Work Text:
Terry either hasn’t learned his lesson from the last few Christmas parties he’s hosted or he’s willfully ignorant. Drink tickets are easily gamed and alcohol is what makes these work parties even remotely worth going to.
Naturally, Brad and Nicole were first in line for drinks. Immediately, they shed their two legally obtained drink tickets each.
Four shots of tequila are lined up at the bar, with a bowl of lime slices and a salt shaker. They stare each other down like a bull and a matador.
Nicole makes the first move. Not breaking eye contact, she grabs Brad’s hand and pours salt on it. She brings his hand to her face, sucking the crystals away, leaving her point of contact shiny and moist, the feelings of her lips lingering on his skin. With her other hand she grabs her first shot, downing it. Before Brad can even react she gulps the second in succession. A sharp, barely audible exhale is all she concedes.
She looks up at him as if to dare him to match her energy as she sucks on a lime wedge. A challenge to get fucked up the fastest. He’s not one to back down easily.
In return he grabs his two shots, gulping both down at once, no salt, no lime. A sharp exhale seethes from between his teeth. The heat sears down his throat to his chest, leaving it buzzing like a broken radiator. It’s been far too long since Brad has had tequila shots. His college days and parties in Mexico are far behind him. In the corner of her lips Nicole cracks a smile.
He slams his remaining two drink tickets onto the bar, a smart trade with Pickles for a bag of Skittles. Deb cocks her brow for a second, looking at the tickets, then back up at Brad, who has a wide grin plastered on his face. She stands there, narrowing her eyes for a second but she ultimately doesn’t contest his payment. Brad looks back at Nicole with a stupid grin, pumping his fist half-jokingly like he’s up a point.
Score.
Before long, two more clear shots are sitting pretty on the shiny wood tabletop in front of them. Nicole grabs one of Brad’s glasses before he can. She clinks her glass against his, drops sloshing out from the rim and shouts a toast. She pulls his arm towards her again, locking elbows with him to share their shots. It goes down easier this time after her skin grazes his.
Brad and Nicole have taken care to not show affection at work, not to tip anyone off that they’ve slept together, once, twice, or admittedly more times than they can count. Nicole says she doesn’t do drama. At least she doesn’t condone any gossip involving herself, that they should keep their personal dealings under wraps.
It doesn’t take much for him to agree. When hookups get too attached it always causes him problems. And that’s probably his fault. For making sure they never have to open their own door, telling them that they’re special. For bringing them to trendy restaurants that he assures is a hidden gem, hiding the fact that he takes all of his first dates there. For asking them about their lives, their hopes, their dreams, why they hate their exes or their dads or their evil bosses so much. For listening to them with better intent than their last boyfriend, validating their feelings, telling them they’re right, sweet talking, telling them what they want to hear. Getting women to fall for him is all a game, one he’s played a million times and knows how to win every time.
Brad texts Nicole when he needs a cure for his boredom. When he has no company for the night and would rather not spend it alone. She only texts him when she doesn’t have anything– or anyone– better to do. This works for them– they’ve been work friends for years. They have heard enough of each other’s misadventures in dating and love for a lifetime and know enough to not want to get involved too deeply.
In fact, one of the first things she told him when she met him was that she only started working at Bistro Huddy because her ex screwed her out of three months worth of rent. He thought this would mean she was the emotional, easily manipulated type but was proven quite the opposite within the first day of knowing her. She didn’t seem to get hung up on what’s brought her down in the past but was so honest, so matter-of-fact. She was headstrong, and more resilient than anyone he’s ever met before.
So when they link up it’s always right down to business. No deep talks, no preamble or false pretenses. They already know that the other doesn’t need it.
They don’t treat each other differently at work. Why would they? The walls have ears, people talk. If one person figured out they were sleeping together, everyone would know by the end of the day. And Brad just couldn’t be bothered to have his coworkers invested in his personal life like that.
But tonight, maybe it’s the shots or maybe it’s the fiery look in Nicole’s eyes, but something has made Brad’s judgement hazy. He grabs her by her hand and leads her through the restaurant, through the kitchen doors to the walk-in.
