Say You Swear

“Hurry up, brats! The cab should be here any minute!” Mason yells from the bottom of the stairs.

“Ugh, that man, I swear, he’s wound so tight.” Cam smirks into the mirror. “Think he’ll let me help him out with that?”

“Cameron.” I laugh. “Ew!”

“Oh, chill Virgin Mary.” She hip checks me and leans across the sink to finish her mascara. “And what do you think you’re doing?” She glances at my dress. “Take that horrid thing off, you look like you’re about to hunt Easter eggs, not have a wicked time on the dance floor.”

“It’s not that bad and I can’t wear that piece of scrap you call a dress.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Do you want to have fun? I have to pick and choose my sexy and night one is not the night.”

She pushes her pointed finger in the air, raising one perfectly shaped blonde brow. “Au contraire my flowery friend…” She spins. “Tonight is the perfect night for sexy. It’s time to get tipsy and if that means Mason is forced to face the fact that you do, indeed, have a vagina, then so be it.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, not going anywhere near that comment.

“Come on!” Cameron laughs. “We agreed to have fun!”

“We will, but I can’t go balls to the wall the first day.”

“Honey, I speak for your cha-cha when I say that dress has got to go. As in, into the trash.”

I try and keep from laughing, but it’s no use.

Cam and I are still cracking up when Brady begins pounding on my door.

“Yo! You guys sound like you’re having way too much fun. If there’re pillows and panties involved, I want in!” he shouts.

“Fuck off, Brady!” Mason’s yell follows from… who the hell knows where. He’s never too far away.

Brady’s chuckle reaches us. “For real, though, ‘bout ready? Uber’s pulling up!”

“Shit. Yeah, we’re coming!” Cam yells, turning her evil eye on me.

“Ugh! I hate you,” I grumble, tugging my dress over my head and holding my hand out to her. “Give me the damn thing.”

Triumphant smirk in place, Cameron slaps the slinky black number in my palm.

I slip it on, quickly stepping into the black pumps with a gold heel she sets in front of me next.

“Happy?” I cock my hip.

“Ecstatic.” She smirks. “Now, let’s go before your brother barges in.”

My dress is simple but sexy. It’s a halter top that cuts low in the front, snug and slinky down my waist, and loosens at the hips to allow for flirty dancing. My dark brown hair is pulled back in a tight, high ponytail and the smoky eye is in full effect.

I don’t go ‘full makeup’ on a daily basis, but it’s one of my favorite parts about going out.

Snagging a pair of black stud earrings from my bag, I rush into the hall behind Cam, smirking at the view as I take her in.

She’s wearing a deep purple tube top dress that’s tight from her chest down to her ass. She paired it with nude pumps and left her lids bare of shadow, only going with a thick coat of mascara. Her long blonde hair is left down, with big beachy waves. My bestie’s fine.

“Okay, bitch!” She links her arm through mine as we hit the last step of the stairs. “Show time!”

I clasp my earring and hold my head high.

Brady, as usual, is the first to spot us, and his infamous whistle follows.

“Hot damn!” Brady stalks over to us, planting a kiss on our cheeks as he grabs us both by the hands. “Do a little spin for me. Show me whatcha got.”

We laugh but twirl as he asked.

“What do you think, Brady? Do we pass?”

“With flyin’ fuckin’ colors.” He grins. “Come on, shots in the kitchen before we head out.”

“I thought our Uber was here?”

“Had to get your fine asses down here somehow,” he admits as he smacks both our butts.

Mason spins as we enter, instantly frowning.

“What the hell?” he snaps. “I swear you want me to go to jail.”

“Chill.” I laugh, shaking my head. “There will be no handcuffs tonight.”

“I mean,” Cam begins, batting her lashes overdramatically. “Unless you want there to be—”

“Okay.” He throws his hands up. “Whatever. Wear a dress that would fit our first-grade neighbor all you want, but I’m gonna need a double for this shit.”

“I got you, my man.” Brady’s grin grows. He sneaks a glance in my direction, mischief written all over him.

He reaches over, running his hand up and down my arm slowly, stopping to rest it on my hip. He uses his other hand to pour my shot, then brings it up to my lips.

