forward.

“Me neither, I hate to admit it but it’s true. They say some people don’t need to get drunk to have fun but in this case? I’d rather die than be sober right now,” Nathan joked dramatically, shaking his head as he shrugged. “Don’t ask me, it’s bullshit. I usually have a good excuse not to go but I figured I’d give it a shot for once – it’s probably gonna be the last time I let them drag me anywhere though,” he said with a huff though there was a smile tugging on his lips still.

Nathan gave a nod as he took another long sip of his drink, pulling a face when the alcohol hit him. “Sure is,” he replied though he had a feeling that the woman wasn’t too into what he was saying.

He laughed and gave another nod. “Oh, the same probably. Definitely more alcohol. I might just sneak outside to have a smoke or two,” Nathan said before looking back at her. “Honestly? That sounds like a pretty good idea because god knows I’m getting really fucking bored here,” he told her with a grin. “Let’s do it,” the male said, already getting up from where he’d been sitting. “My name’s Nathan by the way.”

           Giselle snorted a laugh, raising the bottle in her hand— “Touché my friend, touché.” She couldn’t agree more; being sober at this thing seemed worse than falling on your face on live TV. “I see. Well, I guess we both learned our lesson in that case, huh? We’ll just have to stand our ground from now on; become the designated curmudgeon of our respective groups,” She joked. 

“Wait, you smoke?” She asked, pretending to gasp as her free hand when to clutch her chest, “It’s 2019, smoking’s not cool anymore.” She moved closer to him, squinting lightly at him as if she were in fact judging him when it couldn’t be further from the truth. “Can I bum one?” 

Chuckling, she put the near-empty bottle down, enamored by his enthusiasm when it came to her little adventurous ideas. “Yeah? Well, I guess we can always skip the smoke, or save it for the top secret room we’ll undoubtedly find.” She winked and began walking, making sure Nathan was with her. “Nice to meet you, Nathan– I’m Giselle.”

          It wasn’t that Nora wasn’t used to receiving compliments, it was that she wasn’t used to receiving honest ones. They were definitely strange to her ears, especially when the person providing them seemingly didn’t want anything from her. People always wanted things from her and she gotten used to it, it was just a part of the job. 

“Please, I tried to be blonde once, and it did not compliment me.” She offered a gentle smile, her rosy lips widening and curving slowly, but surely. However, again because of her job, she had to be presentable, mostly so than other people. 

The girl was right, it wasn’t imaginable what all of that was like for her. Nora had an attachment to her daughter that most people couldn’t quite understand, but she was learning how to let go, she was, at least that’s what she told herself. “Thank you, I do like to think I did a good job,” she nodded, “but then, most mothers also do.”

Nora thought that if there was something universally known by people was loneliness, at some point, everybody was lonely in their lives, physically or emotionally. “I’m not going to lie to you and say that I’m not a bit excited,” she started, “it’s going to be my first real taste at adulthood the way it’s supposed to be done? I never lived alone, alone, always had someone. It’s scary, but exciting at the same time.”

            “I doubt you’d look bad with any kind of hair color— maybe with the exception of orange. I don’t know why some people think orange should ever be anything beyond a fruit, you know?” She chuckled lightly, shoulders pulled in a brief shrug. 

Giselle had no living idea what it was like to be a mother; to be responsible for another human life like that, but she could only imagine how tough it must be when it came down to it— maybe many women did it, but that in no way diminished the concept. “Most mothers probably do yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’re all right,” She commented, not trying to play devil’s advocate, simply being honest. 

“Scary but exciting does sound like a cool chapter to delve into,” Giselle said next, a smile blooming on her lips— undoubtedly she wished the brunette only the best, and she was certain she’d end up have a great time even with her daughter away. “I think you’ll have the time of your life, and God knows you deserve it after raising and keeping an actual human alive.”

“All yours,” Katrina said, leaning against the wall. She’d probably arrived too early– any buzz that she’d forced herself to muster before leaving the house had dissipated, now the press of house music and unfamiliar company had her feeling homesick rather than excited. “I think his name is Eric? They were singing happy birthday earlier, but I was too deep into his Macallan.” Kat grinned, “Why’re you here?”