She seems a little annoyed that he took her away from the action. He thinks it’s on her for stealing one of his hard-earned drinks.
Liquor doesn’t normally hit him so fast, but then again he did take three tequila shots back to back. He’s thought about it before. Sometimes, when they’re both in the walk-in at once and their arms brush, their bodies are so close that he wonders what it would be like to brazenly push her against the shelves, knocking stuff over. Not caring who would hear outside.
They’re close enough to feel each other’s presence burn between them. He grabs the small of her hip and locks eyes with her. She gives him a look like she’s going to eat him alive. He can feel his cheeks burn, tongue salivating with anticipation.
The bustle of the restaurant is muffled but still present inside these walls. Fuck it. It’s probable that nobody will hear. And if they do, he doesn’t really care.
He cups her jaw and kisses her, each one hungrier than the last. Her breath tastes like liquor mixed with something sickly sweet, her lips soft and slightly sticky from her lip gloss. He grabs locks of her hair and pushes her back against a metal shelf, the cold metal providing fresh relief from the rising temperature between them. She returns his kisses and lets out breathy moans as she grabs at the knit fabric on his back.
He’s been waiting a long time to do this. She runs her fingers through his hair and nibbles on the sensitive part of his neck that drives him crazy like she knows.
…
Afterwards, Brad stumbles back outside. He’s almost certain he sees someone in his peripheral vision as he navigates his way out but he shrugs it off. He’s making a beeline back to Deb with another two drink tickets in his pocket. He just nicked them from Nicole when he was grabbing her ass. She should really stop keeping important things in her back pocket. He feels vertigo begin to set in. The walk to the bar is longer than he remembers.
Soon after he arrives, Deb gives up keeping up with the drink tickets and incessant orders. Guess it’s an open bar now.
Brad finds himself rummaging through the bar to find the most expensive bottle of hard liquor he can find. He calls out to everyone, asking who wants more to drink. It’s fun playing bartender, getting everyone increasingly fucked up and everything becoming funnier. The restaurant gets louder, both from yelling and glasses breaking.
The world is blurring around him. Looks like the party is finally getting started.
Some time passes, and Terry comes crashing out of the kitchen, tipped off from the crashes and bangs that the liquor is now flowing freely.
“Where the hell is Deb?”
Normally, Brad would want to hide his wrongdoing. He would try to send Terry on a wild goose chase to find and pin the blame on someone else. But the only thought that comes to him is: “Where’s Nicole?”
She would never miss the opportunity to raid an open bar and rip off her employer when they’ve had it coming.
He sets his mostly empty bottle down on the bar, where Terry promptly sweeps it up after him. He shuffles across the floor. He bypasses clusters of people in ugly festive sweaters slouched in chairs and booths, chattering amongst themselves with various drinks in hand.
He analyzes each face, and none of them are Nicole. Where is she?
He pushes the kitchen door open, struggling to walk straight. Muffled noises are coming from the walk-in. Deja vu.
The door creaks open. He sees Nicole pushing someone against the same metal shelf he pushed her against earlier that night. A flash of red hair is visible from behind Nicole’s blonde curls. It’s Ruby. They seem too occupied to have noticed his presence.
Brad is frozen for a second. His hands clam up. He turns around and leaves, with the door shutting behind him.
That’s none of his business. Nicole’s not his girlfriend. They’re not exclusive. He’s been with other girls since they’ve hooked up. He was pretty sure she’s been with other people too. Now, he knows for sure. They agreed to fuck with no strings attached. Because they like their jobs enough, and don't want to blow up their working relationship for no reason when it works so well for them as it is now.
Casual never bothered him before.
So why can’t he get the picture of Nicole making out with someone else out of his head?
He finds an unattended bottle and stares down the glass to the bottom, muddled brown from the hard liquor housed inside. He swirls it around, then drinks straight from the bottle, the taste of Nicole still on his lips. He’s slumped in a booth, staring off into space. The red and green decorations blur and the indiscernible melange of voices from the party lulls him into a trance.