“Open up, Ari baby,” he says in a low gravelly tone.

I lock eyes with him, playing his little game, and do as I’m told.

His eyes never leave mine, a laugh on the tip of his tongue as he pours the hot liquid down my throat. Once I’ve swallowed, he reaches up to swipe his thumb across my bottom lip to get the single drop that didn’t make it into my mouth.

“You’re a dick.” Mason groans playfully, and we can’t hold it in, both of us laughing.

“Okay, fucker, enough with the show.” Chase frowns, nodding toward the bottle. “Now pour us a shot so we can get out of here.”

Cam slyly slips a hand behind her back, and I meet her with mine for a secret high five, both of us facing forward, grins pulling at our lips.

Brady claps his hands together. “All right, y’all, to our first night out as legal drinking adults!” He grabs his shot and lifts it in the air. “Well, according to the badass fake IDs I got us anyway!”

“Woo!” Cam shouts.

We click our glasses together in cheers and down our liquor.

“Let’s roll, bitches!” Cam throws over her shoulder on her way to the door.

The four of us follow.

Brady spends the entire ten-minute drive going over the dos and don’ts of what to say and how to act when we pull out our fake IDs, but it turns out his worry is a waste.

The bouncer at the door lets us pass after Cameron smiled at him. She may have also asked him to check the zipper on the back of her dress, but hey, he’s happy to help.

The guys, however, did have to show their IDs, but the Tom Hardy look-alike didn’t blink twice at them, so they must seem legit. That, or he really doesn’t care.

The moment we’re past the threshold, Cam squeals, gripping my arm. “This place is awesome!” she shouts, already moving her body to the music.

The club is a giant circle with an open floor plan. Circular booths with white tables and chairs line the right and left side, with the bar stretching across the back wall. The lighting is dark with a blue tint, but not in a black light kind of way. More of an enchanted, frosty feel. The floor shines a metallic silver, adding to the illusion.

Cameron leads us to a booth near the bar and we sit to have a few drinks.

An hour and three Midori Sours later, my body’s humming and I’m ready to hit the dance floor. To be fair, us girls were ready as soon as we walked in, but the boys wanted to ‘scope out the scene’ first—overprotective brutes.

Contemplating my next move, I look around me. I’m blocked in the booth, Chase on my left, the others on my right, so there’s only one logical direction to go. Logical, but potentially problematic. The liquor in me doesn’t seem to care though, as my ass is lifting off the seat.

I move quickly before I can be stopped and before I chicken out, sliding my body across Chase’s, his every muscle locking up on contact. There isn’t much space between the tables and the seat tops, so the only way to get through the gap is to press my ass into his lap a little, so I do.

Instantly, his hands fly to my hips, and he swiftly pushes me by, carefully setting me on my feet beside the table, his eyes flying to Mason, just before he speaks.

“Could have asked him to move, Ari.” My brother’s glare burns into my cheek.

I ignore it. “As you can see, dear brother, there was no need. I’m standing, and now… I’m going to dance.”

Cam shrieks, quickly placing herself beside me. “Not without me, bitch!”

“Goddamn,” Brady draws out, causing all our heads to turn in the direction he’s drooling.

With a giant grin on his face, he nudges Mason’s shoulder. “Move it, brotha man.” Hooking his thumb over his shoulder, Brady points to the brunette leaning over the bar. “I gotta get over there.”

“You can’t even see her face from here.” Cam scrunches her nose.

“Dat ass, though,” he says, looking at me expectantly.

I smile wide, picking up what he’s putting down. “All that ass…”

“In them jeans,” Brady finishes on a laugh, raising his hand for a well-earned high five. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“Okay, Waka Flockas, let’s go.” Cameron rolls her eyes, pulling me toward the dance floor.

We wedge ourselves between a few groups of people, finding a nice, crowded spot near the center, and let loose.

“Girl, I’m feeling good right now!” Cam shouts over the music.

“Same!” I laugh. “That last drink snuck up on me.”

Ne-Yo’s “She Knows” begins to play through the speakers and we lock eyes.

