars, it is luxurious. That happens to be one of the traits I share with my dad, taking pleasure in having luxuries, although unlike him I don’t like to flaunt my wealth too much. Sure I wear designer clothes, drive an expensive car, and live in a lush apartment is not something I have to, but these things are necessaries and since they are so important I might as well have the best money can buy. Still I greeted the receptionist with a wink and made my way up to where my apartment was, eager to hear what Tom had planned. The thing with Tom is you’ll remember the first few hours or so of the night and then black out completely until Monday morning when you headache feels like a load of hippos having a game of rugby inside your head. It kills but I’m pretty sure the weekend was worth it.

Walking through the door I see that Tom is off the couch, which one is impressive for three in the afternoon, and trying to work out how the hair straighteners work. This, in his obviously high state, is a task in his self. I coughed and he quirked a brow at me, obviously taking in my appearance, then a small smile stretched over his lips. “For once you don’t look like your dad. Well done.”

I let out a laugh and shook my head, “well I had a band interview today, so obviously going in a suit would be weird.” I have a thing about wearing suits; I know I look amazing in them since what’s sexier than a man in a three piece suit? Nothing. That’s what.

“Well you should do that everyday. You work in a music magazine and all for fuck sake,” he commented dryly, focusing back on the straigheners again, cheering once he managed to turn them on. I know I shouldn’t find this funny but a high Tom is strangely adorable. He’s been trying to get me on them for about eight years now, but I had one drag and I was done with them. We all have our vices, his happens to be drugs and mine happen to be drink. I’m not an alcoholic, but I’m a drinker. “Who was it again?” he asked, while moving to sit on the floor to give him a better access so he can sort out his hair. That happens to be another thing we share. Vanity. Both of us spend too much time on our own hair, our appearances. I got told by my old fling that I spent more time in the bathroom than she did.

“Muse,” I respond, opening the fridge grabbing myself a beer.

“Fuck. That must have been torture, you know, giving that they’re shit.”

I laugh and chuck him over a beer, which he barely catches and sends a glare my way. Normally his glares are much more intimidating if he didn’t pout while straightening his hair, or was straightening his hair in the first place.

“Well you know Hails likes them, and so does Flame,” I say, throwing myself on the couch and flicking through the channels, watching him out the corner of my eye. I see his face screw up a bit, thinking over what I said.

“Right. Who the fuck is this Flame… Why the fuck is he called Flame?! Did his parents hate him? I bet they did.”

“Intern,” I answer shortly, knowing that would be Tom’s interest of the conversation gone and I was right. I spent the rest of the time vaguely watching him get ready slowly, ever so slowly, and watching whatever happened to be on telly at the time.

About three hours later I was being pulled off the sofa by now a completely sober Tom, getting clothes thrusted into my hand and then herded off to the door to my bedroom to get ready. “Clubbing” was the only word I got from Tom. Still it was better than what I got some days.

“Fe you massive girl, hurry the fuck up! I wanna leave!” Tom yelled jokingly from hallway.

I sighed and opened it up, receiving wolf whistles from Tom, and a suddenly appeared Connor. Rolling my eyes I went over to the table, scooping up my phone and wallet while casually giving my best friend the eye. On a night out he scrubs up well, and it would be wrong not to check him out. I saw him blush and fumble a bit under my eye, yet a wink seemed to relax him.

A while later we were on our way to the club, Tom insisting on walking once Connor mentioned the fact a car like mine would be the first thing people decide to steal. The guy comes out with us on these night outs but they’ve never been his thing, he tries so hard with Tom but the two are too much polar opposites to have anything in common with each other. I think they come together over me, being friendly to each other, but god knows the awkwardness if I ever left the two of them alone together for too long.

“So what you in the mood for tonight Fe? A bit of fish? Or a bit of meat?” he asked, giving my side a friendly nudge in the side. Shrugging seemed to be satisfactory answer for him, moving on to annoy Connor instead. “Well there’s no point asking you is there? We all know you’re a carnivore when it comes to this type of thing…”

I blocked out the rest of their bickering, seeing the line in front of us for this club. When a new club opens in the middle of London everyone is rushing to say they are the first to get there. Luckily for us, my name gets us into anywhere, if my ego wasn’t big enough I would become too self absorbed. While we boycotted the crowd I saw some people who clearly wouldn’t get in, like that group of teenagers with their fake IDs and trainers. They could have at least tried a bit harder.

“Who owns this club again Fe?” Connor asked, shoving his hands in his pocket and avoided the look of the queue. He always felt guilty for being able to move past them when some of them have been waiting for some hours.

“Derek,” I state giving a nod at the bouncer who opens the rope for us three to walk in. “You remember him Con Con, he’s an old friend of mine, tall, muscles, you had a huge crush on him... I remember you saying his eyes were like shining emeralds.”

We got into the club, had our welcoming round of shots, scanned the scene for any talent, more shots, more scanning, shots, dancing, beers, shots, body shots, then the rest of the night became a blur. I remember spotting a blonde woman, legs incredibly long, I think she said she was a dancer but then again who cares?

Then I remember pressing her back against the wall, legs around my waist, and the sound of someone throwing up to the right of us. Heavy breathing and lips smacking against lips, skin against skin, pants becoming mixed with each other, rushing to get back to our respected parties. Me to get back to my cousin and best friend and her to get back to her beloved fiancé.

Then the rest of the night and the weekend to be honest have gone from my mind. I can’t tell you if I ever got back to the flat, I can’t remember if I managed to get back to Con or Tom. I don’t remember Saturday or Sunday. All I can remember is waking up Monday morning in a strange bed but a familiar body next to me. The silky black hair and the creamy white skin, with a mole on the right hip which stick out too much. The dip of their spin and the beginning of their arse just poking out from the sheets. I remember them turning and being presented with the lean body, the slight hint of abs and the soft treasure trail decorating their lower stomach. And then the bright, wide, piercing gray eyes of Ezra staring back at me.