I collapse on top of the barstool next to my roommate and wave down the bartender from the other end. It was my idea to take Vicky out tonight for some girl time. After spending the past three weeks listening to her cry over her loser ex-boyfriend, there's no way I'm wasting another night on chick flicks and ice cream. My waistline will thank me later.

"We both needed a break," I say, somehow managing to muster a smile. "And lots of drinks."

The bartender makes a beeline toward us as I flash him my black Amex card - or rather my parents black Amex card. They didn't specifically say I couldn't use for alcohol. Only that I should use it for "emergencies." Tonight is definitely an emergency. Being single on Valentine's Day is like wearing a scarlet letter on your forehead. It's the only day in the year that I actually feel bad being single.

"We'll take two screwdrivers to start. Keep my tab open." I hand the bartender my card and she smiles as she briefly glances down at it with an unusual amount of interest. I've always found it fascinating how quickly things get done when I flash my father's card at someone. In a matter of seconds, the bartender returns with our drinks. "You're Josie Wilde, right?" she asks.

"Yes." I smile in embarrassment.

"Oh my gosh, I'm a HUGE fan of your father's work."

"Thank you."

Most people look at me like another spoiled Hollywood brat, but my parents have spent the past twenty two years trying to make me fit in with the general public. Although there have been some obvious differences in my childhood compared to others, like having a boy band show up to my 8^th grade birthday party. Aside from the occasional amount of spoiling, they've done everything in their power so that I don't end up like other child stars - strung out on drugs or making sex tapes. They may be rich but they have hearts of gold. At least that's what I keep telling myself every time I bring up my inheritance. It's an argument I never win. The only way I'm getting it is if I finish college with a degree in hand.

"Thanks for the drinks," I say, holding up my glass. "We'll be back for more."

The bartender smiles and then moves on to the next group of people ordering. I dance my way back to Vicky who stands silent in a corner of the bar. Her eyes are slightly watery and I cringe at the idea that she's been crying.

"I can't stop thinking about him, Josie. It's Valentine's Day and we should be together." Vicky says, as I hand her a drink.

To my dismay, the bar around us is a constant reminder of our singledom. Couples sit mingling beside one another as they kiss and laugh. Everywhere I look there's decorations and conversations of love. Maybe bringing Vicky out tonight wasn't such a great idea. This sure as hell wasn't what I had in mind when I asked her to go out with me. Oceanside's only bar is brimming with reminders of just how single we are.

"Drink," I say, gently pushing her drink to her mouth. "Then we'll talk."

We both chug our screwdrivers. The vodka is smooth and it leaves a warm sensation in my stomach. I nudge Vicky as she silently stands next to me, practically humming with nerves.

"Would you rather be at home watching one of those terrible chick flicks?" I ask.

She shakes her head at me pretending to be insulted. She loves romantic comedies and I can't blame her. Who doesn't want to fall for a hot guy who's perfect in every way. Unfortunately, that isn't reality. Love is messy.

"So who should we ask to dance with first?" I ask, surveying the club around us. A change of subject might help this night.

"Most of the people here are couples, Josie. I told you it was a terrible idea to come here on Valentine's Day. We might as well write single all over our foreheads."

"Giving up already?" I ask, challenging her. I refuse to let Vicky become a Negative Nelly because of some guy. "We just need to find someone to dance with."

I scan the room, surveying the crowd.

"How do you suppose we tell who's single and who's taken?" Vicky asks.

I grin. "Everyone's single unless they're married."

"You're an incorrigible flirt."

"One has to be when on the hunt," I say in my best English accent. "Let's order some more drinks."

"Not tequila."

"Yes. I know you're swearing off tequila because of your ex but I'm not letting him ruin that too."

I drag Vicky back to the bar and order two shots. Without hesitation I toss back the first and then hand her the second. She crinkles her nose looking at the glass with a good measure of distain.

