Chapter 1-The Sahara
Kodi
Darcy bursts through her front door like the little firecracker she is with…
OH GOD NO. This bitch has a bottle of tequila in one arm, Harley and Sinclair on the other, and a devious grin on her face.
“Get up and get ready hoe. We’re drinking and dancing tonight.
And before you ask, no, you don’t have a choice!
” she exclaims, with Harley and Sinclair looking like they will pull me off the couch if I don’t willingly get up.
My three best friends since high school are on a mission, and once they start, they can’t be stopped.
If they want to get me off my butt, it’ll happen even if they have to drag me out.
“Yeah, no thanks,” I say, turning my attention back to my phone where it appears, according to Instagram, that Andy has been living his best life with Lyla—his coworker.
The one he told me not to worry about when we would go out with his colleagues and she’d follow him around acting like I didn’t exist. The one who is now spending most of her weekends in the apartment Andy and I lived in together; sleeping in the same bed and on the same sheets that Andy and I spent our nights in.
I get why he chose her, she’s the opposite of me—bubbly and blonde, skinny, can pull off outfits I wouldn’t dare to wear.
Probably the exact girl he’s always wanted.
I juxtapose her in almost every way; my personality isn’t big, I have some curves and don’t show off all of my assets the way she typically does.
“Ko, it’s been two months. I know for a fact you’re on one of their pages right now, making yourself miserable when you could be out there, enjoying life with us and gaining your independence back,” Darcy states, plopping back down beside me, her blonde hair pulled into a tight pony, her blue eyes crinkling in the corners as she smiles at me.
“I’m going to go change and then you are too. ”
Two months? Wow, I guess I really have been sitting in my miserable, post-breakup mentality.
I’ve been on autopilot, going to my shifts at Wake, Bake, Repeat down the road from Darcy’s apartment and then ending up in this exact spot almost every day.
Not too long after my breakup with Andy, when I thought maybe Andy would take it all back, Bill got an overseas job and offered to move me with them, but at the time everyone was here.
Andy was here, and even if we weren’t together, I couldn’t see myself leaving any of them.
After the breakup, I needed a job and fast. Wake, Bake, Repeat was hiring immediately and was walking distance from Darcy’s apartment, so I took it.
I need to pick myself up, dust myself off and move forward.
I can enjoy a night out with my friends, maybe meet someone new to get under.
Andy was my first and only, I fear that I won’t be good enough if I give myself to someone else.
On the other hand, it could be fun to experience sex with someone different.
Worse comes to worst, at least I can get drunk and spend the night dancing with my best friends.
However, now I’m just feeling like a sad, single millennial with no prospects and little to no hope for my future. Sad over this breakup, which is making me feel unmotivated to do anything, including hanging out with my best friends.
If I don’t hang out with my best friends then they won’t want to be friends with me at all. What’s worse than living on your best friend’s couch? Moving home with your helicopter Mom because said couch is not an option anymore.
Oh god, being back at home with Mom, who has called almost every day to check-in would drive me nuts.
She would never give me a moment of peace and no guy is going to want to date a twenty-four-year-old living at home with her parent.
Speaking of Mom, my phone buzzes and I see that she’s checking in again.
Mom: Hey sweetie, I hope you’re doing okay. Let’s grab lunch soon.
Me: Just like yesterday, I’m good Mom. We can arrange that. Love you.
Mom: Love you most.
“Ugh, you’re right. I need to enjoy life and be more present in this moment.” I stand with a determined stride, heading to Darcy’s room to make myself presentable. Passing her as she exits in a dress akin to that of a disco ball, she does a little shimmy at me which causes us both to chuckle.
“Where are we going?” I yell in the general direction of where I left my friends.
“Lockout. That new, expensive looking club downtown,” Sin says, sidling into the room behind me with two shots in hand.
Just like her personality, Sin’s hair is fiery red, and she’s always looking for trouble.
