Despicable

Chapter One

"Mmm." I moan softly as the memory of the last delicious hour makes me salivate. If I weren't so utterly satisfied, I'd request an encore. "That was amazing." My fingers trail lightly down my top, grazing the skin of my abdomen as I reach the bottom hem, and I tilt my head back in residual ecstasy. My hand finally comes to rest on my lower stomach and I sigh. "I swear, I've never had a meal that good."

"Absolutely," the equally content voice of my friend Jes agrees.

I turn to the neomodern entrance and the simple but brightly lit sign above that door reading 'eyekibo'–all lowercase and everything. Just the type of pretention expected of a widely-discussed but minimally-obtainable restaurant in New York City. At least the food was worth the mind-gouging prices.

At that moment, a pair of long legs in strappy heels that could double as medieval torture devices strides out of the large glass door. With a smooth turn, her braids flip over her shoulder and she gives a flirty wave to the suited man that lingers in the doorway behind her. He blows a double-handed kiss our way, but I know it's meant only for Zaya. "Are we ready?"

"To go home and sleep off this food coma? Yes." I answer quickly, knowing she's already thinking of the next place to head.

"Ha! Don't be ridiculous."

I shift in my pointed shoes, aching from toe to heel. A grimace tries to fight its way to the surface, but I bite it back. "What? Like it's socially unacceptable to end the night after dinner–an incredible dinner."

"It is on my birthday." Her brows pinch; she knows just how to guilt me without guilting me. "Come on, every year is supposed to top the one before. This was already so much better than that place we went last year with dessert tofu." She shudders in disgust.

"There's no question about that," I assure. A proud smile curves her glossed lips.

"Yeah, way better than last year." Jes adds, an eyebrow already peaked. I roll my lips in, stifling a giggle. I one-hundred-percent know what she's referring to.

"What are you talking about?" Zaya props a hand on each hip and narrows her eyes.

"You know I'm talking about the 'mandatory' trip to Banana Boys last year. I'm scarred for life." My hand shoots up to my mouth as I choke back a laugh.

"As I recall, you were the only one of us that went home with someone that night."

"Yea," I start to recollect last year's festivities. "Wasn't that girl there for her own bachelorette party?"

"Uh, yes." Jes rubs the back of her neck in shame as Zaya and I share a tittering look.

"So I was thinking maybe the Gold Flamingo? I hear their drinks are crazy good and we've never been." As Zaya continued to speak, all I could think about was chucking my too high heels, my stiff, skintight pants and my confusingly twisted bodysuit onto the floor of my apartment and succumbing to my fluffy bed. "What do you think, Lark?" My eyes snap to Zaya. Then to Jes.

Jes summarizes what I'd missed while fantasizing about cotton and synthetic down filling. "Gold Flamingo: good drinks, bad DJ. Club Tellier: dancing, outrageous cover."

"Oh uh, hmm," I feign deep thought as the two women wait. "Honestly, I've been on my feet all day and I could-"

"No. Uh uh," Zaya interrupts. "I know your shift starts late tomorrow. You are welcome to your full eight hours of sleep after we call it a night." Her arms knot across her chest, which means I can fight and claw for an early night, but it will be energy wasted. "You are sworn to at least 6 hours of fun on May 12th every year. No exceptions."