The One Night Stand
Sam's POV
“What you need, friend,” said the almighty Rachel, sloshing her mojito like it was holy water, “is to be thoroughly, recklessly, maybe-illegally kissed.”
Or perhaps what I need is to lie on my bed and have a good night's sleep and not be here. I stared at her above the rim of my glass of whiskey. I had a thousand things I wanted to say to her in my head. One of which was, I don't want to be here, girl. I don't want to do this. Instead, I faked a smile, took another sip of the whiskey, and said, “Let’s see how the night goes, Rachie.”
Rachel was my best friend. One of three, actually, that includes Lexi and Riley, who both sat around us at the round high-top bar table. Rachel was a defense attorney, a woman who was obsessed with being in control of everything. Riley was a model, a glam girl. The next thing she loves after herself is her designer clothes and bags; we were third in that hierarchy for her. Lexi, on the other hand, was an elementary school teacher. Every word that came out of her mouth was almost always a lecture. She'd always assume we were her kids and needed guidance.
We are all so different that it is always a surprise, even to me, that we could still be together. Yet we were. Since elementary school, we have never forgotten each other, and now we were family. They were my family.
My eyes drifted around to the dim amber sconces casting a hazy glow across the exposed brick walls of the bar and the oil-slick leather booths, the jazz trio playing slow, sultry, and dreary music behind us.
I poured the whiskey down my throat, and I shut my eyes, feeling the alcohol knock me out from the inside.
I opened my eyes to the bar once again, giving it another prejudicial visual sweep. How did I let them talk me into this? I hated bars, hated sticky tables, hated loud music, and especially hated excess alcohol. Yet, getting drunk was the only way I could get myself to do what they wanted me to do—sleeping with a random stranger. The girls said I needed to get laid simply because it had been years since I did. Since I was unlucky at getting a boyfriend to do that with me.
I wouldn't say I was ugly. I was just unfortunate. I had an athletic body wrought from years spent in the gym, which slightly marred my natural, almost hourglass figure. A razor-straight bob of jet-black hair cut to my jawline. My last boyfriend said I was too macho and stuck-up, and like the other before him, he left after I knocked two of his teeth out when he pissed me off. I was a lost case—I know. But it isn't my fault. It's just who I am.
I am a homicide detective, an important member of the major crimes division. I wouldn’t describe myself as the best detective on the block, because I wasn't, but I was quick-witted, smart, and passionate about my job to be considered one of the best in the precinct.
There were better things I could have done tonight, even if I didn't spend it sleeping. There were a couple of cold cases I could look through to spot the hidden clues I'd missed before…
The phone buzzed just beside the gold-rimmed cocktail glasses on the high-top table. Riley, always the enthusiastic one, snatched the phone from the table, reading the text that should be from my date on Tinder. The one she had chatted with herself, using my profile. He is devilishly handsome and charming, she had said. I had no doubt about that. Riley knows her stuff. But do I even want to do this?
“Your date says he's almost here, Sam. Says he is just a couple of streets away.” Riley looked up from the phone.
Rachel pushed her bold lipstick into my face, ever in control, ever in style, in her tight-fitting suit. I was her new case, and like every criminal case she handled, she was committed to seeing this to fruition—seeing me get laid.
She grabbed my shoulder and took off my leather jacket, revealing the boycon sheath gown she’d made me wear, which exposed every bit of my curves. It had a strapless neckline that exposed a little of my chest.
She held my shoulders and looked back at me to admire her handiwork. Her icy blue eyes sparked with the admiration an artist gives a painting he’d just created.
“Now, you really look like a woman who wants to get laid,” she said. She threw the jacket over the drinks and glasses on the table to Riley, who took it, dropping it on the empty seat beside her, on which she sat her Gucci purse.
I turned to Lexi while she poked at her fries, stealing glances at Rachel and me. She was the godmother of the group, softhearted and kind. Like always, she dons her cardigans and floral skirt, looking like she just stepped out of a church. She was my last hope to escape Rachel and Riley's ploys.
