As much as I hate to admit it, Brittany and Scott do have a new apartment worth bragging about. His job in finance in Wall Street clearly pays off well. Plus, Brittany makes pretty good money as a paralegal.
The building itself is what I’d consider a skyscraper with a gorgeous white/gold interior. The elevator we ride up in is the size of a full bathroom, and the artistry in the carpeted floor designs are downright jaw-dropping. And we haven’t even made it to their apartment.
Before we even reach door 702, we hear loud music cranked up high. I start to wonder if perhaps band is practicing.
After a careful look at the invitation on Facebook to confirm we’re at the right place, we knock and are greeted by none other than the Dickless Wonder, Scott. He doesn’t offer us anything more than a “sup” nod and entry to the party we were invited to.
Inside, I see a bunch of people dancing to really fucking loud music, which for the record, is not something that happens at housewarming parties I’ve been to. A typical housewarming party in Ireland has low volume, soft rock music and is just a handful of the closest friends you really want to have inside your house.
Maybe I’m just an old fogey. But, compared to what I’m used to, Brittany’s and Scott’s housewarming seems more like a party a fucking teenager would throw after renting out a hotel room with her rich dad’s credit card. They’re clearly on the prowl for housewarming gifts, although they already appear to have everything they need.
People have packed themselves into this apartment like sardines and somehow this party has not been shut down by any building managers, despite the noise level being pretty high up here, and a basic body count showing that the place is way over capacity. My guess is that Brittany paid somebody off to keep her party uninterrupted no matter what. It’s incredible what rich people can get away with, and I don’t mean that in a good way.
It’s hard to tell what the inside of Brittany’s and Scott’s place looks like with the lights dimmed and purple lights coming on and off, therefore rendering the whole point of a housewarming party useless. But my guess is that is has to be one of the bigger spaces in this building.
I lead Hazel from the front door of the apartment through a bouncing sea of people dancing to the beat of the electronic music, and into the kitchen where a few people have congregated. Nobody I know, of course, with the exception of Brittany.
She looks a bit perplexed by our being here, but soon loses that confused face and trades it in for a look of someone eager to stir up some trouble, which appears to be her forte. She seems nicer than she did in the coffee shop but once she’s standing in front of us, I deduce that it’s because of the alcohol that has turned her breath unbearable.
“Let’s dance,” she screams in my ear as she grabs my hips.
The nerve of this she-devil. Thinking she can just grab me and dance with me in front of my date— whom she knows as my fiancé— and her own. I guess she really is a narcissist who thinks she can do what she wants without regard for whomever she might hurt in the process of doing it.
I cement my feet to the ground and do not let go of Hazel’s soft hand. Brittany tugs on my slacks a few times but when she realizes I’m not planning on moving, she gives up on getting me to the dance floor and instead starts bouncing her ass on my groin.
Her pushiness is downright obnoxious. I came here with Hazel and if anyone’s ass is going to be bouncing on my cock, I want it to be hers. Hopefully with less clothes, though. Through some skillful maneuvering, I’m able to slip away from Brittany’s grasp and lead Hazel to the dance floor, at which point Brittany she starts dance-dry humping someone else.
“Thanks for not ditching me, Liam,” Hazel screams, trying to overpower the loud bumping music.
I remind her of my promise and reassure her that I won’t break it. She holds me tight once more and then tells me that she’s going to get us something to drink. She heads to the other side of the kitchen where Scott is serving up some drinks. I try to stay within earshot of the two of them but this club music is making it impossible to hear anything whatsoever.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before I go from scoping out how nice Brittany’s place is to seeing Scott’s body language become increasingly aggressive towards my lovely date. I take a few steps closer to them and hear Scott angrily insinuate that Hazel is paying me to be with her.
“There’s just no other way I could seeing you get a guy like that. He’s out of your league,” he yells. “If you can admit to this, I’ll give you your drinks.”
The bloody gobshite.
One thing I’m not going to do is stop the party by breaking out into a fight with a drunken imbecile, regardless of how badly I want to bash his face in for trying to bring Hazel down. So, I go instead for Hazel. I spin her around and grab her face with both hands. We look into each other’s eyes before I lean in and place my lips against hers. One kiss. Then another. And a third.
Then she wraps her arms around my neck while she slips her tongue into my mouth. Scott gives up on passing out drinks and goes somewhere else, unable to watch Hazel being manhandled by someone else. And handle her I do. I grab her plump ass and pick her up with both hands as she locks me in with her legs.
Her taste is ecstasy. Her lips are like heaven. This has gone far beyond “playing along” with a stranger at a cafe. I never want this moment to end. Although it’s fun to screw with Brittany and Scott, I’m wishing I would have taken Hazel somewhere else for our first official date. But kissing her here with all of these people, including the two awful ones who are hosting the party, watching, is better than not kissing her at all.
When the kiss is finally, unfortunately, over, Hazel looks into my eyes and is unable to make any words come out of her lips. But I can tell that she’s feeling the same way I am. I can feel her heart beating as quickly as mine. This is much more now than whatever it started out as being. And she knows it, too.