“Aw shit,” we scream in drunken laughter, and then we go to work.

Swinging our hips, rotating our bodies to the beat, we soak up our very first night in a club.

I close my eyes and let the music take over my body, like it always does. When I’m happy or sad or mad, anything, music is what I seek. I relate life to lyrics, tone to mood.

The beat can wake me or break me down, the words can lift me or leave me a soppy mess. A lot of people avoid songs that make them remember pain when they’re drowning in it, but I say let that sucker take you under. When people feel good, they tend to blast some bubbly music that makes them dance around, so if you’ll dance when you feel like dancing, why not have a good cry when you need one?

I need music like my twin needs football; it’s in our souls, and right now, my soul is feeling sultry.

It’s not long before a blond guy makes his way through the crowd and begins to slink his way closer. I smile, giving him the okay, so he slides right in, and we begin to dance. In my peripheral, I notice Chase and Mason dancing with some girls only a few feet away. I have no doubt it’s purposeful, their way of keeping an eye on us girls, but to give them credit, they don’t interrupt.

Probably because we keep our partners a shuffle away. A few songs later, Chris Brown’s “Loyal” comes on, and Cam squeals beside me.

I throw my hands in the air again, ditching my partner for my best friend, and we sing along like a couple of drunk girls at a karaoke bar, loud and out of tune.

Cam jerks her chin in the direction of our boys, and I know exactly what she’s thinking.

We make our way to the boys, just in time to sing along with the chorus, sending each other into another fit of laughter.

“Cute, girls.” Mason laughs, stepping away from the scowling redhead. “Real, cute.”

Cameron grins, fanning herself. “I need a water and another drink!”

Mason glances around, assumingly in search of Brady, and then throws his arm over Cameron’s shoulder. “I’ll take her!” he shouts, pulling her toward the bar, but not before he points at me, his eyes on Chase. “Stay with her.”

They walk away and I face Chase, dramatically shimmying my shoulders around and he chuckles, shaking his head, but he doesn’t accept the invitation, so I dance without him.

My eyes close and I fall into the music, and about a half song later, the heat of Chase’s nearness washes over me. It takes a serious amount of effort, but I don’t open my eyes, not yet. I wait, continuing to sway to the music, and finally, he moves a little closer. My senses are flooded with his clean, sandalwood scent, and my eyes fly open, locking onto his bloodshot gaze.

His movements are a little loose from the liquor, but he keeps up, and when I brace my hands on his shoulders, bringing myself in a little more, he allows it.

“Well, look at that,” I tease. “We’re almost dancing.”

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, and I suck in a deep breath when his free hand falls to my hip. “You’re brave for wearing this thing.” He tugs at the stretchy fabric.

“Do you like it?”

He frowns and a low laugh leaves me, but I don’t say anything else, the heat of his hand frying my brain. It’s all I can think about.

His hands on me.

With each passing second, my fantasies pull me deeper, my heartbeat growing erratic.

Moving with his body brushing mine, serves as an accelerator, pumping my blood at a quickened rate, sending the alcohol coursing through me straight to my brain, and with it, washing away my sense of reason, or at least that’s the only thing I can come up with as to why I suddenly dare to drag my hands a little lower.

Hips still rolling, I slowly run my palms over the curve of his shoulders, gliding them over the cuts of his pecs.

Chase’s eyes fly to mine and my hands decide to climb up, higher and higher, until my fingers are spanning along his corded neck. Chase swallows, a small frown building along his brow.

The bass of the music pounds wildly beneath our feet, the lights change colors, dimming the space around us, and the crowd seems to shuffle in. We’re barricaded now, Chase and me.

We’ve danced before. At birthdays and our parents’ anniversary parties, couple school formals, but not like this. Not close and never after a few drinks.

This is new. Foreign.

My fingers find their way into his hair, and I scratch at the base of his skull in a gentle, massage-like motion. I shift the slightest bit, on accident, and he hisses as my thigh brushes the proof of his arousal.

He’s hard.

Holy shit, he’s hard because of me.

I start a new rhythm, my body applying the smallest bit of pressure to his package with every move, and his hands come up, clutching on to my wrist, his lips finding my ear.

