Love Drunk (Love Me Duet 1)

May’s laughing and brushing my hands away as we arrive at the club door. Her dress, on the other hand, doesn’t budge. Somehow it sticks to her like glue. The cocktail dress is made from red velvet and is beautiful. She’s matched it with a pair of sky-high black Louboutin heels. May’s ass is perfect, and the dress shows all her curves with nothing left to the imagination. While my ass, thanks to my mother, is curvy. I have junk in my trunk, that’s for sure.

“Leave it,” May states while she brushes my hands away again. I run my fingers through my dark hair hoping it doesn’t frizz later on. Puckering my lips together, I smudge the lipstick between my lips that May insisted I wear tonight, after telling me I have the perfect Cupid’s bow lips.

The bouncer opens the rope to let us in, and May gives him the biggest of smiles she can muster. As she walks past him, her long straight blonde hair sways from side to side.

I’ve always admired her confidence, it’s something she has in abundance. Where I only have scraps of it left. She sees no harm in flirting and taking a man home with her. I, on the other hand, would have a panic attack thinking he might actually fucking kill me, or something worse. Who knows? Okay, I know what you’re thinking—there’s nothing worse than being killed, but let me tell you, there is.

I’m no angel.

My father runs his business a certain way, and some parts of it are considered dangerous. There are things he does which I shouldn’t know about. But it’s hard to keep secrets when men are constantly coming in and out of your house at all hours of the night. Or when you have a bodyguard with you on your way to school. I overheard these men talking sometimes when I was bored and would sneak out of my bedroom. The way they spoke about what they would do to people who didn’t listen or conform still sends shivers down my spine when I think about it all these years later.

There is definitely worse.

In some instances, death is the easy way out, and even preferable to the alternative.

Granted, I stayed far away from everything that was happening around me—and especially from my father’s business—and did my own thing. I only went home on weekends for my obligatory family dinners or Sunday lunches. It was all part of my arrangement with them.

One of the reasons I now use as an excuse not to visit them, is that I own one of the busiest cafés in my town—the Pink Café. The reason for its name you ask? Yes, it’s pink, and everywhere you look are tones of the color. It is an Instagrammer’s dream to take photographs of themselves by our flowered walls, or in front of my pink heart stands. I’m proud of what I’ve built, and people visit from all over the world to take pictures. And soon, I will have paid my parents back in full. I honestly cannot wait for the day. The pleasure will be so intense, and I’m sure I will be smiling widely when that time arises. To not be indebted to them anymore means I will not have to be surrounded by them and their wishes or demands.

“I need to change, or better yet, leave,” I say in the most irritated tone I can muster.

May shakes her head and steps off to grab our free drinks. That confidence of hers is a really good thing when we go out. She’s also been a massive help for the success of my café. Without her large following and constant posts, it wouldn’t be where it is today.

We move to the end of the bar, sit on two of the stools where it reads ‘No Service,’ and we sip our drinks while May scans the crowd.

“I’m going to pick someone for you to go up to and introduce yourself. Offer to buy him a drink. And if you do, my next three posts on Insta are all yours.”

That’s a bargain for me. May has close to a million followers and is growing exponentially. My little pink café has only fifty-thousand, but I’m hungry for more. She will bring in those followers. Every time she posts, my follows go up, and in conjunction with her posts we become busier. It’s a win for me. Her bright blue eyes shine at me knowing full well I’m going to say yes. She’s simply playing mean now by dangling that proverbial carrot in front of me.

“Move it, because your first post is tomorrow.” May throws her head back and laughs loudly.

I stand there waiting and watching for her to settle back down before she makes her choice. This is my chance—I will be able to go home after this and there is nothing more I want right now than my comfy bed and a book. I tap my heels waiting for her to settle the fuck down and pick.