“Lexi,” I called to her, and for once since we sat in the bar, she looked up from her fries. “Will you tell Rachel and Riley that this is a completely bad idea?”
She stayed silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. “Sam, love,” she began, and once again, she sounded like she was about to give a lecture to a kid. “I also don't want you to die alone surrounded by case files and that sad ficus in your apartment,”
“The ficus is not sad, Lexi,” I muttered, and I grunted, grinding my teeth, my jaw clenched. “It’s low-maintenance.”
“So is sex,” Rachel scolded, eyebrows arching. “If you stop treating it like a felony.”
I slanted her a glance, and I scoffed. It was only one night anyway, one night of unhingedness, so let's just get this over with. But before that I had to get drunk, very drunk. I picked up the whiskey bottle, and I filled up my glass to the brim. I lifted the glass and drained the whole thing in one gulp. I shut my eyes, feeling the alcohol smack my head and throat. Once my eyes were clear, I filled my glass again.
I caught a concerned look on Rachel's face. But I didn't care. She wanted me to get laid. She didn't say anything about not getting drunk.
The phone buzzed again. “He is almost here,” Riley chimed. She dropped the phone, picking up the sweating glass before her with her manicured fingers and long nails. “Now, you can finally erase the cobwebs in your sex profile.”
Urrgh. I ignored her and poured another batch of whiskey down my throat. “Tell me this man has a legal job and he is unmarried. I don't want to get done in by some drug dealer or a criminal, nor do I want to be the reason for another woman’s tears.”
“What does it matter, girl? You plan to do just a one-night stand anyway, not date, even though dating would have been better.” Rachel said.
“It does matter.” I returned, my tone a little scathing. “And I can't date any man, Rachie. I am not cut out for that love drama.”
Riley chuckled at my words as if I had just told a joke. She leaned forward with her elbow on the table, and she slanted me a wink. “Don’t worry, babe. He is legit, works for an insurance company, and he is definitely unmarried…”
We all turned fast to the door at its soft squeal, and a man strode in carefully. He carried himself with the grace of someone who has achieved so much. But so many losers also carry themselves as such. I didn't need to ask Riley. He should be my date.
For a moment I found myself staring, checking him out, which was quite unusual. I usually don't care that much about men. After a couple of broken hearts, I have developed a strange aversion to anything in trousers.
But this man. Something about him made me sit up. I hid my face behind the glass while I checked him out. Something about him made my heart race, thumping gently against my chest. Perhaps maybe because he is the closest thing to a male candy I would ever see in years.
He stood some feet away from the door, casting an inquisitive glance into the room. “Riley does know her stuff,” I breathed into the glass as I took my last drink.
His wavy, chestnut-brown hair, tousled like a lover's bed, fit his perfectly sculpted, long, handsome face. His amber-hazel eyes were as mysterious as they were alluring.
Six foot two, maybe. He looked like he could audition for the Lakers and earn a spot on the spot. His lean, yet athletic, body was bound in a tailored jacket, crisp white shirt, and pants that matched his jacket. “Effortlessly charming too,” I breathed against the glass, visually taking him apart over the rim of the glass. He shouldn't be a bad lay. I rowed my head in silent appreciation.
“That's enough drinking for the night,” Rachel scolded, and she snatched the glass from me.
I jumped to my feet then. Let's get this over with, I told myself, and I strode to the man.
“Wait! Sam. I don't think he is not your…” Riley was saying, her voice fading slowly from my ears. Perhaps it was the alcohol. I didn't know. I just continued to handsome man at the door.
My eyes locked on his lips, a thin strip of pink bundle that perfectly blended with his handsome face. Maybe Rachel was right. I needed to be thoroughly and illegally kissed. I threw myself fast into his arms, and I kissed him, thoroughly, recklessly, and illegally.