"It's the good stuff," I lie. There's no way I'm giving her the good stuff. She's getting drunk on the cheap stuff tonight. I grin as Vicky tosses it back and immediately begins coughing. She glares at me through watery eyes.

"What did I just drink?"

"It wasn't top shelf," I laugh. "C'mon, let's dance."

"I'm so glad this week is over. This semester is going to be hell." My words slur slightly as the alcohol starts behind to kick in. Vicky wraps an arm around me trying to keep her balance.

"Are you still upset about the grade he gave you?" Vicky says with devilish grin.

The memory of Professor Grant calling me a "petulant child" is still fresh in my mind. No one has ever said anything so rude to me. The wheels churn in my mind as I contemplate how I could've handled the situation better. Perhaps bending over his desk would've gotten a better response from him. At least that's how my fantasy would've played out.

"He didn't have to be an asshole about it. That paper wasn't easy."

My best friend shakes her head at me in disbelief. "Josie, you spent the last three years taking the easiest classes you could find. I'm not even sure how you got this far in English Lit without having to write a paper longer than 3 pages."

I laugh and it feels good to release the tension still knotted into my shoulders.

"Skills, my dear. All skills."

Vicky rolls her eyes at me. "That's not something you should be touting." My father was always one to remind me to work smart not hard. I've taken that to heart and maybe gone a little overboard. It's not my fault the university hasn't caught on.

I know all too well that my best friend is not one to break the rules. Where as I like to find a way to bend them. As a Criminal Justice major, Vicky is passionate about law and order. The only Law and Order I'm passionate about is the one that features Benson and Stabler. My two favorite detectives from SVU.

"So what do you plan on doing with Professor Grant? Vicky asks with a sly smile. I ignore the innuendo in her question. What I plan on doing to Professor Grant is entirely different from what I want to do. Thoughts of him spreading open my legs and sliding his hand across my pussy leaves me dizzy. The memory of my temper from earlier still brings a blush to my cheeks. No one's ever set me off the way he did. It's hard to imagine how someone in his position can get away with being such a smug and arrogant asshole.

"I'm just figuring out ways to make his life hell. There's no way I'm getting stuck in college for another year because of one lousy professor."

Vicky laughs as she signals to the bartender for another drink.

"Look at it this way, you've gotten through most of your undergrad without even sweating over a class," she says. "I'm sure he'll change his mind about letting you redo the assignment."

I snort. "Not likely. He's wound up tighter than than the girdle of a Baptist minister's wife at an all you can eat pancake breakfast."

"Did you just quote Golden Girls to me?" Vicky laughs. "Maybe he just needs to get laid."

"Who the hell would want to fuck him? He's probably the type of man who has the audacity to criticize a naked woman in front of him." The thought of being naked in front of Professor Grant is ten times more nerve wrecking than any mid-term or final I've taken.

"Perhaps if you spent more time on your papers instead of analyzing my sex life, you might actually pass my class."

A cold electric voice shoots of the darkness. The sound of it sends me off kilter and I nearly bump into a passing waitress. His hands catch me before disaster strikes. The warmth of them sends blood rushing to my cheeks as I realize who the familiar voice belongs to.

"Oh shit," Vicky squeaks.

I grimace as I force myself to meet his gaze.

FML. It's just my luck that I would run into him here.

My heart squeezes in an unfamiliar way at the sight of Professor Grant standing in the crowded bar filled with Valentine's Day streamers and balloons. Somehow, even he looks out of place here. The sight of him standing here is surreal. Maybe I'm still drunk? Maybe he didn't just hear me asking who would want to fuck him? That's what I get for blabbing on and on with Vicky about him.

"Uh, hi."

I brush back a lock from my face suddenly feeling like all of my thoughts are on full display. There's a tremor in my voice and silently chide myself for it. Despite how much I just want to grab Vicky, turn and walk away, I stand my ground. My eyes flicker up to his lips which sit firmly placed in a thin line. They always seem to be in never-ending scowl.

"Hello, Ms. Wilde."