A few minutes later, Nicole staggers out from the kitchen. She meanders, eventually finding Brad at his table. She picks up his bottle, eyeing the little remaining alcohol inside. A generous swig, and it’s spent. She looks at him, grinning like she’s challenging him again. Not getting a smirk in return, she picks up on his grimace.
He shrugs her off. He doesn’t watch when she ultimately decides to leave.
Whatever.
How could she blatantly flirt with him in front of everyone, share kisses with him risking being caught, then hook up with someone else the same night and feel nothing? He thought he was cold but she’s something else.
He gets sick thinking about the way she slurs her words and becomes touchy when she drinks, knowing that he’s not the only one who gets to see her like that. Maybe he’s a hypocrite, but seeing her share the exact same intimacy with someone else is bubbling something mean in his stomach.
Or maybe it’s the liquor.
Brad pushes his way out of the table and rocks back and forth, crashing his hand against the wall to maintain steady course toward the toilets. He slams a stall open and falls to his knees, enough to leave a bruise. A foul taste is coming up from his throat.
She told him that she loved him once. It was by accident because she thought he had said it first. It was fleeting. He liked the way it felt, to feel validated by her. To have her full attention. To know that she cares. To have the normally cold, mean, blunt, nonchalant Nicole wrapped around his finger.
But he didn’t care enough to address it, never enough to reciprocate her words. He spoke through jagged gasps between desperate kisses. His love letters were brief texts to summon her to his apartment late at night.
He wipes his mouth, cups cold water from the sink in his hand and gargles his mouth to rid himself of the distaste. He splashes the frigid water on his face and steadies his hands on the counter, squinting so his eyes will focus on his image reflected in the mirror.
He can picture it now. He could confront Nicole about what happened. She would get upset. Tell him that he’s crazy. That it’s none of his business who she swaps spit with when she’s not with him. Because she shoots venom with no recourse. She says what’s on her mind and almost always means it. If he caught feelings, if he was serious, that was his problem. Then he already lost. She warned him.
She told him so.
He argues with a mirage of her in his imagination. “I told you I loved you and you didn’t care. And now you give a fuck about who I flirt with? Kiss? Fuck? Give me a break.”
And he can’t come up with a rebuttal. He can’t get mad at her because she’s right.
…
“I won’t fall in love with you,” Brad said, voice hushed as he turned on his side to face Nicole the first time they hooked up.
“Everyone falls in love with me. Can’t help it.” She said, naked and skin glistening, covered in sweat. Sheets are strewn across the bed. “But I’m pretty sure you have no feelings, so you should be fine.”
“Ouch.” He feigns offense while gracing her with a crooked smile. His eyes linger, locked on hers. Between his sheets, with her hair rustled and makeup smudged, she’s even more beautiful. “You can’t fall in love with me then either, okay?”
“Won’t be a problem.” She turns onto her back to face the ceiling. He sees the corner of her mouth perk up into a grin. “I eat boys like you for breakfast.”
…
Brad pushes the bathroom door open and finds his way back to his seat.
He’d rather her be mad at him than not think about him at all. She only comes by when she’s lonely. He only calls her when he is too.
He doesn’t know what to do or what to think and the only person he wants to talk about this with is Nicole.
He stares his empty bottle down like it’ll give him some divine revelation. That it’ll tell him to chase after her. Profess his love to her like in the movies.
She just treats him like he treats each of his lays. Never text them first. Keep them wanting more then cut them off if they get too attached. It’s easy. City’s big enough that you’ll never run out of new people, that you’ll always be occupied. Nicole is the only girl who has ever matched his energy. Who treats dating as calculated as he does.
Karma has caught up to him, he thinks to himself.
He plays back how those three little words, “I love you,” sounded coming from between her lips. He wonders what it would be like if he said it back. He feels his eyelids become heavy as he’s slumped on the sticky booth seat.
“Don’t fall in love with me,” she said that fateful night with playful eyes, and her fingers crossed behind her back.
Brad grits his teeth.
“I won’t,” the words reverberate in his memory.
Guess he lied.