         “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” She chuckled, though that much was probably obvious without the statement. Giselle didn’t usually hog the booze, but after a long week, the mood had struck somehow. 

Lowering her gaze intently, chin dipping, Giselle stared at the woman for a good two or three seconds, the bottle now hovering in front of her lips. “There’s Macallan here?” The expensive red suddenly didn’t taste as expensive anymore, tastebuds craving something Scottish instead. 

“I don’t know. Got dragged here— have no backbone it seems. The free booze does make me feel better about it though. What about you? Here to celebrate the birthday boy, or just sightseeing?”

Cooper smiled and entered the free drink on the bar’s point-of-service system. Customer free drink, -C. Ward. He figured the bar made enough overhead most nights that one free drink wouldn’t send the business tumbling down. “Giselle? That’s my mom’s middle name,” he chuckled. “It’s honestly a pleasure to meet you; I hope you’re enjoying yourself tonight.” 

           Perking visibly at the new information linking her to his mother (however superficially), Giselle flashed the bartender a wide smile that was both genuine and true. “It’s your mom’s middle name? That’s interesting— I almost never meet anyone who knows any form of Giselle already,” She admitted. “I bet your mom is a lovely woman, right?”

“The pleasure is all mine, really— thanks for the drink again, you didn’t have to do that. But... wait, let me guess? You do that with all new customers? Yes? No?”

“There’s only so much enjoyment I get out of free booze, though,” said Anna, even though this couldn’t be further from the truth. It did absolutely everything to dull the pain for her —- she could forget about her life, about being here, it was the perfect solution. “Though it does seem to be a theme for this evening. I’ve heard at least one other person complaining about being here.”

When Giselle said she didn’t know the guy other, Anna found her nose wrinkling slightly, a soft sigh escaping her. “He’s got one of those names, right?” She chuckled. “I definitely think we should. I’m definitely not dealing with this more than once.”

         “I guess there’s a limit to how much fun there is to be had just because the booze is free,” She concurred, a dip of her head and a thoughtful look dusting her features. “I’m honestly not surprised not everyone’s buying into this whole shindig— it’s mostly just superficial, isn’t it? Good for us that we can see through it,” She boasted with a joking chuckle. 

“Yeah,” She nodded, “One of those names for sure. This does feel like a place where ‘Clinton’ would be more than comfortable,” She decided and looked around, as if questioning herself but coming up sure. 

Turning back, she clasped her hands together decisively, “Perfect! We are hereby pushovers no more.”

“Good. A busy week calls for a fun night out,” she replied, nodding her head once, then taking a sip of her drink. Colette turned to the girl when she started asking her more questions, intrigued. “Oh, well. I make videos on YouTube, so maybe you’ve seen me there. But people also say I have a familiar face. I don’t know what that means, or if it’s a compliment. What about you. What do you do?” 

         “Oh, so you’re a YouTuber? A vlogger?” She asked, squinting a little as she tried to get the vernacular down, not very actually sure what the hell she was saying. At 25 she already felt like an old woman. 

A light chuckle dusted her lips next, head shaking briefly, “I definitely meant it as a compliment. You have a sort of... old Hollywood quality about you. Femme Fatale, if you will.” She gestured mildly with her hands, a large smile falling in place on painted lips. 

“Oh, I’m a showrunner. I make TV shows and films.”

“All yours.” Leo acquiesced with his hands up in surrender, small smile on his lips. He leaned against a nearby wall, much more content to people watch and take it all in than anything else. At the question he pointed across the room at where Jonathan sat, an unfamiliar girl in his lap and both of them far too preoccupied in each other to pay the room any attention. “Dragged, not that he seems to care anymore.”

           “Thanks,” She said, a courteous smile blooming on nude lips, the bottle brought to them instantly. Giselle looked around, squinting lightly to catch the form of another young man, this one on a couch with a girl in his lap. 

Naturally, she rolled her eyes at the sight and lowered the bottle once more. “Seems to be a common thing these days— or tonight at least. Everyone’s dragged here and then abandoned. And for that?” She nodded towards the ‘loving’ couple. “Carnal pleasures or whatever. How sad.”

