Sexperiment [18+]

CHAPTER FOUR: HASHTAG SINGLE LIFE

It only took me about twenty minutes to shower and put on a new dress. Jordan might have been able to make me go out but she couldn't make me put any effort into it...or so I thought, until she breezed into my room with her makeup kit and a flat iron. Two hours later, I was the prom queen. The very cranky prom queen who only wanted to curl up in her bed and skip the dance.

"Stop it," Jordan barked, sweeping a fresh stroke of bronzer down my cheek.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You're pouting. Stop."

I jerked away from her wandering makeup brush and climbed out of my chair. "Jesus, Jordan. The person that I thought I was going to be with forever just completely betrayed me. I'm allowed to be a little fucking sad, alright."

Jordan stared at me, her face expressionless. "You done?"

I shrugged. What else was there to say?

"You are allowed to be a little sad, A. But not yet. If you start being sad now before you go out and you see that there are other options out there, that the world is bigger than just Yelvin, you'll never come out of it. You'll drown in sad. So stop being a pouty little bitch and let me finish your make up."

I rolled my eyes, plopping back into my chair without a word, still pouting but less aggressively. In her own way, Jordan was right. And she was trying to do what she thought was best for me, even if she was being a pain in the ass about it.

Once my face was finally finished to perfection and my hair was pressed for the gods, Jordan picked out a pair of pumps that made the plain Jane dress I'd picked out a little more dazzling and a lot more sexy.

I had to admit, by the time we made it to the car I was feeling much better about the prospects of life without Yelvin.

The drive to The Paradise, Jordan's favorite club, only lifted my mood higher. That girl just knew how to make me smile. She spent the thirty-minute drive obnoxiously blasting Rhythm Nation on repeat, performing her own interpretation of Janet Jackson dance moves, each rendition seemingly worse than the last.

"I have no idea why you love dancing so much because you are not good at it." I laughed, stopping at a red light and watching her offbeat body roll.

"Girl, you better lay off that Haterade, you know its empty calories."

I laughed again, making a left to pull into the parking lot of the club. I pulled up to the valet stand, there was no point in actually trying to find parking this late on a Saturday night. The four spots that they had were likely filled and the club would be closed by the time we found somewhere else to park.

Climbing out of the car, I handed my keys to gorgeous lady at the valet stand. She looked more like she belonged on a poster than parking my car but that's kind of the way that this city went. Unusually good looking people performing even more unusual jobs. Atlanta was the New York of the failed city of dreams, only our failures had flawless skin, tiny waists and perfectly rounded asses, courtesy of the cosmetic surgeons on every corner.

Jordan linked her arm in mine as we headed inside, checking our bags as we headed straight for the dance floor. It didn't take long before I lost count of the number of drinks Jordan slipped off of trays from passing shot girls, and after one or two strangely named sweet drinks, I stopped asking what I was shooting.

I'd never been much of a club girl and on the infrequent occasion that I let Jordan convince me to go, I drank moderately and danced with class but tonight was different. I was starting to see Jordan's point, the more I drank, the looser I got, grinding against strangers and shamelessly shaking all of my assets.