A word about this story – I wrote it as one single story, which means that, although it is split into chapters to make reading it easier, there are long sections that are about character development and it's not all about the sex – this expository first chapter for one, which has none.
Additionally, this is the first time ever for me writing a story in first person – I'm trying to get it right but please bear with me. I do have a couple of ideas for further stories within this world if it goes down well.
*****
I sit back in the armchair, feet crossed in front of me, sipping a smooth bourbon.
"So, Grayson," James wheedles, "club?"
I glance over at Jay, who's grinning. It lights up his All-American handsome face, which I'm finding eminently punchable right now.
"How did I get to be deciding vote?" I grumble, but I don't really mean it.
"Well you know Andy isn't going to be bothered either way."
I look over at Andy, who has his messy surfer-boy head bowed over the joint he's rolling. He knows he's being discussed and shrugs. James isn't wrong.
"And Jay will go, but only if you do."
I suspect that's a lie. Jay will go whether I do or not. They're trying to make me feel part of things, like I used to be.
"Dude, you need to get out. Get laid. You haven't been yourself since you split up with Tom," Jay said, matter-of-factly.
He's right. Getting dumped will do that to a guy I suppose. And our default solution to pretty much any problem always used to be to get laid.
Get dumped...get laid. Bad day at work...get laid. Argument with family...get laid. Erm. Restaurant out of favorite dish...get laid. So, the advice isn't exactly out of left field.
I look at James again; he has a hopeful look in his liquid brown eyes. James is a resident pediatric oncologist in one of the busiest hospitals on the West Coast. He works long hours in an incredibly stressful job, and I know he needs regular outlets for the stress.
He's had a bad week, losing a fourteen-year-old patient who'd been hanging on by a thread for several months. He wants to let loose, and I can't blame him. Of course we're going out.
"Yes, let's do it," I say, with a grin.
James claps delightedly; he's like an enthusiastic child in many ways.
I'm less enthusiastic; things ending with Tom really knocked my confidence, and I have work tomorrow, though I was always going to say yes – for James if nothing else.
Everyone wants to make James happy; to receive one of his stellar smiles or a clinging full-body hug. He's literally the nicest person we know, and I sometimes wonder what he sees in the rest of us. We're a pretty cynical bunch and he's like a ray of sunshine from the ass of a rainbow sparkle unicorn.
"You'll come too, won't you Andy?" James asks.
"Sure thing," Andy drawls, putting his joint back in the tin for later, "not wearing hot pants though."
James laughs; it's a usual bit of banter between them, and the reason why Andy doesn't get embroiled in the voting.
Andy is straight, and the chillest of all of us. He never has a problem hitting the gay bars and clubs with us, and actually says it's a more relaxed night out for him, but he doesn't get involved in the decision-making process.
"We gonna pregame then?" Jay asks, his hand running up James' ankle, stroking his shin.
"Yup," James confirms, "don't want to get there before eleven. Got to keep ourselves occupied in the meantime."
James and Jay have a slightly weird relationship. The three of us met at college and pretty much since they laid eyes on each other they have been inseparable – as friends.
They spend a ton of time together, with the group and on their own, and they hook up regularly. But they get annoyed at people who assume they're dating, or suggest that they should be, which happens often enough with people who don't know them well.
Within the group we know better by now. So Jay's tender stroking isn't enough to warrant comment from me or Andy.
"So, who else is coming?" I ask, bringing a tray of bottles from the kitchen and placing it on the low coffee table between us.
I pour myself another bourbon and make up a vodka cranberry for James, who's empty.
"I've messaged Vic and Troy, they're on their way," James tells me.
They're James' roommates, and that will round out our group to the usual suspects. James coughs and glances at Jay.
"Why don't you ask Spencer if he wants to come?" he asks me.
"Umm, I don't think it will be his scene," I grin wolfishly at James, who pulls an 'innocent' face.
"Don't look at me like that buddy. You freaked him out last time he came to one of our parties; I haven't even dared invite him to another," I growl.
These five are my best friends. They are there for me regardless of anything, and I for them. Even though it's not always sunshine, we all know we have each other's backs. New people getting into the group is...rare. I guess you could argue that Troy and Vic are the only ones that have done it on a permanent basis.
I met Spencer a few months ago through Jay, who's a personal trainer, and we hit it off straight away, having a similar sense of humor and values. Jay is a big fan, and Spence and Andy have a shared love of sports. It means Spence spends time at our place, I suspect to escape a less than perfect relationship, though that is the one thing he doesn't really talk about.