“What’s your name again?” She asked then, suddenly, attention snared and focused on him.

Veronica watched in amusement as Giselle took a very generous sip from a forgotten wine bottle, the blonde unable to conceal the laughter the action brought about. “No, by all means,” Ronnie insisted, lifting the beer bottle she gripped in her hand into the other woman’s view. “This place could definitely use a little livening up.” It was supposed to be a housewarming party, but quite honestly, felt more like a funeral. “One of those friend of a friend of an ex-boyfriend situations. Believe me, I regret ever saying yes.”

           “Thank you,” She said, a genuine smile falling in place on her lips before the bottle eclipsed them. 

It wasn’t that the party was bad per say, it just wasn’t great— and Giselle wasn’t a fan of being dragged anywhere against her will. Or well... more or less against her will. If she truly hadn’t wanted to come, a thousand wild horses couldn’t have made her. 

“I know. It’s a bit boring, isn’t it? Kind of like eating a bland meal.” She shrugged, fingers tight around the neck of the bottle as she watched the surrounding party. 

Wrinkling her nose in response, she shook her head, “Sounds awful. Do you wanna go look on the second floor if there’s anything worth staying for?”

          Leaning against the frame door, Ophelia paid attention to the interaction happening between Giselle and some other person, raising one eyebrow and chuckling briefly to make her presence known. “Don’t let her fool you, she was dragged, but she dragged me along, too— so, don’t feel all that bad for her, okay?” It was clear that the other person had gotten uncomfortable, she didn’t know if with Ophelia’s presence, or the way she was dressed, either way, she walked towards Giselle, stealing the bottle from her hand for a moment. “I told you not to bring me along, I so do not fit in here.”

           Giselle rolled her eyes at the stale look on the other person’s face when Ophelia appeared, features taught for a moment before they softened again under the female’s voice— despite her words, wholly disagreeable words in Giselle’s opinion. 

“You fit in anywhere, and I would’ve probably murdered someone if I had to be here alone, or sans you,” She confirmed with firm conviction, head shaking lightly as the bottle meandered from her hand to Ophelia’s.

“Wanna dash? Maybe find some greasy food or something? Not feeling this place honestly. Not tonight.”

                                    He was thinking about her. A lot. 

                ––‘Thinking’ might have been an understatement. See, Braxton had friends he ‘thought’ about: frequent as zephyr on a stale summer day, gone with the wind. He never allotted more than the curiosity of their well-being creasing a brow, or remembrance of an inside joke dimpling cheeks, or the indulgence their face in mind noting to reach out later. And then, with the quicksilvered speed of a mind that went a mile a minute, the thought of a friend was usually dispersed for anew. Usually, the keyword being. Nowadays, no matter the muddle of thoughts or how hard he tried not to, a russet chocolate gaze remained steadfast in his mind’s eye; a bed of osmium in a stormy sea. 

                He tried to focus on other things. Busied himself with his projects, the brand deals he abhorred for a pretty penny. Nothing worked. When they did, the moment was ephemeral–– a stitched wound disrupted by a billboard bearing her show, or the echoed order of a martini at a bar, or the glimpse of a mannequin in a shop window he’d quickly mistake for her. Like the sweetest poison she was, suturing through tendon and sinking into bone, infecting his mind and rendering him vertiginous at the mere thought of her; of the way pools of deep umber never glazed through his tangents, but remained fastened with adore; of how someone like her could like someone like him, for him. The male filled with that same saccharine sickness when she agreed to accompany him to the Gala. But they were just friends, he tried to remind himself. Boy, was he in trouble.

                Black suit, black tie, hair slicked and clean-shaven, he had arrived as promised; James Bond in the flesh–– if James Bond lacked grace, debonair, sophistication. He was still handsome. More handsome than he gave himself credit for: all broad-shouldered and square-jawed, a vision for tall dark and handsome if there ever was one. And even then, as knuckles that bore countless fights rasped against her door, he was nothing compared to the sight that opened it. 