“Ari, what are you doing?”

Tequila is heavy on his breath and sends a zing of anticipation down my spine as I remember mine and Cameron’s conversation, a newfound confidence floating through me.

“What am I doing?” I repeat his question and I pull back to meet his drawn-in gaze. “I’m doing whatever I want.” Boys be damned.

His features pull, tightening at every inch.

I crush my lips to his.

Chase tenses, his hands twitching against me one second, flying to grab hold of my biceps in the next, and then he’s pushing us apart, his long arms stretching to their max. Wide, bloodshot eyes find mine, and his face pales.

Chase shakes his head, and his features begin to crumble. “Arianna… no.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, and his hands come up to rub along his face.

Tears prick the backs of my eyes as I take in the mortified expression on his face. My skin flushes and I look away.

Mason and Cam break through the crowd then and Chase’s hands fly from my body, sweeping into his hair, as he plasters on the biggest, fakest, tightest smile I’ve ever seen.

My insides crack as reality sets in.

I wanted to kiss him and he didn’t want to kiss me back, but nothing stings more than the look of horror in his eyes when he realized what I’d done.

Without his permission, I forced him across the line he kept ten feet in front of him. That little line is now covered in a layer of wet sand, and everyone who’s ever set foot in the ocean knows it’s not so easily wiped away. It grows thicker with wind and waves, and we’re in Southern California, so we’ve got those in abundance.

Not that it matters, because if his panic-stricken expression said anything, it’s that he’ll shovel that shit to the ends of the ocean if he must.

Thankfully, alcohol not only sloshes through the two of us, but also the two who have now rejoined us, so they don’t notice a thing, and when my brother passes me a water bottle, kissing my forehead before turning to his best friend with a sloppy smile, I accept it with a tight grin. I finish off half of it and spin to Cameron. She hands me one of the shots in her hands, and before we throw them back, Brady appears out of nowhere, ready with a drink of his own.

All five of us form a small circle, downing our drinks in one go, and it doesn’t stop there, the need to get wasted higher than ever, so, anytime someone suggests another, I’m there to eagerly egg us on.

I feel like a fool, but the low lights and loads of liquor fogging my vision hide the tears that slip without permission. Thank hell for that and thank heaven for generous bartenders, who serve us past last call.

It’s not until well after two that we’re stumbling out of the Uber and trekking our way up the driveway to our front door.

Cameron tugs her shoes from her feet and begins bouncing on her toes. “Hurry up, Mase! I have to pee soooo bad. You don’t even know!”

He chuckles, struggling with the doorknob. “I’m trying, but this key’s broken or something,” he slurs.

“Oh my god!” I gasp, looking around. “We forgot Brady!” I kick Mase.

“Shit, Ari!” He starts hopping around but loses his balance and falls into the wall beside us.

A laugh spurts from me, and I stumble on my heels, quickly catching myself on the porch post to my right.

“Brady left with that girl,” Cameron whines, still dancing around, waiting to be let inside.

“The big butt girl?

“No, the big boobed girl.”

Oh, yeah. I remember her.

Mason fumbles with the lock again, and just as he manages to align the key with the hole, it slips from his fingertips, crashing to the deck floor. “Fuck.” He laughs, wrapping his hand around the knob and shaking it.

Chase chuckles behind me, and I turn to find him slouched over the railing, holding on for dear life. A loud crash sounds and I jerk around in time to witness Mason toppling over as he attempts to grab the lanyard.

“Shit!” Cam yelps, dropping to her knees in front of him.

Half a second later, Chase’s “oh fuck” rings out.

I whip around as he stumbles backward, landing on his ass at the bottom of the porch, his legs stretched out on the steps in front of him.

I’m stuck staring, my head bobbling from one side to the other, making me nauseous.

Cam begins laughing uncontrollably, drops onto her butt and leans her upper body against Mason, who has stopped trying to get up, his eyes already closing.

“We could totally take advantage of them right now.” She grins.

I can’t help but laugh, and then I kick my shoes off, fall onto one of the porch lounge chairs and let out a deep breath.

Alcohol for the win.