Nothing To Prove

1 Not a Normal Night

Samantha

There were three kinds of girls in nightclub bathrooms. First were the drunken strangers with no boundaries squeezing each other's boobs and whining about hot they found each other.

"Oh my God, your face is perfection."

"Are you kidding, I'd sell my soul for your ass."

Then, there was the tired babysitter standing behind a stall, saying 'good girl' or 'you're okay' while her friend puked in the toilet with splattering sounds and a smell of rotten eggs.

And lastly there was me, wishing I could snap my fingers and fly back to bed, where my snacks and feel-good sitcoms awaited. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't one of those nights.

My roommate and business partner Stacy needed a confidence boost after another fight with her boyfriend—currently ex—so I had reluctantly obliged to come out to this new club in West Hollywood. But of course, after Stacy had dolled up and posted a selfie to show what he was missing out on, Kevin 'needed to talk.' So, Stacy asked me to wait here.

She had ignored my texts for the last thirty minutes—which wasn't unusual—so I called her.

"Hello?" Stacy moaned on the other line. "Sam? Oh, I'm so sorry! I know I'm late."

"Are you still coming?" No pun intended. This should've been weird, but I was talking to someone who masturbated to her own photos. I knew this for a fact, because I slept right next to her in our studio apartment. I was that poor.

"Kevin proposed to me. Can you believe it? We're getting married!"

Friends were supposed to squeal—and maybe cry—at moments like this, but I had a different relationship with Stacy, one that was similar to a sweating character cutting the wires of a ticking time bomb. One wrong move and I'd pay for it.

"Oh my God. Congratulations." I grimaced at my own phoniness, then at the grunts coming from Kevin. "Okay, maybe we should talk la—"

"Sorry, I didn't want to tell you this over the phone, but I'm so excited I can't wait. I asked Kevin to move in."

"What is he, a bat?" I chuckled. "Because the only available space we have is our ceiling."

"Sorry, but the apartment is under my name, and I know you have nowhere to go, but it's not really my problem. And also! Kevin's roommate is in the same situation as you; you guys can totally switch apartments. It's a win-win."

"Okay..." Stacy was a little heartless sometimes, but this was a new extreme. "In what situation is me moving in with a stranger a win-win?"

"Jesus, can you stop thinking about yourself for one second? I just told you I'm getting married and all you can do is make it about yourself. I don't have to figure out your life. Grow up."

The whiplash struck me to the bone.

The worst part about expecting an attack was how it never made a difference. My body let me down. For the millionth time, I face-planted the mud while the bully in my head sighed and rolled its eyes. Worthless. Did you forget?

"Thanks for ruining my night." She hung up.

"You okay?" Vodka and cherry body spray struck my nose as one of the women in the bathroom approached, looking at me concerned.

I managed a smile and stepped out to lean against a wall. The bass music muffled in my ears like I was trapped in a glass box. Here, but not here. Numb, I guess? Good. No need for a meltdown, right? My God, I was going to end up on the streets! No, it's cool. It's cool. Calm down.

My phone vibrated in my hand; a text from Stacy.

"His roommate's phone number, in case you're interested."

This was really happening. I was kicked out and I had zero control. When we graduated from college three months ago, Stacy saved me from moving back home by striking a deal with our landlord. Nine hundred dollars for a small studio. A bill I could split with my entry-level job while following my dream to be an influencer.

Besides, Stacy was my only chance of making it in the social media world. Nowadays, a tea company would pay you three thousand dollars to pose with their product. So I had two choices. Either grow my Instagram for brands like that to notice me or move back home to live with my mom.

Let's just say, I'd rather sleep on a piss-covered gravel in Downtown than choose the last one.

So, I headed to the bar in the middle of the dance floor. Uber cost fifty dollars in this rush hour, which was more than what I had in my checking account. All I could do was sit and wait it out.

Smoke floated on the ceiling, blurring the colorful flashing lights. Other people's sweat rubbed on my arms as I squeezed through the dance floor toward the bar. At last, I snatched the only vacant stool and slumped on the torn leather to check my notifications. Just five new likes?

"He's so fucking hot..." Flirtatious giggles erupted to my left. A bachelorette party. The bride had a sparky tiara on and a hot pink dress.

They were gobbling up the tall bartender on the other side of the bar, who to be fair, was doing things to a cocktail shaker that made the strip dances in Magic Mike boring. I could see his back muscles flex under his black button-down as he crushed those poor ice cubes against the metal. A bad posture wasn't supposed to be so hot, but the way his wide shoulders and neck hunched forward gave off such a predator animal vibe.

He was too fast to keep up with and too smooth to ignore. The strict perfectionism alone glued me on his hands like a hypnosis watch. The way he slid a dainty glass into a halved orange. The way he wet the rim, then pushed into a salted plate, making it crunch. The way he tapped the bottom with fisted knuckles—Oh. Was it weird to wish to be that glass? I think I moaned when he used just his middle finger to spin one of those long spoons and flicked his wrist over and over.

No wonder every woman around him was drooling. If that's how he made a drink, what else could he do?

But something was off. His lips were pressed into a thin line, like he was clenching his teeth to dust. His brown hair which was long enough to fall on his forehead cast a shadow under his eyes. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here. Was it because he felt everyone's attention?

I'd also hate being so objectified. I moved my attention back to my phone. It'd be better if he didn't notice me anyway; I wasn't a customer.

"Can we get five tequila shots with salt and lime?" The bride next to me purred.

"Sure. Anything else?"

Whoa. His accented voice could lower a woman on all fours, the perfect quality for praising and degra—crap, I was sexualizing him again!

The bride giggled with her friends. "Actually, yeah. Are you doing anything after work?"

God, the confidence on this woman. Absolute goals. I bet he was impressed too. I looked up to catch his reaction, except he was already staring back at me, his eyes narrow with amusement.

"I don't know. Are we?"

~ A/N~
ARE WE READY FOR SOME FUN?! I'm nervous, but I hope you enjoy <3

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