Her First Bite

Thirty Three | Margarita

Right now, during this very second, if my feet could talk- they would be calling me a big footed, fat footed, athlete's footed, nasty ass, sweaty ass bitch.

And I swear it.

I swear it because at this very second, my feet were squished in these fucking tight shoes. My feet were killing me in these shoes. My feet were hurting in these shoes. In these heels. Bad, like really bad. And I knew I should've picked the slightly shorter heel ones with the thick bottoms and not these: skinny heel, flat bottom, barely an inch off the ground, with one thin string for tying up ones. I knew I should've but fuck, I wanted to look good and taller (Extra taller). I had on a short dress, so my legs needed to look long. And that couldn't, wouldn't, happen if I put on the barely half an inch off the ground shoes.

I was now regretting not putting on those shoes.

Because this very minute, my feet were fucking sore and we hadn't even arrived inside the damn club yet. Been standing in a line for thirty minutes now. And if had I known that this club would be this fucking crowded on a Thursday, I would've went somewhere else. Or better yet, on another day when it wasn't crowded. But it got me thinking that if this club was already packed on a Thursday, I can't imagine how it would look on the weekend.

Fucking crazy, I bet.

And you know what? The next time I go to the club, it will be on a. . .What was that Drake song called?

Oh right, on a Tuesday. Let's hope that when that time approaches it won't be as packed. And, God, I was still shocked that it was really this crowded on a Thursday. But my shock would soon be switching to happiness because we were about a few people away from getting inside those front doors. By we- I meant me, Erin and Vanessa. Us three standing in line, waiting to get inside so we can get drunk and just forget all our troubles and/or everything in life.

"River, look at who just followed me on instagram." Vanessa's voice carried me back into the conversation. "I already showed Erin and she says he's eh. What do you think?"

Erin always had answered with eh when someone were to ask if this person was cute. Probably for the respect of her boyfriend. Probably because she actually thought the boy was eh. Don't know which one was a hundred percent true, but I do know when Erin first started to date Jett, all boys went in the eh category.

Vanessa lifted her phone in my direction. I grabbed onto her device and started to go down the man's profile and. . .the verdict was, "Eh."

"Damn, what? Why is everyone saying eh? He's cute."

I kept my mouth shut after that comment. He wasn't ugly but he wasn't necessarily cute. What was the thing in the middle called? Decent? Yeah he was decent. I read some of his captions, comments, and scrolled back up to his recent picture. He looked like a nice guy. His bio was informative. Nice guy, I bet.

I stated my thoughts. "He looks like a nice guy, probably really funny. And fuck it, who knows? Maybe you two will hit it off."

"Exactly. I'm not young like you two." Her hand raised and she grabbed her phone back, then she angled two accusing fingers our way. "I have no time to waste and this could be 'the one'. Well, 'the second one'."

My smile stretched. Should I laugh? Was it too soon? It felt, too soon so I just held my mouth shut.

"Okay, that's righttt." Erin said. "So, what are you going to text Mr. Five Two?"

Oh damn. Oh my. I mean, I wasn't going to say anything but the man did look. . .a little on the short side. I remember in one of his pictures he was standing near a fire hydrant and the thing went past his hips. Luckily Vanessa wasn't that tall. I would guess maybe five four? Me and Erin both stood taller above her, but the man wasn't for us. It was for Vanessa. In other words, if they were standing side by side, it wouldn't cause some to rise eyebrows or give nosey ass looks.