               “… Damn,” Whatever witty greeting he had prepared was wiped from his tongue’s tarmac, his breath stuck in his throat as lips parted, eyes glued to her. She was adhesive–– everything about her, from a sylphlike frame adorning a pretty dress, to her swan’s curve, to her plump lips a zenith to high cheekbones. And those eyes. Those fucking eyes. Stare into my soul, why don’t you… “You, um… Fuck, you look–” He was fumbling; a mess of hooded eyes and heat, mouth drying until his lips begged to be licked, swallowing hard as he searched for the right words. For once, he was at a loss. “I’ve seem to have, um…. to have lost my train of thought.”

         It wasn’t expected, but it felt justifiable somehow. That’s what Giselle concluded somewhere between the invitation and the minutes leading up to Braxton’s arrival— her thoughts running back to him at the most irrelevant, inexplainable moments was indeed not expected, but justifiable in so many ways.

Why wouldn’t she think about him? He was a dear friend. Someone she cared about, valued, wished well. In many ways, it would be more odd if she didn’t think about him, rude in fact. Justifying it was easier than she would have thought, just like thinking about him a lot was easier than she thought as well. What was less clear and much harder to explain was that other thing— the slight flutter, the tingle that came with it, the hint of butterflies when she thought of him. That… was new.

How to navigate it was a mystery still, and she discovered nerves slightly frazzled as she slipped into the red dress that had been hanging on the back of her door for who knows how long, carefully dry-cleaned from some event she couldn’t even remember— probably not a very important one anyway, begging to be used for something special. She reminded herself as she glanced at her reflection in the mirror that this might not be special… that this might just be a friend helping out another friend.

And yet still she tried her best to clean up nicely. To, at the very least, look like she could be accompanying Mr. Bond, and not just anybody. Raven hair pinned back, lashes curled and lips painted, a breath deflated her lungs when the sound of knuckles against wood billowed through the small space. Slipping into the heels waiting for her by the bed, she grabbed her purse and went for the door with her heart in her throat for yet another inexplainable reason.

It wasn’t the crisp cold Bellevue wind that knocked the wind out of her, but she almost hoped it seemed believable that it was— no, he’d brought it. If there ever was a handsome James Bond 2.0 version, this was it. Him. The moment seemed almost suspended in time, her hand on the knob still, her eyes wide as she watched him watch her, and maybe vice versa. Warmth flushed her cheeks and she let a soft laugh go at his clipped sentences, unsure whether she could’ve got much out herself at this point to be fair.

“You’re not the only one,” She said, not sure any train of her thoughts had been more lost than her current one. “But really,” She began and smiled secretly, “You look very handsome.” The flutter was back tenfold, making it harder for her to swallow, pushing her gaze to her hand before she turned and stepped outside next to him.

“Ready?” She whispered, looking up at him.

With a raised eyebrow, he examined the bottle she brought to her lips. Lifting his own, he shook it slightly. “That’s not what I like, and I’ve brought my own,” he told her. Ryder shrugged his shoulders and shook his head at her, honestly having no idea. “I wasn’t dragged here against my will, but I did come with a friend. Not sure if I could really call them that, since I don’t know where the fuck they went off to. How’d you get here?”

           “Cool,” She said casually, flashing a brief smile before the bottle rounded out her lips. From where she was standing, he looked somewhat as if he weren’t having the time of his life either— it shouldn’t make her feel better, but it kind of did. 

“We’re in the same boat then, I guess. Being abandoned at a strange party, yeah? It’s the theme of the night or something.” She shrugged loosely, peering around at the drunk partygoers, half of them trying their hardest to hide just how inebriated they were; but not very well.

“Against my will? Sounds about right…” was Anna’s response. Yet another party hosted by someone the family knew, someone she had no interest in herself, though was quite happy to drink their champagne. “Clinton… someone,” she added then, “I don’t know, my older brother’s really good friends with him. I get dragged to just about everything.”

         “Maybe it’s just a theme going around tonight— being dragged here against our will and then expected to be okay with it because of the free booze. I guess it works,” She joked, a chuckle dusting her lips for a brief moment.