She’s sporting a pair of dark wash jeans and a white crop top under a leather jacket that accentuates her chest. Unlike me, she’s never been afraid to show off her body and I’m envious of that.
“What’s our mission tonight?” Sin asks as I take my shot from her, throwing it back with a wince.
“You guys are the ones dragging me out tonight.”
“Well babe, you need to get laid, or at least let someone dance on you. So put on a sexy outfit and let’s go find you a man,” she says smiling devilishly at me.
Maybe Sin is right, maybe getting under someone else will pull me out of this funk.The thought of being with someone else is scary, but what am I going to do? Be single and sad until I die?
Even if I don’t go home with someone tonight, at least I’ve taken a step in moving on from my breakup with Andy by enjoying life with my friends.
I think back to the night that we broke up and how he said I never wanted to go out or have fun.
If he knew that I was headed out tonight would he still think that I was boring, or would he think that I was just trying to prove him wrong?
Sure, he was right that I didn’t want to go out often—reading and reality TV always sounded like a better option than drinking and dancing—but when I would go out, especially the past few months, he felt detached, barely touching me, not including me in conversations.
I should have taken that as a sign that things were not going as well as I let myself believe.
I chose to live in my naivety that we were just in a place of contentment and didn’t need the same type of excitement we did when we were nineteen.
“Alright, more shots.” More shots turned into us killing the bottle of tequila, posting tipsy selfies to our Instagram stories before calling our uber, and giggling the whole drive as we sang off tune to Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter.
Our uber pulls up to the curb of Lockout and I step out wearing a little black dress that I feel confident in, but still covers me in the places I don’t typically show off.
My patchwork of tattoos are on full display, my jet black hair is curled and falling over my shoulders, and black high tops are on my feet because whoever decided that heels were good for dancing and drinking was actually delusional.
Bodies are packed wall to wall, making me wonder if there’s an event going on, or if this is what a Saturday night at the newest club in Tampa looks like.
I’ve been to a few bars and clubs, but I’ve never seen so many bodies packed into a place like this.
The blue, red, and green flashing lights illuminating the dance floor make me realize how tipsy I actually am while dim lights hang over the bar to our left that we are slowly squeezing our way up to.
I’m ready to have a good time with my friends, even though this was not my plan tonight. Honestly, my plan was to cuddle up with my e-reader and a glass of white wine until I eventually passed out.
Harley, with her dark brown curls and bronze skin, sporting a bright pink silky tank and black jeans, leans over into a very handsome, lumberjack-looking man’s personal bubble and sweetly asks, “Why is it so busy in here?”
She turns back to me with an eye roll, leaning into my ear and relaying his message, “Why are men the way they are? Tell me why he said, ‘Didn’t you hear sweetheart? The Tampa Bay Manta Rays took home their first win of the pre-season. Everybody, including some of the players, are here celebrating.’ Like dude, you don’t have to call me sweetheart and act like I should know what’s going on. ”
“Over there.” She gestures towards the VIP section where multiple men are dressed to the nines and flirting with the bottle girls.
They all have to be at least 6 feet tall, and some are tattooed, while others have man buns that range from dark to light in color.
I can’t tell from here, but I’m sure they are more handsome up close.
One in particular catches my eye in a navy blue suit, I can really only see his side profile.
His hair is longish, golden, and tied half up.
His skin is the color of the whiskey he lifts to his mouth, and his suit is tailored to fit his body in all the right places.
I have the sudden need to go and run my hands up his arms—feel how firm they are.
I shake it off. I’m tipsy, and surely a hookup with a hockey player is not what I need right now, even if I thought I could get one's attention. I’m just a plain Jane, there's nothing remarkable about my looks or my personality that would snag the attention of someone of that caliber. I’m sure they are only seeking out models or the like.
More recently, Andy stopped commenting on how beautiful I was, regardless of much or little effort I put in.
The only people who ever hyped me up were my best friends, and they are required to do that by friendship law.